Extract

[Miss_clinton]

I have had this story in my hard disk. Do not remember where I found it.
Enjoy! :)

__________________________________________________ _______________

David was born with a foot fetish. For as long as he could remember he found girls’ feet and shoes appealing, even before his body was capable of physically responding. His mother’s habit of crushing insects bare foot and right in front of his eyes added to his fetish, as did his sister’s habit of taking him shoe shopping at a very young age. The older girl would drag him from shop to shop, accompanied by several of her friends, as they tried on pair after pair, asking him for his opinion. He was bombarded with visions of female feet twisting and turning, moving and stepping. Even his father played some role, as a leg man he modelled a liking for that part of the female anatomy.

When David was 6 he saw the movie “The thief of Baghdad”. The scene where the genie comes out of the bottle and threatens to crush Sabu struck a resonant cord in him that he couldn’t explain. Somehow the sight of that bare foot with its creased sole descending, intent on crushing the helpless life below made him sick, dizzy and excited in a breathless way.

When David was 12, it was an unusually hot summer. For some reason there was an explosion in the ladybird population. For several weeks they carpeted the ground everywhere. At the same time that David was going through puberty he was surrounded by pretty girls wearing summer clothes, and shoes, crushing ladybirds. In later therapy, he spoke about the way the girls just got used to the crunch, crack of ladybirds under their feet. They appeared not to know, or care about the carnage under their soles. It was this, this blasé attitude, more than anything else, that impacted him. He saw this every day for those few weeks, both at school and at home. He was a sensitive child, and part of him identified with the bugs, while at the same time, he found their destruction arousing. It was a heady time.

When he was 13 he got in trouble at school. He found his geography teacher stunningly attractive and grew besotted with her the way only 13 year old boys can. She was of Irish descent, with milk white skin and jet black hair. To his eyes she was like a living Snow White, but sexy, even though he would never have used that word about her. To him she was a Goddess. If she had asked him sweetly to put his hand in the fire and leave it there to burn he would have done so. She would wear knee length skirts and strappy high heels. David would sit at the front of the class and daydream about kissing, sucking, licking and stroking her feet. One day, overwhelmed by passion, he waited until class was over and told her how he felt. The young lady panicked, and reported him to the head teacher. The head teacher thought it was a prank, apparently there had been a television programme on the night before about foot fetishism and she thought David was playing a joke. He was hit with a running shoe 6 times on his backside. Not knowing who it belonged to, David imagined it was owned by his geography teacher.

When David was 16 he stole a girl’s socks from her bag, took them home and masturbated with them repeatedly. His father caught him, and tried to talk to him about it. David was mortified.

When David was 22 he noticed a pair of high heels in the hallway of a neighbour’s house. The door was ajar as always. David reached in and took them, put them to his nose and inhaled. He licked each insole, then panicked and tried to put the shoes back. Unfortunately the owner saw him, and knew him. Three police women came to his house, he fantasised that they were going to trample him as a punishment. He liked their crisp white blouses, tight cotton skirts, black tights and flat shoes. He especially liked the laces on their shoes. He found the little reinforced circlet of plastic at the end of each lace strangely pleasing.

He was let off with a caution. That same year he went to a nearby holiday camp and began sneaking up on sunbathing girls, licking their bare feet and running off. After two days they set a trap for him. A beautiful girl lay, eyes shut in a wooded glade. He sneaked up, heart hammering, knelt, leant forward, breathed in, closed his eyes and suddenly felt strong hands on his arms and shoulders. Camp security had him. A tazer like device rendered him immobile. Three female security guards carried him to the main security office.

Paulette Conroy was head of camp security. She was dressed like an American cop. She wore a black, peaked cap, with a shiny silver badge. She wore a tight, white, long sleeved cotton blouse, and a black tie. She wore a short black skirt, black tights and knee length black rubberised boots with thick treads. Her red hair was cut in a short smart bob. She had handcuffs, mace and a nightstick. She also had steely blue eyes.

David was marched to her office, stripped naked, and thrown to the floor. He tried to get up, but Paulette prevented him by planting her right boot heel between his shoulder blades and pressing down. “Not so fast” she said smoothly, using the motion of her foot and leg to raise herself to a standing position.
Extract Part 2:

“We’ve been watching you,” David shuddered and felt a knot of fear grow larger. “You’re a pervert” she pressed on. David was flat on his face now, with Paulette’s booted sole flat on his back, just below the neck line. His face was turned to one side. “A foot licking pervert is what I got right here.” David was incapable of speech. “And right here, I am the law. I can do what I like with you boy!” She chuckled. To demonstrate her superiority she casually changed feet, so that her left now pressed him down.

After 30 seconds she stepped up onto his back, and called “Officers Marshall, Wainwright, Plumb.” The three attractive young lady officers entered the room.

“Yes maam,” they chorused simultaneously.

“This pervert has degraded our lady guests, what say we punish him?” All three ladies smiled and nodded eagerly. “After we’ve punished him a while we’ll invite any of the lady guests who wish to partake to do so.” David was awash with fear and self pity.

“A little trample to begin I think,” Paulette announced, sounding as if she were selecting an item from the menu. She began moving around on David’s upper back, stepping firmly, but not overly heavily. As she was a big woman, the simple act of her lifting and lowering one foot at a time, letting all her weight come down through the sole of one boot was enough to knock him flat and knock some of the wind out of him. Within minutes his face reddened and he began breathing in panting gasps. “I love to trample perverts,” she told the other girls, “now don’t be shy,” she added, “join in.”

Smiling, Lesley Marshall stepped forward and pressed the toe of her boot to David’s left forearm. As she applied more weight, her thickly treaded boot gripped and tore the thin skin. Her weight also forced the bones of his forearm to bend painfully. At the same time, his wrist began to complain at the twisting pressure. His fingers clutched the air in agonised silence. Lesley had managed to get the toes of both boots onto his forearm, one near the wrist, the other near the elbow. She was balancing, and giggling like a schoolgirl gymnast on the balance beam for the first time.

Jessica Wainwright, not to be outdone, stepped onto David’s right hand and forearm. His attention focussed on the new sensation, as the cruel girl put all her weight on his ballooning fingers and bounced a few times. He felt as if something was going to snap or crack with each downward pulse of the girl’s weight. She seemed determined to do real damage, focussing her efforts on this vulnerable area, smiling grimly until she succeeded in dislocating his second and middle finger. Smiling now, she took to grinding them cruelly under her booted toes. She shimmied and swayed her body side to side, keeping her free foot raised, sending shockwaves of pain up David’s arm to his overloaded brain.

Melanie Plumb had stepped onto David’s thighs, stamping her feet for effect. She turned and walked down his leg, putting first the knee joint, then the ankle, under tremendous pressure. Under the combined onslaught of four ladies’ feet David howled. Melanie cried out in glee. “Sweet, sweet music,” all four wicked lovelies laughed and hollered. David was in agony. Wave after wave of pain swept over him. The adrenaline was so much he could not faint. The girls took to jumping up and down simultaneously. The jumped off, then on him again and again. His fingers cracked and broke, his forearms also. Jessica and Lesley ground their toes down to grind the bones in his tortured wrists. They drove steel reinforced heels down into his wrists, hands and fingers pulping them. Seeing this, Paulette chuckled “Guess you won’t be touching up any pretty ladies feet any time soon hehh loverboy?” David could only lie there and take it. “What’s the matter pervy boy, I would have thought you’d like to have four beautiful ladies’ feet all over your body?”

After an hour, they stepped off and kicked him over onto his back. Now they worked his face, chest, arms and groin. Paulette stood on the side of his head, simply enjoying the feel of his skull bending under her heavy footed stance. She would lazily raise her right boot, pause a moment then stamp it down. This sent seismic tremors through David’s head and brain. For a few, merciful seconds Paulette stepped off his face. “Thank God”, thought David, “It is coming to an end.” Then he heard the sound of a zip being undone, and a heavy boot clumping to the floor. This sound was replayed, then moments later Paulette’s big, broad, sweaty, leathery, cheesy foot settled over his mouth, resting up against his nostrils. The pressure on that scratchy nylon covered sole increased as she stepped up, putting all her weight on that one leg and foot. David tried to scream. Her other foot came over, and settled onto his eyes. He was in darkness, smelling and tasting Paulette’s foot.

Lesley drew his attention when she kicked his legs apart. Moments later his body exploded with pain when she kicked his balls. Her steel reinforced toe thudded into his ballsacs with bonecrunching force. “Woooo Hoooo!” she shouted happily. With only a short pause to gain her balance, she did it again, and again and again. Each blow was like a sledgehammer, and she delivered blow after blow after blow. “I’m gonna burst these little fuckers,” she told him angrily. She was so determined to rupture him that she began grunting with the effort. “Leave something for our guests,” Paulette suggested. With one last tremendous kick Lesley gave up that game and took to stamping on David’s kneecaps instead, trying to shatter them.

Jessica stood on David’s stomach and enjoyed the feeling of his guts surrendering beneath her crushing weight. Melanie watched her for a while, then said “I bet I could carry you on my shoulders Jess, mind if we give it a try?” Jessica shrugged her pretty shoulders and smiled at her friend, “Sure.” Mel crouched down, and Jessica climbed onto her strong shoulders, sitting like a child getting a piggy back. With a grunt of effort Mel stood straight. The muscles in her thighs bulged and trembled with the effort. “Ohhhh, look,” she said in a sing song way, “that’s left a space on his belly,” Jessica chuckled, “must fill that,” Mel added.

Moving slowly the big girl, carrying her friend on her shoulders, stepped up onto David’s stomach. She placed her right foot onto it first, then prepared to step up. Working slowly and carefully she applied more weight until she could move her left foot over and on. Her left foot sank deeper and deeper into David’s protesting innards. With what little wind he had he screamed a blood curdling scream. Mel began marching on the spot, saying “BOOM – BOOM – BOOM” for every terrible impact of her booted feet. This fresh pain was like being on fire. David had no words big enough to describe it.

David coughed up blood, and his eyes rolled back in his head. He gasped for air. He turned blue. He passed out.
Extract: Part 3

When he awoke there was a queue of barefoot girls waiting impatiently. “Oh my God,” he thought, incapable of making his vocal cords work. His throat felt very sore, and he guessed that Paulette must have stood on his throat at the same time Mel was stamping on his belly. His body was strapped to a wooden X made of two long planks. Unbeknownst to him, he wasn’t the first man Paulette and her girls had punished. He was naked, and his wrists and ankles were strapped to the dungeon style piece of equipment. A large square board supported his cock and balls.

“To make this fair,” Paulette announced from somewhere out of his sight, “each girl here will get ten slaps on your bollocks first, followed by 5 minutes each trampling you. With 15 girls here, you can do the math yourself.” David shuddered, “What? 15 girls, each slapping his balls 10 times, that was 150 slaps.” He simply couldn’t take it in. Then he saw a pretty girl, in a bikini top, a mini skirt and flipflops smiling down at him. “Look at my feet,” she demanded, hovering her foot above his eyes, “you didn’t think my feet were good enough to kiss, so I’m gonna punish you for your cheek.” David couldn’t believe it, this young thing was annoyed that he hadn’t molested her.

He looked down as she squatted between his widespread legs. He couldn’t help but watch as she smiled smugly, leaned forwards and slid her palm beneath his testicles. She bounced and jounced them a little, “Gotta fluff em up haven’t ?” she said teasingly. For a moment the sensation was pleasant, but then she viciously punched her little bunched fist into his package. David screamed hoarsely. The girl giggled and said “1”. David knew there were 149 to come. It was insane.

She soon delivered number two, then three then four. By the time she reached 10 David had reached fresh levels of throbbing, pulsing, gut tearing pain he could never have imagined. The girl stood, looking sad at having to abandon her toy. She stood over David’s face, let her flipflop drop off and pressed her toes to his lips “Kiss Kiss,” she instructed. Like a robot, he obeyed.

The next woman was older, in her 40s. She was tall and slender, with almost bony hands, arms, legs and feet. She wore a short sleeved blouse, shorts and running shoes. She said nothing to David, simply stepped between his legs, squatted and began slapping. Her slaps were delivered in sharp stacatto moves. No sooner had one registered in his overheated mind than David felt the next one. He so wanted to pass out.

Time became strange as 13 more girls took their turns. Their were teenagers and some 50 +, but all took strange and savage delight in abusing his swollen ballsacks.

Then it was trample time. Spiked heels dug deep into his collar bones as a 20 something girl he recognised began dancing upon him. She didn’t even look down, she seemed off in a world of her own. Through the haze of pain David realised it was the girl from the glade, the girl he had been attempting to molest when they caught him. She was heavy footed, and her heels dug into and pierced his already bruised and tenderised skin.

She had her time, then another female took her place. This lady was tall, fully figured, wearing cowboy boots, blue jeans and a check shirt. She stamped on his chest, threatening to crush his ribcage. David preyed that she would, and put him out of his misery. Her worn soles slipped and scuffed over his bleeding flesh.

Girls stepped on, girls trampled, girls stepped off. Time became meaningless. David was in a world of pain. Finally all 15 were done. Paulette spoke, “Chelsea here,” she indicated the first girl to slap his balls, “has been nominated by the rest of the girls to bust your balls completely.” David could neither do or say anything.

Chelsea stepped between his legs and squatted down. “Let’s see how good my grip is,” she said softly. David saw through a haze as she leaned forward. He jumped when her cool fingers enclosed his testicles. “Hmmmm,” the girl said thoughtfully, “let’s see!” She sounded determined. David saw her little face screw up, saw her shoulder drop. Then he felt it, a white hot sheet of pain running up his body from his groin. “Hhhrrraarrrgghh”, Chelsea said, gripping as hard as she could, twisting her slender arm left and right. His flesh was bright red, white in places, squeezing like sausage meat between the cruel fingers. She squeezed and squeezed and squeezed, but couldn’t pop his balls.

Slightly annoyed, Chelsea let go, shaking her arm and hand to rest them. She took one ball in the grip of her thumb and finger and squeezed. David felt like a red hot poker had been inserted into his testes. The ball distended. Chelsea put the thumb and finger of her other hand over the first, and gritted her teeth; squeezing with all her might. The testicle exploded. She let out a savage “Ha Haaa!”, then sat back to laugh. The other girls were laughing too. She moved to grip the other ball, then changed her mind. She stood up and slipped off her flip flop. She poked the split skin of his now ruined left bollock with her big toe, frowning to feel the loose tubes and seeping fluid. Her sharp big toe ripped the delicate interior. Smiling at David’s pained winces the girl put her foot on his one remaining testicle and trapped it beneath the arch of her pretty painted toes. Her toe ring diamond winked in the overhead lights. She pressed down, twisting at the same time and easily pulped the ball. David passed out.
Extract Part 4:

When he awoke this time, he was in a hospital. He didn’t know it but it was a hospital attached to Hepworth Correctional Facility. Dr Madilyn Hepworth came to visit him. She was tall, slender and beautiful with piercing green eyes. She fixed him with a clinical gaze. “You are sick David” she began, “diseased. However, we can cure it. Either we cure it, or you are destroyed. You are to be placed into a stimulation cell.” With that she marched away.

The cell is rectangular, like a coffin. David lies on his back, on a padded cushion that both supports and massages his body. He is catheterised, to remove waste, and receives food through a tube. The cell temperature is regulated to be slightly cool. Above David’s eyes there is a liquid crystal screen. In addition to the screen, the cell is fitted with speakers. David has been in the cell for a year. Twenty four hours a day, seven days a week the screen displays foot fetish images. Some of the images are pre-recorded, by ladies with a zeal to help treat the psychologically troubled, or fed live, by girls who are more than happy to be paid for the intrusion of cameras at home, college or work.

David has a monitoring circuit attached to the muscles at the base of his penis. Surgery prevents him from becoming erect, but his brain still sends the electrical signal. If the signal is of sufficient intensity or duration, 2 minutes at least, the circuit sends a signal to a neural mesh that overlays David’s cerebral cortex. This generates an electric shock that produces severe pain, a momentary visual distortion, and a loss of brain cells. The hope is that foot fetishists can be cured of their disease, however subjects like David frequently prove intractable.

David lies immobilised and helpless, staring upward. He might screw his eyes shut for a short time, but the machines monitor this as well, after 30 seconds they will deliver a neurological shock both to his brain, and to the pain receptors in his genital area. The end result is that he feels like he has been kicked in the balls. Even with his eyes closed he can’t block the maddeningly teasing soundtrack that is piped in to him.

“Hi David, my name’s Michelle”. The voice is singsong, teasing and playful. “You like feet don’t you David?” He hears a chuckle. “I know you do.” He can’t argue. “Girl’s feet.” She continues. “You like to see them, stroke them, kiss them and caress them. You like the smell of girly feet, don’t you.” It is a statement, not a question. It is irrefutable. “They told me all about your nasty little habits. You used to steal shoes and socks, and sniff them, and lick them. You used to make love to girl’s shoes and socks, squirting your cum into them, making them sticky. They told me you’d put a sock or shoe over your nose and breathe in deep, maybe licking the insole.” Her tone was one of mild contempt tinged with disgust. “They told me that used to get you hard over seeing female feet.” Her words were a prison.

“Look at my feet, aren’t they pretty? Look, I’m slipping my boot off.” Unable to resist, he looks. He sees the screen filled with a close up of a girl’s lower leg as a brown suede boot is removed. Black nylon covers the leg and foot within. He screws his eyes shut again. “Ahhhhh, that’s better. Oooohhhh, it feels good. They’re so tight. My feet get terribly hot and sweaty at college all day.” Helplessly, he pictures a college full of attractive girls, all with sweaty feet, all waiting for him to lick them clean. “Would you like to lick the sweat from the insides of my boots?” Her words shock him back to the moment. “Ha, ha, I bet you would. Would you drink it like champagne, pervy? Would you lick my boots clean? I know you’d like to sniff them, and my feet as well. They showed me some of the pervy stories you wrote, about turning into a girl’s shoes, being her insole, her socks, her tights. I know you would like to be the tread of my shoe. Or how about an insect that gets crushed under my foot. Poor little pervy. All frustrated but with no way to cum.”

He opened his eyes again. The pretty face and body of a slightly plump, but nonetheless sexy college girl appeared. She was blonde, no more than 19 or 20, with her hair up in bunches. She sat cross legged, wagging her wet sole back and forth. She was grinning into camera. Her hands massaged her sopping soles as she sighed and moaned in mock orgasm. David knew what was coming. He had been continually aroused for enough time. He felt a constriction in his groin. Next came pain, then a momentary loss of consciousness.

“Do you want to know the funny thing?” Michelle continued, “The shocks they’re giving you will eventually drive you mad, but that won’t be the end of it.” She laughed. “Once you are clinically insane they will release you from your cell. You’ll be moved to a public venue, possibly a ladies toilet or an all female office, and installed as a foot massager and licker. Your tongue will be surgically altered, and your saliva glands. You’ll even be given a permanent erection, for girls to rub their soles on. Girls and women will be using you to ease their hot, tired, aching feet 24 hours a day. With modern medical techniques you’ll be kept alive for decades. Too bad you won’t be aware of any of it.” Her gay laughter echoed as David was shocked again.
At 7.15pm in the evening, a neural activity indicator on the panel outside David’s containment cell turned from pulsing amber to red. David was now clinically insane. The constant teasing images and soundtrack had done their work. The cell dutifully gave him a powerful paralytic to ensure he was immobilised for relocation.

A maintenance crew of four young ladies, Suki, Tamsin, Karen and Lisa, strolled along the corridor, looking primly efficient in their white cotton dresses, white silk stockings and matte black, rubberised, knee length boots. Their nurse style uniforms were completed by the wide black belts that each girl wore. These were cinched very tightly about slender waists. The thick tread of the girls boots made an occasional sharp squeaking sound as they walked.

They walked two by two, laughing and joking with each other, gaily enjoying their work. Suki and Tamsin walked in front pushing a modified hospital trolley. Beneath the bed level the trolley carried banks of electrical equipment and other pieces of machinery, with various lights, dials, wires and tubes connected to it. It was a mobile life support unit.

They parked the trolley outside Cell 447-17B where the diminutive 18 year old Suki Summers lifted her size four booted foot and depressed the brake pedal. Tamsin Laymon meanwhile, was already keying in the door release code. When the panel beeped chirpily, she stepped back and raised her eyebrows with a smile.

The hydraulic systems worked smoothly as the front panel of the cell dropped down, and David’s body was carried out on a padded support. The four girls worked swiftly and efficiently to detach David from the cell’s life support and monitoring systems. Once he was detached, they slid him across onto the mobile life support unit and began attaching him to its systems. This process took little more than twenty minutes, during which time the girls were more swift than delicate. Speed was of the essence, and as far as the young pretties knew, David was gone, his mind destroyed, and he would no more feel pain, or anything else, than would a raw carrot being picked and eaten.

What the girls did not know, was that David was still aware, still awake, still sane. The monitoring equipment wasn’t sensitive enough, and if truth be told, thousands of men had been declared insane when vestiges of conscious self awareness still remained. The agonies he experienced as needles and tubes were ripped from his supine form went beyond normal comprehension.

In his paralysed state, David’s struggles to move, speak or gesture went completely to waste. His eyelids were mostly closed, but he could peek out from under them. He could not move his eyes, but he could shift the focus of his attention. He looked from one beautiful girl’s face to another, silently pleading; but saw only detached contentment. Each pretty face looked totally peaceful, serene, confident and quietly determined. They were young, pretty and happy; while he was going through hell at their delicate feminine hands. Everything they did to his defenceless body was agony, and they were blissfully unaware. He heard them giggling, laughing, chatting and joking. He saw one girl, he wasn’t sure which, preparing a syringe, filling it with a cool amber liquid. He saw her lift his flaccid penis and draw back the foreskin. He saw her lean forward, then he felt the sharp scratch of the tip of a hyperdermic syringe. He felt it go in, then he felt something being injected directly into his penis, something to prepare him for the coming surgery, something that burned like concentrated ammonia.
Extract part 6
He was blissfully unconscious during the surgery. His overtaxed, overwrought brain simply shut itself down into a coma like state in order to protect him. He only awoke when he was being transported to his new home.

He was in a sealed container in the back of a large articulated lorry. Unbeknownst to him he was one of hundreds of men being despatched to new duties. (Some were brand new placements, others, like David, were replacement units where the former had expired.) David was aware of a numbness at his shoulders and hips. He also felt a powerful muscular contraction in his belly around the base of his groin. His neck and jaw were also sore and throbbing. (Dr Hepworth had removed his arms and legs, modified his neck and jaw so that they would adjust into postures impossible to a normal person, and given him a permanent erection. This last would be a source of much frustration for David in the years to come as it was produced through overstimulating the centres of his brain that would normally produce an erection. He would be in a state of constant, frustrated arousal and unable to end it or ejaculate!)

The lorry came to a halt, and David heard female shouts and cries. His container was loaded onto a trolley and taken into a delivery bay. The next 45 minutes were very confusing for David, but by the end of it he had been removed from his container, lain on a padded support, strapped across the chest for stability and plugged into life support.

He was in the accounts office of Herriman, Harlow and Tomes, a prestigious all female law firm, who found that their staff benefited from this indulgence and rewarded their employees with harder work and greater productivity.

David found himself on his back, looking up at a white ceiling with neon lights. He was aware that his head was unsupported, and yet it remained parallel with his body. He was lying 2 feet from the floor. A beautiful girl in her mid 20s was beaming at him. Shelly, a black haired goddess looked stunning in her white silk blouse, black A-line miniskirt, barely black tights and black loafers. She grinned down at the sight of his trapped form and smiled wickedly. “I can’t wait to get my feet cleaned,” she told him, “They are terribly gunky. I haven’t washed them for 6 days since the last chap packed in.” David’s heart rate increased and he struggled to move or otherwise signal his alertness. “Using him to clean my hot, sweaty, stinky feet was the highlight of my day.” Unfortunately for David he was paralysed by the surgery, his only movements being those of blinking, breathing, and licking and sucking anything that was put into his mouth.

Shelly disappeared for a moment, then returned with a chair. She positioned the chair behind David’s head leant down, then used the outstretched fingers of her right hand to push on his forehead. David was shocked to hear his neck ratchetting as it moved into an unnatural pose. His head was bent back until it was at 75 degrees to his body. He watched helplessly as Shelly sat and slipped off her shoes. He could only wait as her feet approached his face. The soles of Shelly’s tights were black and shiny with dried up sweat. Fresh sweat also gave them a sheen. Her feet had a really offensive smell, like damp dishrags left too long without a wash. It was acrid, sour and strong. Those horrible soles moved closer and closer to David’s immobilised face. “Nooooo!!!” he screamed in his mind. “Oh God!!! Noooo!!!”, but no sound came from his lips. His lips remained closed, his face remained still, exactly were Shelly wanted it.

He breathed in her footsmell, it coated his nasal passages, like grease. It rang alarm bells in his brain. He was forcefully reminded of his powerful, unflagging permanent erection. Shelly’s feet impacted his face. His world went dark. He felt heat, warmth, wetness and a nasty scritchy, scratchy sensation. Shelly pressed her feet hard to his face, and sighed. Shelly moved her soles up and down, up and down, then side to side. She was humming contentedly as she worked. “I always wish,” she announced, “that they’d give us a guy who knew what was happening, who was paralysed and helpless as me and my friends abused him. I cum thinking about that again and again and again. “ David shuddered inside.

Shelly’s toes found his lips. She eased the tips of her toes between his rubbery lips. “Open wide” she commanded playfully. Her right foot moved down slightly until she could press her toes to David’s jaw. With a smile she eased his mouth open. Like his neck, David’s jaw had been modified. It opened wide, wider, wider still, until it was impossibly stretched. Shelly finally stopped, seeming satisfied with her work. She pressed her right foot into David’s mouth, then followed it with her left. She had her two feet, side by side in his mouth, pressing, probing, touching and playing. David’s tongue set to work. Without his command, and against his will, it began licking under, over and around Shelly’s stinking sweat soaked feet.

The smell of feet was in his nose, in his lungs, everywhere. The tase of feet was on his tongue, in his mouth, everywhere. He was staring at her heels where they protruded from his mouth. He saw her heels, her lower legs, her knees and her thighs. By God he was turned on. Her feet tasted awful, and smelt awful, they were abusing him terribly, and he was turned on.

He heard talking. Two more girls approached. One was a small redhead named Caroline, only 22 years old, with curly hair and freckles. Her big green eyes danced with mischief. The other was Erin, 34, with brown hair in a neat bob. The two newcomers set seats either side of David’s torso and kicked off their own well worn shoes. Erin wore black nylon tights, Caroline was barefoot. They were each wide eyed with approval at the site of David’s now enormous penis wagging and dancing awaiting their feet. Erin pressed her feet onto the base of David’s cock. Caroline pressed the soles of hers to its sides higher up. Both began to rub.

David’s cerebral cortex lit up like a Christmas tree. This was the most intense sensation he had ever known. Shelly’s feet were still in his mouth, Erin’s scratchy soles were stimulating and irritating the skin at the base of his penis, while Caroline’s hot, pink, wet, wrinkly bare soles were rubbing higher up. This was like the best wet dream he had ever had, only instead of pleasure he felt pain, humiliation and total frustration. If he could have he would have screamed.

Erin pressed her toes to his cock, then slowly slid her feet forward, sighing as the living footsoother slid beneath her soles. Caroline pressed her feet together as hard as she could, first the heels trapped his swollen knob, then the insteps, the pads then the toes. She wiggled her toes against his oversensitised skin.

Shelly, finally, reluctantly surrendered her seat. Jennifer took her place. At 29, Jennifer was head of the accounts department. Tall and slender with an athletic build, the green eyed blonde was stunningly good looking. Her sharply tailored pin stripe suits magnified her attractiveness rather than concealed it. She wore her trademark pin heeled ankle boots today, but they were soon removed. Her teddy bear patterned socks soon followed, and she pushed her size four feet straight into David’s mouth. The taste was high, strong and nauseating. David couldn’t begin to understand how feet could become so noxious. “Hi David,” Jennifer said softly, “I know you can’t understand me, but it is kinda nice to pretend you can. If you are wondering at my feet, it’s because I havent changed my socks or washed my feet since Andrew went chips on us. Do they taste bad, hmmmm?” The cruel girl was taunting and humiliating him. Ok David knew she believed he was mad but he could tell what she would like to think, and the worst thing was she was right. He was sane, he was conscious, and aware.

As his saliva glands went into overdrive and his tongue swirled and twirled, and Erin and Caroline continued with their soft sole stimulation of his ever hard cock David thought he was in hell. He could do nothing to stop this all happening. He could do nothing to communicate his state. He didn’t think it would help if he did. All he could do was lay there and pray for insanity or death. Sadly for him neither was going to come.
Extract part 7
The torment was relentless. Even David, a confirmed lover of the female foot, found himself loathing women’s feet. The women neither knew nor cared if he was awake or asleep, it made no difference to them, his body would serve either way. David couldn’t escape their feet in his dreams. His nights were filled with dreams of intrusive, abusive feet. (As female feet were his whole world 24 hours a day, it was inevitable that he would dream about them.)

He dreamt that he was walking on a deep pile carpet. The carpet appeared to stretch for miles and miles and miles. The ceiling seemed to be miles over his head. He thought he was in the single largest building he had ever seen. Then he heard noises, deafening noises.

There were loud shouts, sounds of laughter, conversation, music and more. Everything was too loud, to sharp, too much. He felt the floor beneath his feet vibrating. A deep resonant impact shook him and his bones. He looked around and saw walking mountains. They were giant women, and they were all around him. He saw deeply treaded soles of boots, shiny soles of court shoes, stocking feet, bare feet, loafers, trainers, mary janes and more. He saw black tights, navy blue tights, white tights and socks. He saw women standing still, women stepping from foot to foot, women with one foot flat on the floor and the other dipping in and out, in and out over and over and over. He saw brown leather, black leather and white leather. He saw black shoes, white shoes, red shoes and pink shoes. He became aware of feet right in front of him. They were in opaque grey tights and flat brown courts. He ran into them. He turned and there were more feet, and more, and more. The smell of feet was everywhere. It was musty, musky, heady and overwhelming, 100 times stronger than anything he had ever imagined.

He fell on his back. The woman in the flat brown courts eased her grey nylon clad foot from its hot, wet home. He saw the toes, big, ranked, solid, overpowering. He saw the nails, painted red, showing through. He saw that foot come overhead, saw the huge wrinkled sole. He tried to scream but couldn’t make a sound. He tried to move but couldn’t move a muscle. The foot came down. It came down and down and down, despite all his urgent pleas for it to go away. He found himself touched by the soft sole. Then pressed. He grew flatter and flatter and flatter.

The woman put all her weight upon him. She laughed, seemingly at something her colleague just said. He started to distend, out the sides of her crushing foot. He squeezed out the sides, front and back. He folded up and around her foot. He held it. He pressed onto it. He changed, morphed and moulded into a living shoe. He was the twin of the shoe she had abandoned. Her heel slipped in and out, in and out, airing itself to the world. He tasted her, smelled her and felt her heat. He screamed silently. When she slipped her foot firmly in he knew what was coming. When she put all her weight on him he felt crushed to breaking point. He screamed breathlessly. She stepped forward, put her other foot down, swung him giddily through the air, then stepped down. He felt his ribs bending, his stomach collapsing and his joints tearing. Tendons and muscles surrendered to his wearer, and this was only her first step.

He jolted awake. When he awoke, it was to find two stocking clad soles pressed firmly onto his face. They were hot, wet and rank smelling, like powerful cheese. He felt sick. Something was on his belly. He couldn’t see but he knew all the same. There was immense pressure there. He thought another girl was standing, no marching on his belly. He felt toes sinking deep into his tortured, complaining midriff. Then he realised it was not just two feet, it was four. There toes were close together. He realised they were standing facing one another, either bare foot or in tights, and they were dancing. They were laughing, playing and dancing on his prone and helpless body. He screamed inside.
Extract part 8
Epilogue:

For 37 years David served as a human footlicker, sucker and massager. In his modified state, waking and sleeping were filled with female feet coming at him, pressing on him, forcing themselves into his mouth, against his cock or simply onto his chest and stomach to rest. He was used 24 hours a day. He would often awaken from dreams of choking and suffocation to find a girl’s foot so deep inside his mouth that he could not breathe, and yet still he could not move or signal.

37 years of constant use meant that eventually his joints wore out and his muscles refused to work. His neck seized up, his jaw would not open, and his tongue lay barely moving in his mouth.

A van and two women came to collect him. Once again he was subjected to agonies of pain as they disconnected him from his support and loaded him onto a carrier. He was driven a short distance to a secure burial ground. There, the two women, Amber Grisham and Jacklyn Hart lifted him from the van and across to a small hole in the hard ground.

It was a bright spring day. The sun was harshly bright, the wind just a little chill. The trees were just starting to come into life after a harsh winter. Amber and Jacklyn both wore the same uniform, simple, long sleeved black tops, black belts, skintight black leggings and knee length, matte black, leather boots with crisscross laces up the front. Their boots had heavy block heels and deeply treaded soles.

The girls carried what remained of David’s body using a specially designed harness. His body swung slightly left to right in the morning breeze. He stared upward helplessly, his mind a sickly whirl of fearful anticipation. He saw the world shift and turn from his ever changing viewpoint. He saw the girls’ strong hands on the straps the held him. His head was closest to Amber, and every now and then he would swing so close to her that his face was inches from her sturdily muscled thighs and pertly rounded posterior. She seemed solid and untouchable to him, like living rock. Then he was snapped away, swinging freely, seeing the trees and the sky, smelling fresh air, somehow sensing that this freedom wouldn’t last too much longer.

The girls reached the hole that had been prepared for David and stepped either side of it, holding his harnessed body over it. They lowered him down, until his back touched the sides. Amber let go her handles, and Jacklyn pulled the harness free. Now the only thing keeping David from falling into the hole was his own body being slightly too big for the space. He watched as the two girls high fived one another and turned to look down at him. They chatted briefly, “You first,” said Jacklyn, “then me. OK?” Amber nodded.

David’s heart pounded in his chest. “First? First what? What is she gonna do?” His mind blabbered. Then he saw. Jacklyn raised her right foot, held it in the air above his chest a moment, then stamped down. David’s chest exploded with sharp pain, almost warm in the aftermath. He angled down into the hole, although his head still remained above ground. Jacklyn shook her head in annoyance. “Don’t worry Jacklyn,” said Amber softly, “We’ll get him!” With that, Amber raised her foot and stamped equally hard onto David’s stomach. He felt like she had hit him with a hammer. The wind exploded from his mouth. He thought he would be sick.

Before he could recover, he felt Jacklyn kicking the top of his head, hard, bending his neck round. He thumped into the hole. Both girls smiled. Amber jumped into the air, then came down, crashing onto his wasted frame. She stepped out, with a helping hand from Jacklyn, who then did the same. David was in agony, staring up at the girls standing there, safe and comfy, up above, in the land of the living. Both girls leaned forward, and with a sickly sound deposited spit and phlegm on their victim.

They disappeared from view and David wondered what could possibly be happening now. They returned less than a minute later with a wheelbarrow piled high with soil, and two spades. David’s mind screamed its refusal to believe what was happening, his mouth opened, his vocal cords worked and a high pitched scream of “Noooooo!!” emerged. The two ladies smiled and laughed. “Too late pervy boy” Amber said heartlessly. David was stunned. “Bye bye!” said Jacklyn with a little grin and a wave.

She took the spade, dug into the earth, and deposited it on David’s prone body. He screamed again. Amber dumped earth onto his head, laughing to hear him splutter as some went in his mouth. More and came as the girls worked in a steady, remorseless rhythm. Thump after thump after thump the damp soil came down, until David was covered. They kept going until a slight mound covered the hole. Then they used the flats of the spades to bang the soil flat. Finally, when it was totally flat the girls walked too and fro upon it, laughing to see the marks left by the treads of their boots.

Job done, the girls put the spades back into the barrow and strolled away, whistling.
Extract Part nine

As Amber and Jacklyn walked away, they were unaware that someone had been watching their actions from behind a stone column. As soon as the girls disappeared from view, Nicola Simpson broke from cover and ran across to the now flattened earth which covered David's remains. Her pretty face was a picture of concentration as she squatted down and hurriedly began scooping the flattened soil away from his face. Fortunately for her, the girls had buried David close to the surface and it didn't take long for her to clear his head. David's eyes were closed and he seemed dead.

Nicola prised open David's mouth and began scooping earth from it. Her deft fingers soon cleared his airway. Moving swiftly, the attractive 18 year old swung her backpack free, set it on the ground and began digging in it. She withdrew a hypodermic needle and injected something into his heart muscle. Next she removed a small device with two steel prongs and a trigger. She pressed the sharp ends of the prongs into the skin above David's heart, triggered the machine, and jolted him back to life. His eyes shot open, he coughed, blinked, coughed again, took a breath and fainted.

Nicola used her mobile phone to call her friends and set about clearing the remainder of the earth from David's body. In less than half an hour, 3 more girls arrived. Like Nicola, they were all 18, all students at the local Girls' College, Amberleigh Hope. They prized these discarded males and liked to scavenge them whenever possible. They could never afford them new, but they had found ways to get them and bring them back tolife when dumped.

The other girls, Lucy, Debbie and Kate; carried a large two handled black canvas bag, into which they deposited David's unmoving but very much alive body. They fastened the zip, then carried him over to their car. David was dumped into the boot like luggage. Moments later the car drove away.

Journey's end was the girls' dormitory at Amberleigh Hope. They bundled David inside, and into Lucy's room on the downstairs corridor. As they carried him through the doorway, they accidentally banged him against the wood. David felt a sharp pain in his side which brought him back to full consciousness. In the pitch blackness of the sack David felt very bruised, battered and disoriented. When Ginger unfastened the zip and let light pour in. David's eyes flitted from pretty, excited girl face to pretty, excited girl face. All four girls were grinning down at him.

"Welcome to Donna Hall," said Nicola. "You and some others like you are gonna be guests of honour at a little party we're having this weekend." David stared up at her, in shock because he was still alive, and not liking what he was hearing. "Wh, wh, wh, what are you going to do with me?" He finally managed to ask. All the girls smiled at that. Several rolled their big eyes and grinned sheepishly. "Well," said Nicola, brushing her black hair away from her eyes, "we're gonna stand on you, and walk on you, and jump up and down on you, and dance on you, and in the end, we're going to kill you." David's head swam. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You, you, you can't," he stumbled. Nicola smiled, "Oh we can," she said, sounding almost as if she were trying to reassure him, "you're officially dead anyway, and men have no rights these days, so we can do anything we like. You won't be the only man there," she continued, "we like to have at least twenty for these nights, and you make it twenty exactly. So it's really lucky we found you."

"Don't worry though," she told him, "the party's not for a few days yet." With that, four pairs of eager hands reached down and lifted David's unwilling form from the bag. He was lain on the wooden floor, face up, between a bed and a settee. Two girls were sitting on the bed, two were on the settee. David's eyes moved left and right as the girls sat and talked about him. Nicola and Lucy were on the bed to his right, while Debbie and Kate sat on the settee to his left. Nicola and Kate wore short skirts and flat black soft leather boots. Lucy and Debbie wore training shoes and pale denims. Nicola had her legs crossed, letting the sole of her right boot loom menacingly above David's face. Lucy had the heel of her right foot digging into David's stomach, with her left foot crossed over. Her feet were constantly waggling. Kate had her booted soles on David's still proud standing erection. She had it trapped beneath her ridged tread, bending it painfully downward. Debbie had her left heel embedded in David's eye, with her right foot crossed over.

David was in extreme mental and physical distress. Would the nightmare never end? His groin throbbed horribly, the muscles fighting the booted feet of his tormentor in a fruitless struggle to stand his cock upright. His eye was burning beneath the dirty, dusty, heavy, sharp edged heel of Debbie's shoe. The constantly moving heel made his eye burn and water. He felt dull pain, and saw shifting kaleidoscope colours. His tomach throbbed and churned as it surrendered to the unrelenting pressure of Lucy's shoe, and he saw, with his one good eye, Nicola's bootsole, which loomed above with a promise of evils to come.
Extract Part Ten

Nicola looked at David's sad little face and smiled. She reached her hand across and moved her foot up, until she could unfasten the zip on her boot. The sound of the zip undoing seemed insanely loud in the little room. Her boot came obediently undone, and soon she was working it off and baring her foot to the room. She sighed as her flesh felt cool air and wiggled her reddened toes playfully. "Ooooh, that feels nice," she said gleefully.

David focussed his attention on her wrinkly pink sole. He could see a sheen of sweat and smell it as well. Her foot had a sharp, accrid aroma that almost seemed painful to his nose. She saw his look of displeasure and smiled. "What's the matter ?" she said pertly, moving her toes closer to his face, "Don't you like the smell of my little foot?" David went to open his mouth, to answer, but then thought better of it. "Hmmm," Nicola continued, "not gonna talk to me. Maybe you need me to move my foot a little closer. Is that it ?" David decided he couldn't risk anything, he might try and get on her good side. "That's right miss!" He said, feigning enthusiasm. "Tut, silly!" Said Nicola, "Why didn't you say so," she shook her head slowly, "All you had to do was ask." She smiled obligingly and moved her foot down to brush against his immobile nostrils, "There, take a few good sniffs!"

David didn't want to take any sniffs, but under the circumstances he thought it best to go along. It almost distracted him from the ongoing pain that the feet of the other girls was inflicting. Debbie's heel was still in his eye, wiggling side to side and probably blinding him while she sat and relaxed in comfort. Lucy's heel was cutting into his ever flattening stomach. His internal organs either compressed or moved out of the way, leaving the skin to stretch painfully. (At least he didn't have to worry about using the lavatory. He was fed now by a slow release nutrient implant that created no waste products.) Kate had one heel on the base of his penis, where it emerged from the forest of hairs at his abdomen, the other was on the shaft and head. His red raw cock was bent sharply down, with the foreskin drawn back, and her hard plastic heel was cutting into it making it bleed lightly.

Nicola rubbed her wet footsole under, over and around his nose. The smell was overwhelming. He tried to breathe subtly through his nose, but Debbie guessed what he was doing, and took her heel that wasn't in his eye up and over, before pressing it between his lips. David's complaining jaw was stretched wide as the back and heel of this strange girl's shoe invaded his mouth. It fitted in like a cork into a bottle and rapidly put paid to any hopes he'd had of avoiding breathing through his mouth. His tongue was pressed flat against the floor of his mouth by the intruder, and he was forced to taste a strange mix of dirt and grit.

Nicola smiled to see David so completely overpowered. She planted her bare foot on his face, over his nose, and moved her other foot up. Her nimble fingers soon had that boot unzipped, and now she had two hot sweat soaked feet exposed to the air. Nicola kept the foot on his nose quite still. For David this was particularly unpleasant, not only did her foot stink, not only was her acid sweat trickling into his nostrils and down his throat, but the pressure of her foot made it feel as if his nose was about to break.

Smirking with cruel satisfaction, Nicola carefully targetted David's free eye with her other foot. She angled her foot like a ballet dancer, the toes pressing tight together, the nails all in a neat row. She moved her foot closer and closer until she could burrow her big toe into his vulnerable eye socket. David felt burning pain. Her toe nail jabbed at his eyelid, then his eyeball. Sweat ran down burning his eye even more. He screamed feebly around the shoe in his mouth. The pain from his eyes, plus the pain in his stomach and cock all combined to produce an overload of agony. He wanted to die, he wanted it to end, he preyed for mercy, but none came.

It was just five people in a room. There was one man, and four young girls. Pretty girls, happy girls, fun loving girls. They were sitting and chatting, playing and relaxing; chilling out you might say. He was lying naked at their feet. A fancier of the female foot at the feet of four very attractive young girls. He had feet on his face, feet on his body and feet on his cock. It should have been his ultimate wet dream, instead it was a nightmare. It felt like nothing more than hell on earth, and it showed no sign of stopping.
__________________
Extract part eleven

Over the next two days, David swam through a haze of pain and torment. The pain and torment all had the same common cause, heartless girls with dominating feet. Girls came in and out of Lucy's room freely.

Around 6.00pm the next evening, Lucy and Nicola were relaxing, drinking Coke. They had their legs outstretched, heels planted on David's belly. Nicola was on the settee, Lucy the bed. Their wiggly toes were touching and they giggled as the little digits bumped one another.

Suddenly the door burst open and Olivia St Moritz came in. The tall, Swedish blonde stood over 5ft 10, with long blonde hair and flashing blue eyes. She was in great athletic shape, a runner and swimmer she liked to jog or cycle everywhere she went. She burst through the door wearing only a white sports bra and loose grey shorts. She stepped onto David's body, put one foot on his face and stopped still, her head turning from girl to girl, a huge grin on her face. David couldn't believe the sudden agonies he was experiencing. The girl appeared to be a giantess to him. "Hi girls", Olivia began, "you'll never guess what's going on in the pool." Lucy and Nicola leaned forward, raising their eyebrows, "What, what?" they both chorused. "Jamie found some prowler men, and the girls are seeing them off." The two girls who, moments earlier had been sitting down, now sprang to their feet. "Come on then," said Lucy. Moments later all three had left the room.

The three girls sprinted down the corridors to the pool. There were lots of excited shouts and cries. There were also some sounds of panic and distress. Those cries sounded odd, deeper but feeble. The three friends crashed though the door.

The pool was internal, olympic sized, lit by overhead neons. There were twenty or more girls in the water, standing in a circle. Twelve of them held small, struggling, clearly male figures in front of themselves. Each girl had her feet planted firmly on the pool floor. Each had their captive's hands pulled behind his back, gripping them at the wrist. Each girl had her other hand on her captive's throat, gripping it tight. In the middle of this watching circle was Alison Jones. The auburn haired girl, in a one piece swimsuit, had released her captive, a small, puny, largely powerless man, who was floundering in the water. Alison swam teasingly round and round him. "What's the matter little man?" she asked in a mockingly singsong way, "Can't you swim?" She knew full well that he couldn't.

These men, known as prowler men were a failed experiment, an attempt to create a slave race of household men, who somehow managed to retain an attitude of defiance. For over 30 years they had been the subject of a "Find and destroy" order. It was rare indeed to find so many surviving. As they were still under legal penalty of death, the girls were quite correctly doing their public duty in despatching them.

"Shall I help you?" Alison asked teasingly, swimming closer. The man flailed wildly, and tried desparately to get away. Alison moved closer. "Here," she said, grabbing his arm and pulling him toward her, "like this." She put her hands on his small shoulders and pushed downwards. The man screamed briefly, but then his head disappeared below the water. "Is that better?" she said, smiling. The man let air bubble from his lips as he struggled. Alison kept him under a little longer, then let him come to the surface. "You still haven't mastered that have you," she said softly. "I know," she continued, as the man's eye's streamed, and he coughed up water, "This'll help you stay under longer." She swam backwards, dragging the man with her, like an old fashioned lifeguard escorting someone to safety. She approached her friend, Julia. Julia had already dealt with her captive. The tall, beautiful, serene looking afro caribbean girl smiled at her approaching friend. "Can I help?" Julia asked, in resonant tones. "Yes," Alison said, smiling, "lift your foot as I slide him under." Julia grinned, "No problem," she said reassuringly.

Alison swam under the water with her struggling victim, punched him in the head then slid him under her friend's raised foot. She tapped Julia's leg and watched as she pressed her foot down, pinning the man beneath. It amused Alison to see the size difference between her friend and the man she was treading on. Alison put her foot on the man as well, then stood up.

Julia looked at her friend, "He's still struggling," she said, smiling slyly. "Not for much longer," Alison replied; and she was right. Under the water, under the feet of these two women, the prowler man found hisself incapable of escape. His lungs hurt so much it felt like they were being crushed under a ten ton truck. He was pressed firmly to the tiled floor, with the oxygen he needed only a few feet away. He was weak, dizzy, faint. He tried to move, but his limbs wouldn't function. He knew what Alison and Julia knew, it would not be long. Seconds later, he died.
Extract part 12

David was blissfully unaware of the immense cruelties the girls engaged in. He passed the days until the weekend serving as a living rug or hot water bottle. On the night before the party, under the covers of Lucy's bed he lay, paralysed and helpless as she undressed, leaving only panties to cover her modesty. She slipped under the quilt, her long strong legs unfolding, until her cold, cold toes and feet met David's warm little body. The long limbed beauty sighed as her crinkly feet met warm flesh. She rolled onto her back, arching her neck and stretching her arms over her head. "Hmmm," she said, smiling broadly, "that feels so nice!" She giggled. "Just think," she said, prodding David in the chin with her toes, "tomorrow night will be your last night on Earth." She stroked his lips with her toes, then his cheek. "Are you excited? I know I am." David couldn't believe what he was hearing, how could she be so callous?

He lay in the hot darkness, with her feet sliding over his body and preyed for it all to end. Her toes teased his nipples, and David felt lust course through him. He cursed himself for his weakness. Then, remebering what she had just said, he shuddered inside. If what Lucy said was true, it would all end tommorrow night. He started to cry. His tears flowed briefly, but then something changed. Her toes were spread wide, gripping his permanent erection, and there was a new smell in the air, one that was born of highly charged female arousal. Lucy was feeling turned on. Lucy was feeling very turned on. Imagining all the things they were going to do to the poor men, was making her horny. She was laying on her back, caressing her own skin with light teasing strokes.

On some subliminal level, David's body responded. He felt strangely energised and positive. His cock throbbed helplessly. Lucy's feet were wide apart, one was stroking his cock, the other pressing the side of his face, angling left and right, brushing his skin. Her knees were flexing. She now had one hand on her breasts, cupping and stroking, and the other inside her white cotton panties, playing.

Her eyes were closed, as she teased her own nipple, and slid her fingers up and down her vaginal opening, teasing the clitoris before sliding down to collect more moisture from the honeypot. She rubbed softly, at first, then more and more firmly, but always moved with a slow, langorous grace. She began to tremble and shake, then moan low. Her moans and sighs and girlish gasps set off fireworks in David's brain. He had visions of mounting her and fucking her, kissing her lips and spilling his seed deep inside. He tried stupidly to move, then remembered he had no arms, no legs and no freedom to move. Still the mood shook him like a leaf in a tornado.

Lucy frigged herself silly, her hands aroused her breasts and pussy. Her eyes fluttered, her head tossed and turned, her belly contracted. She screamed as she came, in molten floods that consumed her. Her left foot drew back, the leg lifting, then snapped forward. Her heel impacted David's head. It whipped sideways with a crashing pain. She drew her foot back again, paused, then slammed it in again, and again and again. David passed out.

Lucy threw back the quilt and looked down at him. He was still breathing. She shook her head, recovered them and went to sleep, dreaming of tomorrow.
Extract Part 13

At 6.45pm David lay on his back in Lucy's room. He was feeling helpless and a little scared, as Lucy casually rubbed the crinkly soles her little bare feet on his face. The soles of her cool feet were a little grey and dusty, as she had been walking around barefoot most of the day. She was sitting, reading a book, and not really paying attention to what her feet were doing. Consequently, her uncut and somewhat jagged toenails would occasionally catch David's nose, lips, eye or ear. His face had lots of little red nicks and scratches, testament to Lucy's sharp nails. David grimaced in pain each time the cruel girl's nails caught him, but with Lucy's socks balled up and inserted into his mouth he could make no sound. The fluffy pink woollen socks, pink with a white cloud patterning, tasted sour. Aside from stopping him talking, the fluffy socks had soaked up what little saliva he had. They also stopped him breathing through his mouth, so David had been forced to inhale the sour stale sweat smell of his tormentor's feet, hour after hour after hour.

David found Lucy both terrible and lovely. As her tormenting feet roamed across his face, he studied them. He was struck by the interplay of bone, tendon and flesh at her ankle and felt something stirring inside of him, something that flexed and coiled like a serpent in his belly. In many ways he thought the slender girl looked almost frail with her pretty pink feet protruding from the hem of her faded blue jeans, but then her curled over little toe jabbed firmly into the corner of his eye and he remembered all the cruelties she and her kind had done to him over the years. Lucy's nail scraped across his eyeball scratching the fragile surface. David's eye watered and burned. As the nail of her little toe did its damage, the others scratched his eyelid and brow.

At a little after 7.00pm, the door to Lucy's room opened and Jessica and Phillipa came in, manoeuvring a strange looking device. It was a sort of stand on a square base. The thing was on wheels, for manoeuvrability. A single column rose to 8ft from the ground. A cross beam held a variety of straps. David could only watch and experience as he was lifted into place by Jessica and Phillipa, then fastened into the straps by Lucy's deft hands. When the straps were fastened and adjusted Lucy stepped backward, smiling evilly, leaving David suspended at normal height. He saw the world from an upright position for the first time in years. Jessica reached out a hand, grasped David's cock and used it to swing him forward. He winced in pain. The bangles on her wrist clattered together musically. The wicked girl squeezed his shaft, curling her fingers tighter and tighter, feeling the muscles in her forearm flex. The red meat of his shaft swelled near to bursting point and squeezed between the clenching girl fingers that held it. David was in real pain as Jessica continued squeezing harder and harder. Suddenly, with a smile, she let go.

Moments later, as the girls laughed and chatted, David was transported from Lucy's room and along several corridors until he reached the party room. He saw some men arrayed in a line, in recesses in the floor, and others in front of couches. Some were on stands like himself. He was wheeled into one corner and left. He realised that the three men with him all had one thing in common. They all retained artificially enlarged cocks and balls.

Lucy came over, walking slyly, hands behind her back, bare feet moving enticingly. David studied her feet, feet that he lusted after in spite of everything, as she strolled along in front of the suspended men, smiling. She ignored David and went instead to the man at his side. She spoke softly, "Hi Malcolm," Malcolm stared at her fixedly. "I'm barefoot," she said seductively, "look down, I won't mind, can you see?" Her words were a teasing ultimatum. Malcolm just managed to turn his eyes down enough to see her bare feet. "You like my feet don't you?" She wiggled her toes as he looked.

Lucy's lips creased into a tiny self-satisfied smile. "Girl feet turn you on don't they?" Her words were like honey, dripping, yet a little menacing as well, trapping him. Her hand came up and cupped his ballsacs, rolling them in her long fingers. "Don't be afraid," she told the man, almost whispering, "I won't tell anyone if you cum." The man's eyes showed fear. "Come on, cum, cum in my hand, cum on my feet, splash them with juice, I won't mind." The man became extremely agitated. David could sense his agitation. David couldn't understand why Lucy was offering to let the man cum. He wondered why the man seemed so alarmed.

Lucy smiled, as the fingers of her cool hand kept jostling the man's pendulous balls to fill them, while the other stroked his penis lightly. She knew what Malcolm knew. For Malcolm orgasm was not a pleasure. The surgeon who had fixed this man had rewired his orgasm circuitry in his brain. He could get aroused no problem, and his balls produced plenty of sperm, in fact they produced about 100 times the sperm a normal male produces, but at a cost. At the moment of orgasm, his brain produced pain not pleasure. His orgasm was magnified by a factor of 100, and instead of pleasure it was pain.

Lucy was grinning broadly and constantly bouncing his big bulging balls on her cool palm. After five minutes she began circling her hand, caressing the hairy underside of his balls. The man could feel his balls filling obediently in respond to the young tease's touch. "Ooooh," Lucy cooed, "that feels nice. I love to feel your balls get full. I can't wait to get all that cum out." She giggled as the man's face showed conflict. He wanted to cum, his head buzzed, the build up was incredible, but he knew what would happen if he did. Lucy upped the ante. "My little feet need a wash Malcolm. They need a cum bath. I'm gonna rub all that lovely fresh man cream into my soles, and toes, all over in fact. I'll spend the rest of the party with your cum drying between my toes. Does that sound nice?"

She tilted her head coyly to one side and widened her eyes, letting her tone of voice rise on the word nice. At the same time she ran her thumb across the slit in his cock head. Malcolm's eyes closed. Lucy smiled, she knew she had him. She let go his balls and used both hands to pump his enormous organ. "You're close now," she said softly, "I can tell. I always know when a cock is about to give in to me, and this one is ready to blow. Too bad it hurts lickle Malcy," she said in a babyish way, "too bad orgasms are agony. Guess you could just not cum! Hey! Why not try that? Just don't let yourself cum. I'll keep playing, and you just don't cum!" Lucy knew this was impossible. "Try not to picture your cum on my feet," she said wickedly. "I'm gonna have your cock for a hot water bottle after tonight, just imagine that. Your cock and balls warming my feet, isn't that a nice thought."

Lucy smiled. She was remembering how, for the past two weeks, Nicola, Alison and several of the others had been stroking his cock with their feet and then stopping short of him cumming. He'd had girl feet on his cock, on his body and in his face 24 hours a day. Lucy giggled, she'd taken her turn stroking his face as three other girls used bare feet on his chest, belly and oh so needy cock.

"Did you like it when we all stroked you with our feet Malcolm, did it feel nice?" She wanted to torment him into cumming, and she could see it was working. "Can you remember the feel of my feet, the smell of them, the taste? Can you? Can you?" She pumped him firmly and jostled his balls, before stepping back to avoid the flood of cum that shot from his pulsing purple cock head. Jet after jet came out, spraying the air. Malcolm's face was a rictus of agony. He actually writhed despite being paralysed by surgery. Lucy regrasped his cock and milked the remainder of his man milk from his agonised body. Each pump of her slender wrist and hand brought fresh pain. Each tug was like a kick in the guts. She laughed at his pained face, and tugged and tugged and tugged, until Malcolm sagged in his bonds. Then she shook her pretty head and walked away laughing.
Extract part 14

The party room was fitted out with a jukebox, toilets, an adjoining kitchen, two pool tables and a dance floor. Lucy, aided and abetted by Nicola, Alison and several other girls, spent another hour setting up the room, and the men, for the fun and games to come. The dance floor was in a far corner, and the girls installed 6 of the men there. Panels came away to reveal recesses for the men, so they would lie below the floor, with their penises passing through openings. These men could not erect, so their cocks lay flaccid and helpless on the gritty wood.

One of the men, Gordon Mackie, was going insane with fear. His whole life he had been dominated and abused by women, but these college girls were taking it to a whole new level. He was claustrophobic, so the sight of the wooden panel lowering back into place was almost too much to bare. The feeling of having his poor cock exposed to the world, lying like a worm at the feet of cruel, cruel girls was more terrifying even than the claustrophobia. No sooner was the panel in place, than he felt a sharp heel pressing into his shaft, pinning it to the wood and threatening to rip it from his body. Gemma Wainwright, the girl above him, angled her heel back and drove the tip down hard into the thick pink worm below. She had beautiful feet, everyone told her that, and the contrast between her pretty foot, with nicely painted nails, in its elegant high heeled sandal, and the bloated, feeble, vulnerable, pink, red and purple man worm on which she was stepping, was clear. It disgusted her as much as the slugs and worms she stepped on outside. She stepped down hard, seing the worm distend around her wide heel, then twisted her foot, seeing the worm angle off from side to side.

Gemma raised her foot, then stepped down hard with the toe of her shoe on the bloated head of the man worm at her feet. It flattened out, compressed between the hard wood panel and the hard plastic toe of Gemma's sandal. She put more and more weight on her toe, until she could raise her other foot and balance, wobbling for a second, with all her weight on the man's cockhead. She put her raised foot down, and moved her crushing foot back. The cock head was bleeding slightly. Gemma grinned. She raised her crushing foot again, then stamped on his cock again and again and again. "Its a shame," she thought to herself, "that they remove these men's vocal cords as I'd love to hear him scream." As she twisted the toe of his shoe on his shaft, tearing the thin skin, sending fresh agonies rippling through the wasted remnants of Gordon's body she thought "Oh well, can't have everything I suppose."

Time passed, and soon the lighting changed, the music began pumping, and the room filled with girls. There were easily 40 girls there, milling about, laughing and chatting. Beer flowed freely, sandwiches and snacks were consumed and the atmosphere changed. Before, when they were setting up, the room had an air care and efficiency, now it was loose and free and self-indulgent. From his raised viewpoint David saw barefoot girls, girls in trainers, girls in boots and some in spikes. He heard faint moans and groans. By moving his eyes he could just see girls stepping deliberately, wobbling, then stepping on, and he knew they were walking on the men set out for them.

Four men lay in a row in the middle of the room, in recesses. They lay head to head, alligned East/West, and West/East alternately. They faced upwards, staring helplessly at the ceiling, their heads lined up. What remained of their bodies, faced away to either side. Kirsty Lacklan, a 19 year old curly haired redhead, wore a pink strapless top, a white pleated mini and pink rubberised, knee high, flat soled boots. She staggered slightly, spilling a little of her drink as she meandered across the wooden floor.

She joined a queue of chatting, shouting, jostling and laughing girls. Soon she was at the head of the queue, watching the girl in front. The girl in front was incredibly tall. The african american goddess Nadia looked stunning in a assymetrically styled bronze dress that hugged her body and maximised the sexuality of her powerful swimmer's build. Her gold, high heel strappy sandals made her even taller and more intimidating. Nadia walked confidently across the waiting row of male heads. Kirsty watched, in delight as Nadia's right heel impacted the first man's right cheekbone, tearing the skin as it slipped a little, then gripped. Nadia wobbled, chuckling to feel her heel sliding. She steadied herself, corrected her stride, and planted her ridged sole firmly over the first man's eye. Her left foot came up, and for a moment her whole weight rested on her right foot, twisting into the orbit of his eye and tearing the delicate skin. The delirious man on whom she was stepping felt like his eye socket was on fire. Her foot slipped backward as the beautiful girl's weight and centre of balance shifted.

The man discovered new levels of pain under her abusive foot. He would have screamed if he could, but he could do nothing. Her foot left him, lifting mercifully clear as Nadia stepped onto the next man's face. Kirsty looked down at the battered face awaiting her tread and studied the damage her friend's feet had done. She could see the fresh damage from Nadia's ripping heel, and she could see purple bruises from the multitude of shoe soles that had trodden down already.

Kirsty lifted her pretty pink boot, paused, then stepped forward. She tried to do two things with her step. First she wanted to hit the man's nose, and second she wanted to break it. Kirsty felt the man's nose through the thin sole of her soft leather boot, she grinned, knowing she'd found her target. She also felt the cartilage breaking under her firm stamp. The nose collapsed, bending sideways. Kirsty slipped, as she'd known she would, but she just put one foot to the side and regained her balance. She looked ahead, and saw Nadia reach the end of the line. She saw a clear path ahead of her, battered faces awaiting further damage and pain. She saw their black eyes, their broken noses, their disjointed jaws and cheekbones where bones had cracked. It was clear that all the men were in pain. Kirsty strode forward, urged by impatient shouts from behind. She hit the second man's jaw, and felt it give suddenly, then the third man's brow, making him groan, and the fourth man's nose. The man's nose was already a flattened wet pulp, but even so he made a very satisfying sound of pain which was so loud that Kirsty heard it despite the loud music. She stepped onto the normal foor.

After a few more steps she stopped and turned around to watch the procession of following girls. It amused her to see her friends, all looking casual, happy and relaxed walking across the row of suffering faces. She stood to one side and studied the scene. Barefeet where followed by stilletos, then boots. Shapely legs moved, hips swayed, heads stayed high; and all the time, female feet hit male faces. Kirsty was amazed at the continual onslaught, the accumulative damage of girl footsteps. She didn't imagine the men would last long. She smiled and moved on.
Extract part 15

For the first time in 37 years David found himself in the company of other men. Admittedly they were all armless, legless, helpless and vulnerable, but still he took some strange comfort from an awareness of their presence. He had been in a world of women for so long that any memory of men seemed to have vanished from his mind. The room in which he found himself, in which all the men were arrayed, was large with a high ceiling. Disco music pounded out from the speakers, and multicoloured lights set the walls and floor and furniture ablaze.

Girls were everywhere, young girls, attractive girls; in tight tops and microminiskirts. Some wore boots, some wore trainers, some high heeled sandals, and some were barefoot. The room had been modified for these nights. Panels in the floor had been removed, revealing recesses were the mutilated men could lay.

By the couches against the far wall, four men lay with their abdomens closest to the seats, and their heads in the room. Six girls sat on the couches, resting their stilleto heeled feet on the belly's of the prone men. The men's bellys showed deep red scratches and large purple bruises.

The girl on the far right hand end of the couch, Vicky Lynns, was deliberately scraping the steel tip of her 6 inch heel across her man's belly. She couldn't see how the man's face was contorting in agony at every scratching move, not that it would matter. She couldn't see his face because her friend, Clair was standing on his face. Despite being barefoot, Clair was providing the man with fresh agonies. She had her shapely feet side by side, and she hadn't moved for twenty minutes.

The poor man thought his skull was going to collapse under her heavy pressing soles. He found his attention shifting from the feet on his face to the heels on his belly. Not only did he have Vicky's heel on his belly, but her neighbour's too. The girl next to her, Nicola, had the heel of her white boot jabbing deep into the man's side. She had her other leg crossed over this one, bouncing and flexing, and she was twisting and turning both heels. The heel in his side bore into John's flesh like an evil drill. The constant sharp pain was inhuman, he had no way to make it better, or to stop it.

Each man in this row was suffering indescribable agonies. The next man had two girls stood close together on his chest, hugging, kissing and laughing, bouncing playfully on their wickedly clad feet. Their high heels deeply embedded in the man's soft flesh. He knew at least one rib had cracked, and every time the girls moved or bounced his body experienced a fresh wave of nauseating pain. In addition, he had two girls in boots continually kicking his head. They were laughing near hysterically, hitting his head side on, as hard as they could, making it roll side to side, raising bruise after bruise after bruise. The girls, Ashley and Tina were on the college track team, and they played hockey and football for fun. They competed at everything, and headkicking was no exception. Ashley drew her booted foot back, paused, then powered it forward. The man's head lifted from the floor, his neck stretching, then slammed back to Earth. He saw stars. Not to be outdone, Tina deliberately caught his head underneath and when his head lifted even further, she cheered as if she'd just kicked a field goal.

The next man had the sitter's feet on his abdomen, then he had four girls in a row on the rest of his body. The girls stood tight packed, one behind the other. All four had kicked off their shoes, and they had found a way to coordinate their movements so that they would all go up onto tiptoe at exactly the same moment. The man's body was flattening out as their pretty feet destroyed him. Internal organs slid aside, skin stretched to breaking point and ribs cracked helplessly.

The fourth man was no better off. The girl sat on the couch was stamping her booted feet down into his abdomen, sending shockwaves of pain through him. She laughed and drank as she tried harder and harder to stamp his belly flat. Each stamp was like a hammer blow. Two other girls, twins, were taking turns to jump onto his chest. One would leap into the air, bend her knees, then slam her bootsoles down, then step off, before, moments later, her sister would do the same. The man's body and mind were consumed by pain.
Extract Part 16

The last two men were lain on their backs on padded couches. Each lay along the couch so that any girl who wished to do so could sit upon his face, chest or stomach. Bob Willowby and Grant Fornam were each in severe pain. Bob had two girls on him, one sat on his chest, the other stood on his belly. Nikki, the girl on his chest, was tall and full figured. Buildwise, she was on the borderline between being big and being fat. She wore a simple white t-shirt, skintight blue jeans and white Nike trainers. She had long free flowing red hair in chaotic curls. Her denim clad backside wiggled and wriggled warmly on Bob's pained chest.
Bob was aware of severe pressure in his chest. His rib bones ached heavily. He had to struggle for every ragged breath. Nikki had plomped down on his chest, laughing wildly, some twenty minutes earlier, knocking the air from his lungs and leaving him lightheaded. She had swiftly crossed her legs, then begun an animated conversation with her friend Emma.
Emma King was the girl standing on Bob's stomach. The slender blond was beautiful, wicked and playful in equal measure. She wore her long blond hair down, framing an angular face, with perfect symmetry. Her party outfit was simply a black velvet minidress and strappy black heels. She was dancing and swaying on Bobs belly, pressing her toes down hard, shimmying, then lowering her heels. Bob felt like his stomach was being burned. His stomach muscles were well developed after years of abuse, but this was not enough to sustain him through a prolonged attack under the pretty feet and pretty heels of the goddess Emma K. Emma looked down at her living floor, brushing her hair away from her beautiful face with a casual hand. She smiled a broad self satisfied smile.
"How's his face?" Emma asked Nikki, laughing at her own cruelty. Nikki looked at Bob's agony creased face studied it dispassionately a moment and then looked up at her playful friend. "Ugly, as usual," Nikki said laughing. Emma smiled grimly at her friend's joke. "He looks like he's feeling the effects of your little dance." Emma grinned. "Really?" she said, sounding pleased and surprised. "Really," said Nikki. Emma whooped and punched the air delightedly. "Yessss," she said, "I love making 'em squirm." Nikki laughed, "I can tell" and wiggled her ass down hard.
Bob could tell that his stomach muscles were turning to jelly under Emma's cruel shoes. He desparately wanted to cry out, to stand, to move, but he could do none of these things. He knew what Emma knew, what everyone knew, that nothing would stop the pain until Emma decided to stop. Emma reached for Nikki's hand and Nikki grasped her's. Emma leaned backward, using Nikki to stop her falling backward. Nikki shook her head, smiling at her friend's inventiveness and watched as her friend dug her heels into Bob's belly. Emma bent her knees and bounced all her weight on her narrow heel tips. They burrowed into Bob's ever softening flesh. Bob's internal organs were being flattened and rearranged under the merciless attack of the merciless girl.
Bob was consumed by pain. Pulsing waves of pain spread from under Emma's trampling feet, while dull throbbing pain came from Nikki's bottom on his chest. Bob's eyes rolled side to side. They fixed on a girl stood facing away from his head. He fixed on her shiny black hotpants, stretched tight over her full, pert rounded bottom. He realised with mounting terror that the girl was about to sit on his face. She bent her knees and settled swiftly onto his immobilised face. The butt on his face was warm and soft. Her crotch threatened to crack his nose. The booted, hotpants wearing newcomer crossed her legs and began chatting with Nikki.
Extract Part 17

Kirsty strolled around the room, enjoying the destructive, dominant, abusive play of her friends' feet on the helpless men. She wandered back to where the four men were laid in a row so that their upturned faces formed a catwalk for any girl who chose to walk upon them. She gasped when she saw the state of them now. Each man's face was ripped and torn from the multiple spiked heels that had moved across them. Each man's eyes were black, swollen, puffed shut like a boxer who has taken far too much punishment under hard soles, solid heels or bare. Each man's lips were the same. They were torn through in places where casually placed heels had ripped them easily. Each man's nose was a nose no longer. Cartilage had surrendered to sexy smooth shoe soles, skin had torn and flattened. Nothing identifiable as a nose now remained. Kirsty noted the way that the men's blood had dried on their foreheads, faces and necks. Some had run down to pool in the base of the recess into which they had been placed. A delighted and highly aroused Kirsty couldn't even begin to imagine the pain the men had endured.
She stood and looked down at the first man in the row, and wondered if he were still alive or not. She reached out with her booted right foot and lightly kicked the first man's head. No response. She tried again, kicking a little more firmly. Still no response. Of course, it would be difficult to get a response given the state the men were in before things started this evening and the state they were in now. She squatted down and pondered how to know if the men were still alive. "Look at their lips" someone said. Kirsty looked up, "You're trying to decide if they're dead or not aren't you?" Kirsty nodded. "Look at their lips," the girl said again. Kirsty did, and saw the tiniest flicker of movement. She moved around the men until she had checked every man. "They're all still alive," she said sounding genuinely amazed. "That's right," said the newcomer, "but they sure wish they weren't."
The newcomer was Katy Milan, a slim girl, 5ft 5, with black hair in a bob and milk white skin. She wore a white denim jacket, black skintight leggings, black socks and black soccer boot style leather shoes. The shoes were tightly laced to her feet, and they had wedge shaped ridges underneath to give her a grip on the floor. "Watch this!" Katy told her friend. She moved to stand on the floor level just behind the abdomen of the first man. His thick cock was long, but not erect, it lay flat on his stomach pointing neatly toward his face. As all the before girls had concentrated on walking over the men's faces, his cock, like the others in his sorry group, was untouched. Katy stepped firmly onto the man's limp penis. Her heel landed at the base, her toes some two inches from the head. The sorry specimen flattened beneath the girl's hard plastic soles. The soles of her shoe were like a row of knife edges biting into his salami like knob. The sharp edged ridges bit in and down, making the skin white under the pressure. The tortured cock sunk some way into its owners belly, but only some way. He fought to resist his tormentor, tensing his stomach muscles automatically and consequently pushing his cock harder against her cruel shoe sole. His cock ballooned alarmingly. Fresh waves of reviving pain ran through the man's body, bringing him to a level of consciousness he would rather not have.
Incredibly, he breathed through the shattered remnants of his nose, causing a thin flap of skin to oscillate slightly. "Excellent," said Katy, "I was hoping he could do that. I need them to be able to just catch the tiniest breath, and that was perfect." Kirsty watched in puzzlement as Katy moved from man to man. With each one she stepped onto his cock and balanced there, wiggling her hips slightly, but really doing nothing more than crushing his cock until he tried to draw breath. She seemed delighted to find that each could just barely breathe through his nose.
Kirsty was fascinated to see what the girl was doing. Katy went away, and came back with a wooden chair, and a bottle of water. Then she fetched four funnels. She placed one funnel into each man's mouth, wedging them in firmly, rattling them to make sure they would not fall over. She handed Kirsty the bottle of water and then stood with her back to the first man, her right shoe cocked backwards so that the sole was at an angle above and behind his head, toes closest to the opening of the funnel. Turning her head sideways she said to Kirsty "Pour some water on my sole please, so it runs down it and into the funnel." Kirsty giggled, so that was her plan, "Sure" she said smiling.
She squatted down, unscrewed the lid on the bottle and moved her hand across to pour the water on. She noticed dirt, dust, small pebbles and what looked like mud on the slightly scuffed shoe sole. She used her left hand to steady Katy's foot from the ankle and poured some water on. It cascaded pleasingly over the shoe sole and then ran neatly into the man's funnel. Kirsty let if half fill the funnel before she stopped pouring. The water was discoloured by the muck on the bottom of Katy's shoe, looking sort of black/sort of brown. The man made a very strange noise, and a bubble of air broke the surface of the liquid in the funnel. He snorted through his nose, and some of the filthy water flowed down and in. The man coughed and hiccupped strangely. He swallowed some more of the disgusting mixture. Katy put her foot down, turned round and watched, beaming as the man drank the obscene drink.
She moved to the next man, and cocked her left shoe back, the one that hadn't been cleaned yet. Once again, Kirsty was given the wicked task of sluicing this girl's shoe sole with water that would ultimately run down into her victim's mouth. He coughed and gurgled, forced to swallow the foul tasting and badly discoloured liquid. Katy glanced at him, smiled at his discomfort and moved on.
The next man was given a different treat. Katy hovered her sole over the man's face and encouraged Kirsty to pour water over the upper part of her shoe. She angled her foot prettily so the toes were inside the rim of the man's funnel, the heel of her foot raised up and behind. Kirsty trickled water over the top of this girl's grubby, battered shoe. The water ran over and down, all of it dribbling eventually into the funnel inserted into the man's mouth. Soon there was a good level there and the girls moved on. The last guy in the row was treated to the water run off from the top of Katy's other shoe.
"That's so cool," said Kirsty grinning impishly. "Oh, that's just the start of it," Katy replied, "watch this." Kirsty did watch as Katy moved to the head of the queue. The first man had finally managed to swallow all the liquid given to him, forced to get the disgusting soup down out of a genuine fear of drowning. Katy looked down, "Ooohhhh, look," she said mockingly, "the thirsty little fella has drunk all the water I gave him." She smiled evilly, "I guess you were very thirsty ehhh?" she asked mockingly. "Yes, I think you're very thirsty. So you'll be wanting some more." The man shuddered inside. With its strange mix of grit, dust, dirt, mud and other things, the drink he'd just had had been nauseating, he certainly didn't want anymore. Katy removed her right shoe, baring her black nylon sock clad foot. The sock was ribbed, ankle length, and it clung to her foot like a second skin, soaked as it was with sweat. She balanced carefully, and slipped the sweat wet sock from her clammy foot. She raised it to her nose and sniffed delicately. Her face wrinkled up indisgust. "Whoooo, that's a stinker."
She pretended to be having a conversation with the poor man at her feet. "What was that? You don't mind? You like the smell and taste of girl's stinky, sweaty feet?" She shook her head mockingly, "You filthy beast! How can you like that?" She looked to Kirsty. "Did you hear that, he likes stinky sweaty girly feet, how disgusting can you get?" Kirsty chuckled. "I think that's gross!" Katy laughed, "Yeah, I think that's gross too." All the while the poor man lay helplessly waiting for whatever degrading treatment was coming his way.
"Still," said Katy, "if he wants to taste my sweaty socks then I'm not a one to disappoint." With that she shook the sock and opened the neck, then she knelt over the man's head and took the bottle of water. She soaked the sock then wrang it out into the man's funnel. Murky black/brown water filled the funnel. The man coughed and gurgled and made an odd choking noise. He swallowed some of the evil syrup, then coughed again, before swallowing some more. "Enjoy pervy" Katy said, before moving on.
She removed her other sock, applied water, then gave the same treatment to the next guy. All the time his eyes were trying to make contact, trying to implore her to spare him the foul taste and texture. He had come from a place where every day, the girls had made him drink the water and soap suds from bowls after they washed their feet in them. They had threatened again and again to drown him. The idea terrified him. It still terrified him.
Katy watched until his funnel was almost full, then waited to see him start drinking, before moving on with a soft chuckle. She looked down at the remains of the man that lay before her. "I'm very sorry," she began, "but I'm out of socks. Unless Kirsty could help me out." Kirsty grinned, "Sure," she said smiling broadly. Kirsty kicked off her right boot to reveal a little blue ankle sock with fluffy white clouds upon it. Katy stripped the sock from her new friend's foot and sniffed it gingerly, "Whewweee," she said, laughing, "ripe and ready, boy are you in for a treat." The man did not want to have anything to do with Katy's plan or Kirsty's socks, but he could do nothing about it. Katy opened the neck of the sock and poured some water in, letting it soak into the fluffy material, before dripping through the toe end. She sang as she worked.
Kirsty was amazed at the colour of the water. "Drink up thirsty boy," she said mockingly. He did, knowing that it was drink up or drown. Kirsty knew that too and the thought gave her a tingle in her groin. She smiled. Kirsty slipped her bare foot back into its boot and the girls moved on. Now was removing her left boot. This sock looked more worn, dirtier and more sweat damaged. Soon it was off her foot, then it was being sniffed, then soaked. Katy kept the sock at arm's length, grimacing. "That smells terrible," Katy said, chiding her friend playfully. "Sorry," said Kirsty looking for all the world as if she were feeling ashamed. In fact she felt nothing of the sort. She watched, grinning as the man screwed his eyes shut in displeasure as the polluted water that had just washed her filthy sock ran into and down the funnel. She knew he could taste it, and knew it would taste foul. Leaving him to his treat the girls moved to the start of the queue again.
"Look Kirsty," Katy said cheerily, "thirsty boy has done it again. Really he is just so greedy." She shook her head slowly, "I've got a treat for him." Katy took her discarded shoe and held it right way up. She took the water bottle and poured a double portion into the shoes dank, dark, moist, sweat soaked, dirt ingrained, funky, ripped and torn interior. She slooshed the water forward and back, forward and back, picking up traces of dead skin, bits of dirt, bits of torn lining, bits of toe jam, stuff that had once been under her nails, and even bits of insole that had worn away and come free. The once clean, cool refreshing water was now a thick, soupy revolting porridge. With a grin she poured the coagulating nightmare into the man's funnel. Even Kirsty reacted a bit to this. "Errrggghhh, that's disgusting," she said in a heartfelt way. Katy laughed, "Yeah, but, he deserves it." All the time the man was trying against every instinct to force the gloopy stuff down his throat. "Why?" asked Kirsty, genuinely. Katy grinned, "Because he's a man." At that, both girls laughed. "Yeah, I suppose so," said Kirsty grinning.
They moved on. Soon the funnel in the second man's mouth had its share of the revolting mixture. Katy popped her shoe back on, "Mmmm, how refreshing!" she said laughing, delighting in the shoe's now cool interior soothing her hot foot. She moved to the third man, and removed her other shoe. This guy and the man after him were given the same revolting drink. Kirsty looked along the line. The men were making valiant efforts to swallow the thick liquid but to no avail. She heard faint coughs and sounds of distress and guessed they were choking. She smiled, "Hope you enjoyed the party," she told them, "do come again." Then she wandered off to check on any other fun and games.
Extract part 19

In one corner of the room, was the dancefloor. A metallic, gold coloured, strip along the outside edges marked this region off as different from the rest. Mobile spotlights shone down, on diagonal paths, creating dancing patterns of light and shade. A red scanning laser played across the floor, at a level two feet from the ground. Dry ice created a fine mist like effect, which glowed in the light from the spots and the laser. A multicoloured lightball hung from the ceiling, and it was constantly moving and spinning, to create a whirling haze of light. Added to this, disorientating show, there was the pulsing, thumping, driving dance music, and it was no wonder that a crowd of girls was dancing frenziedly upon the floor.
The attractive, intelligent, playful young girls neither knew nor cared about the men's vulnerable penises beneath their feet. Gordon Mackie lay, in complete darkness, immobile and terrified. His head thumped and his ears rang from the constant pounding of the music. The wooden beams and partitions that formed the floor and his prison, carried and magnified the deep base notes. His cock and balls, stretched up and fitted through an opening in the floor panel over him, were battered, flattened, cut and bruised. The careless, thoughtless, heartless feet and shoes of over 100 girls had taken their toll. The fact that the trampling and crushing were so haphazard and unpredictable somehow made the sensation all the worse.
He was aware of a sharp biting sensation in his foreskin. He couldn't see Emma King dancing gaily, the spike heel of her left sandal piercing his stretched and flattened forskin. The skin had torn, leaving a loop of flesh that had now become looped around the cruel goddesses sexy sandal. Emma had her arms raised, and was shimmying her slender hips side to side. She raised and lowered her right foot, but kept her left hard down. She shuffled forward slightly as she danced, pulling on his foreskin and tearing it a little more. Gordon felt new bright pain unlike any he had known. It felt like his foreskin was being sliced by a razor. The skin reddened and tore as Emma worked her beautiful body.
As the track she was dancing to finished and there was a tiny pause in the music, Emma started to walk away. Gordon's torn foreskin was still looped around her sharp heel. The steel rod ripped through the thin piece of skin and left Gordon in excrutiating pain. Paralysed as he was, he couldn't even scream, and with the massive shot of adrenaline the injury caused he was denied the mercy of passing out.
Gordon was pained all over. The sheer amount of abuse his bollocks and cock had suffered had overloaded his system. He was only aware of pain. Sometimes it diminished, if his cock and balls avoided being trodden on for a time, but it would always return harder and stronger as soon as a carelessly placed foot found its mark. Lucy was on the dance floor, just to the side of where Gordon's flattened cock lay. She could see nothing below her calf muscles because of the dry ice and the lighting, but she knew cocks and balls were down there. She travelled slowly across the dancefloor, feeling with her bare feet for the smoothness of human skin, the warmth that would teel her she had found what she was looking for. Her toes nudged one of Gordon's testicles. Lucy smiled.
Inching further, the gorgeous girl carefully felt around with her toes until she could tell exactly how the horrid, pathetic, little appendage was laying. She deliberately put pressure on the hairy round sacs at her feet, trapping them beneath the pads of her pretty toes, and began squashing them over and over and over again. From years of experience she knew exactly how to make the man to whom the wretched things were attached feel the most pain and discomfort. Gordon felt like he was being hit in the stomach with a wrecking ball. Each pulse of pressure under this girl's toes sent a wave of pain and nausea through him. Her little foot, her little toes, her slender ankle, her shapely calf and perfect thigh, all contrived to generate intense pain and suffering. They ruled and dominated his entire existence. Tears ran freely from his eyes, eyes that could see nothing in the confining darkness.
Lucy was happy and contented. She didn't know exactly who she was hurting, but she knew she was hurting him plenty. She continued to work Gordon's bollocks. Every now and then they shifted slightly under her feet and she cursed at having to regather them. She smiled at an image that came into mind. Noting the girls who were dancing around her she scampered from the dance floor, returning moments later with two thumbtacks. She found her way back to her spot and beamed to feel the squashed near to bursting point cock and balls she had been so happily tormenting only moments before. She squatted down and reached for the disgusting hairy orbs. Her small hand found one. She gripped it tight between thumb and forefinger, took a thumbtack and impaled the skin of one sac, forcing the needle tip of the tack down into the dancefloor. Gordon screamed inside. Lucy stretched his other sac aside until she was satisfied, then tacked that one to the floor as well. She stayed squatting down, checking that both tacks were firmly in place, then pressed her thumb down hard into Gordon's left bollock. He was convulsed with pain. Lucy raised her little hand, curled it into a fist, then thumped his left bollock hard, coming very close to exploding it. She stood, placed her heel on the bollock, and began to apply deliberate pressure.
Gordon's eyes bugged in his head like something out of an old cartoon. His face turned bright red as his blood pressure rocketed. His heart raced and his breathing too. His body was alive with pain. The tortured, tormented bollock spread, flattened and bulged, like an overstuffed salami. The skin tightened and stretched, the coils of tissue within screamed their distress into Gordon's already overwrought mind. Lucy concentrated on keeping the bollock under her smooth round heel. It spread like a crushed donut. She kept pressing. The skin tore. Lucy kept pressing. Lucy gritted her teeth and ground her heel down. The bollock burst, suddenly giving up all resistance to the cruel girl's crushing foot. Lucy grinned triumphantly, "Gotcha" she thought delightedly. Gordon could only sob. Lucy squatted down, and with her pretty finger and thumb felt the ruined pulp of his ball, shapeless and flat now like a hamburger. She pulled out the thumb tack, and the one in his other ball. She kept hold of them and stood upright again.
Lucy sought around with her dusty, slightly scratchy toes. She found his other bollock. She grinned, stepping a little closer. She raised her bony heel, estimated where his bollock lay, and stamped her heel down. She hit Gordon's knob, midway along its length. The knob flattened and elongated below her stamping foot. Lucy cursed, stamping again, without aiming, purely out of anger at missing her target. Her heel crushed Gordon's cockhead, bursting it spectacularly. Gordon was consumed by pain. Lucy stamped her way along his distended cock from head to root, flattening it like roadkill under the tyres of a 4X4. Finally she had her right foot across his flattened knob, side up to his remaining ball. She grinned and raised her bare left foot. She knew that all she had to do was bring her heel down, to the side of her right foot and she'd be sure to find her target. She paused a moment, delighting in the power and excitement she felt, then she stamped. Her thigh and calf worked to drive her cocked foot downward. It slammed into Gordon's one remaining ball, pulping and exploding it in one tidy movement.
Gordon slipped into blissful oblivion and Lucy chuckled to herself, before turning to where David and his compatriots still hung. "Now for you," she thought "Now for you!"

[Ste Letto]

Hi Miss Clinton,

you found this story on this very website.

I know, because I wrote it.

I never liked leaving it hanging.

Maybe I'll re read and continue.

Your friend Ste

[wallcrawler]

I knew this looked familiar! :D

Thank you for resposting the masterpiece, miss clinton. And thank you, Ste, for such an enjoyable read. It has your fingerprints all over it, friend.

Great foot torture. I am SO jealous!

wallcrawler

[cicci]

yeah... thank you both.. i remember it from a while ago, and it was great reading it again, even if I.. ahem.. still havent finished it cause.. hmmm..

anyway

thank you Miss Clinton for thinking of us all and reposting it
thanks ste for writing it

[Miss_clinton]

Hi Miss Clinton,

you found this story on this very website.

I know, because I wrote it.

I never liked leaving it hanging.

Maybe I'll re read and continue.

Your friend Ste

You should continue it.. :)

[subshag]

yes please cointinue. Is there a way us lesser mortals can post ideas and great writers like SteLetto pick them up and write?

[Ste Letto]

subshag, Yes, please feel free to post ideas. I might not always use them but they can be useful. If I don't use an idea it simply means I did not get fired up. Wallcrawler posts ideas for me regularly. I've got an idea of his I'm looking at at the moment for Pressmandown. I may not go exactly where he has suggested, but sometimes ideas get me thinking. People posting ideas can inspire me because it means people are enjoying what I am writing.
Early in this story I killed David off. Someone requested I continue the tale.
That is why you get the college girls digging him up and zapping him back to life.
If this one does go on I'll have to do something radical to get it going.

Maybe the party will be interrupted, David will be taken/kidnapped or rescued and we will follow a new line.

I can't see me going too much further with him. Maybe I'll find a way to finish the story. Part of my mind wants to link this story with Pressmandown. I would find that neat.

[Miss_clinton]

What is to stop the girls from getting themselves another man now that David is dead?

My fev. part of the story..

Four men lay in a row in the middle of the room, in recesses. They lay head to head, alligned East/West, and West/East alternately. They faced upwards, staring helplessly at the ceiling, their heads lined up. What remained of their bodies, faced away to either side. Kirsty Lacklan, a 19 year old curly haired redhead, wore a pink strapless top, a white pleated mini and pink rubberised, knee high, flat soled boots. She staggered slightly, spilling a little of her drink as she meandered across the wooden floor.

She joined a queue of chatting, shouting, jostling and laughing girls. Soon she was at the head of the queue, watching the girl in front. The girl in front was incredibly tall. The african american goddess Nadia looked stunning in a assymetrically styled bronze dress that hugged her body and maximised the sexuality of her powerful swimmer's build. Her gold, high heel strappy sandals made her even taller and more intimidating. Nadia walked confidently across the waiting row of male heads. Kirsty watched, in delight as Nadia's right heel impacted the first man's right cheekbone, tearing the skin as it slipped a little, then gripped. Nadia wobbled, chuckling to feel her heel sliding. She steadied herself, corrected her stride, and planted her ridged sole firmly over the first man's eye. Her left foot came up, and for a moment her whole weight rested on her right foot, twisting into the orbit of his eye and tearing the delicate skin. The delirious man on whom she was stepping felt like his eye socket was on fire. Her foot slipped backward as the beautiful girl's weight and centre of balance shifted.

The man discovered new levels of pain under her abusive foot. He would have screamed if he could, but he could do nothing. Her foot left him, lifting mercifully clear as Nadia stepped onto the next man's face. Kirsty looked down at the battered face awaiting her tread and studied the damage her friend's feet had done. She could see the fresh damage from Nadia's ripping heel, and she could see purple bruises from the multitude of shoe soles that had trodden down already.

Kirsty lifted her pretty pink boot, paused, then stepped forward. She tried to do two things with her step. First she wanted to hit the man's nose, and second she wanted to break it. Kirsty felt the man's nose through the thin sole of her soft leather boot, she grinned, knowing she'd found her target. She also felt the cartilage breaking under her firm stamp. The nose collapsed, bending sideways. Kirsty slipped, as she'd known she would, but she just put one foot to the side and regained her balance. She looked ahead, and saw Nadia reach the end of the line. She saw a clear path ahead of her, battered faces awaiting further damage and pain. She saw their black eyes, their broken noses, their disjointed jaws and cheekbones where bones had cracked. It was clear that all the men were in pain. Kirsty strode forward, urged by impatient shouts from behind. She hit the second man's jaw, and felt it give suddenly, then the third man's brow, making him groan, and the fourth man's nose. The man's nose was already a flattened wet pulp, but even so he made a very satisfying sound of pain which was so loud that Kirsty heard it despite the loud music. She stepped onto the normal foor.