Lone Stranger
01-10-2003, 7:24 PM
Support 10
After creating this pit for myself I became even more detached from the people above me. I said before the girls treated me more and more like just an object, a rug to walk and stand on... nothing more. But, I began to feel more distant as well. It's like I was in a different world from them. I could hear people talking above me, but I didn't hear what they said. I ignored it all as one ignores the background noise of a busy mall. It was not a part of my world.
My world was one of flying heels and a foot about to come crashing down on my face. Most of the time I couldn't see anything, as there was usually a foot on my face covering my eyes. When I could see it was the sight up someone's skirt. It was long nylon-covered legs capped by a panty covered butt or pouting pussy lips. Or maybe pantyhose covered twin towers extending up and up until eventually they disappeared into a tight ass crack. Or maybe it was the silky smoothness of a nylon-covered foot as it worked its way in and out of my mouth. Everything I sensed was different. I had the smell of shoe leather and damp perspiring female feet. I tasted hard soles or the salty flavor of damp perspiration soaked nylons covering warm, soft feet. My sense of sight would come and go or flash and flicker as someone's feet moved about on my face. Sometimes I would stare a long time up some skirt or other. Most of the time I couldn't see at all as someone stood directly in the center of me face with both feet covering my eyes. The sense of taste and smell would wane to near obscurity as someone stood with their hard flat sole covering my mouth and nose or suddenly flare to glaring reality as an aromatic nylon foot was ground into my face or pushed into my mouth. But through it all one sense remained ever present... pain.
I may not be able to see or even smell the foot grinding away on the top of my face, but I could always feel it! I could feel everything that happened all the time. I usually couldn't see the woman standing with her sharp heels crushing my balls, but you can believe I could feel it. I could feel everything. Every slight shifting of weight or crashing foot landing in my stomach, or crunching my manhood into mush... everything! Sometimes it was the insidious non-ending pressure of a foot forever pressing into your face and sometimes it was the sudden mind-numbing pain of a spike heel being driven into your flesh. Even during those rare times when no one is standing on me, my whole body is throbbing in a burning pain. It not that I like the pain... I certainly don't. But, if you are going to do this kind of work, you better learn how to deal with it. I have learned how to deal with it. I always feel it, but I have learned how to accept the pain as part of "the-way-it-is". If you can't do that you will very shortly go mad. I take pride in the realization that there aren't very many people who could do what I do.
So we were in two different worlds. The girls were doing their girl thing, whatever that is, and me doing my thing. My job was to take whatever they dished out without complaint and, as much as possible, without their notice. As you can guess, I had the harder job. The more we separated the more the girls would treat me with total abandon of the consequences their actions had on me; like the day that Ginger was standing on my face with both of her feet in her favorite sling-back pumps, listening to the radio. She was swaying around and moving with the music, which was enough of a problem for me, when suddenly she broke out and started doing the "twist"... right on my face! The bones in my nose were breaking and the cartilage was crunching and still she danced on till the end of the song. Then without even so much as a "by your leave" resumed her standing on my ruined and bleeding face.
Actions like these were slowing transforming me. I was becoming flatter! My nose, hopelessly broken and pressed into my face, was permanently laying flat in the center of my face. The teeth in the front part of my mouth were, one by one, accidentally stepped on in such a way that they were knocked out. Of course most of the girls liked this better. They could soak their tired feet in my soft, warm mouth without fear of catching or tearing their nylons. My head was actually becoming flatter... like a tire with too little air. At one point I had to remake my urethane body mold to accommodate my flatter features. My face, and indeed my whole body, was becoming easier and easier to stand on. My stomach had become flatter and much harder. I had lost some weight. Partly because I didn't eat lunch any more (occasionally, Carol would put a slice of bread or two in her shoes in the morning and then feed me the damp doughy meal from her shoes as a mid day pick-me-up) and partly because of the constant exercise of drawing my muscles and holding them taut to help support the woman walking on me above.
Sometimes the girls were concerned that my presence would cause them some trouble... like when the regional manager visited the store. Usually they had advance warnings of her visits. When she was coming they would have me stay home that day and cover my pit with a special wooden cover I made to fit right to my urethane mold. The regional manager always made a point to visit each of the workstations whenever she came. She felt this was a more personal approach and it gave her a chance to evaluate each of the girls in a more relaxed environment. The regional manager, they told me, is a no non-sense kind of manager and they were certain she would not understand the advantages of having a human rug underfoot. They didn't want to have to explain me.
This situation worked fairly well until one day the regional manager, Caroline, showed up unannounced! She walked right into the store and out onto the floor visiting the girls at their workstations before anyone even knew she was there.
Carol got the word just a moment before she saw Caroline approaching. She pretty near panicked. She didn't know what to do. Carol tried to intercept her before she got to Carol's workstation in the hopes that she could steer her clear of me lying in my mold. But, Caroline just walked around her and headed directly for me! All Carol's blocking movement did was guarantee that Caroline would step directly on my face instead of any of the other places she may have ended up.
I too was scared to death. I knew I couldn't let her know I was there. I'd have to be totally quiet. As I saw her approach my fear mounted... she was an Amazon!
She had to be at least 6 feet tall! She must like to tower over people because in spite of her towering height, she was wearing classic black pumps with 4" stiletto spike heels!! She had to be heavier than any of the other girls. She wasn't at all fat. In fact I don't think there was an ounce of fat on her whole body. She was solid as a rock (a mountain would be more like it). She had an attractive face with swirling blonde hair. She had full large breasts and a flat hard stomach perched on a tight full ass... and the longest legs I have ever seen! She must have lifted weights everyday or spent hours on the Stair Master. She wore sheer black nylons disappearing under a swirling black skirt topped by a crisp white blouse. The thought of all that woman heading directly towards my face with those scary stilettos scared me to death.
Before I knew it her spike heel tore into my cheek as her considerable weight transferred hard onto my face. It took all of my resolve not to cry out as she mounted my face with both feet and then twisted around on it till she was facing my feet, crushing my nose in the process. She came to rest with her towering sharp heels digging into my forehead as her soles mashed down my mouth and chin. Her right sole was planted directly on my flattened nose. She wobbled and twisted on this foot a bit to get a comfortable footing. I thought my head would pop like a grape from the pressure. The spike heels digging into my forehead threatened to break through by skull.
Carol quickly stepped close to her on my chest to block Caroline's view of the rest of my body. The only way Caroline could see me would be if she were to look directly down. Even then with her considerable feet covering my entire face, she might not see anything. If I could just manage not to give anything away...
The two women began conversing, just small talk, nothing important, as I suffered beneath their feet. I could feel Caroline's every shift of her weight as she nonchalantly stood on my face. Occasionally she would shift her feet around a little on my crushed face. Once she even reared back one her one heel and casually twisted it into my forehead as she talked. It seemed like an eternity with her standing on my sore face. I thought I was going to go mad. Finally after 20 minutes or so she twisted smartly on my face and stepped off to another part of the store.
We had gotten away with it... she never knew she was standing on a human face. But my face knew it. It was always a little bit flatter after that. And the indentations in my forehead from her deadly heels remain yet today.
....To be continued.
After creating this pit for myself I became even more detached from the people above me. I said before the girls treated me more and more like just an object, a rug to walk and stand on... nothing more. But, I began to feel more distant as well. It's like I was in a different world from them. I could hear people talking above me, but I didn't hear what they said. I ignored it all as one ignores the background noise of a busy mall. It was not a part of my world.
My world was one of flying heels and a foot about to come crashing down on my face. Most of the time I couldn't see anything, as there was usually a foot on my face covering my eyes. When I could see it was the sight up someone's skirt. It was long nylon-covered legs capped by a panty covered butt or pouting pussy lips. Or maybe pantyhose covered twin towers extending up and up until eventually they disappeared into a tight ass crack. Or maybe it was the silky smoothness of a nylon-covered foot as it worked its way in and out of my mouth. Everything I sensed was different. I had the smell of shoe leather and damp perspiring female feet. I tasted hard soles or the salty flavor of damp perspiration soaked nylons covering warm, soft feet. My sense of sight would come and go or flash and flicker as someone's feet moved about on my face. Sometimes I would stare a long time up some skirt or other. Most of the time I couldn't see at all as someone stood directly in the center of me face with both feet covering my eyes. The sense of taste and smell would wane to near obscurity as someone stood with their hard flat sole covering my mouth and nose or suddenly flare to glaring reality as an aromatic nylon foot was ground into my face or pushed into my mouth. But through it all one sense remained ever present... pain.
I may not be able to see or even smell the foot grinding away on the top of my face, but I could always feel it! I could feel everything that happened all the time. I usually couldn't see the woman standing with her sharp heels crushing my balls, but you can believe I could feel it. I could feel everything. Every slight shifting of weight or crashing foot landing in my stomach, or crunching my manhood into mush... everything! Sometimes it was the insidious non-ending pressure of a foot forever pressing into your face and sometimes it was the sudden mind-numbing pain of a spike heel being driven into your flesh. Even during those rare times when no one is standing on me, my whole body is throbbing in a burning pain. It not that I like the pain... I certainly don't. But, if you are going to do this kind of work, you better learn how to deal with it. I have learned how to deal with it. I always feel it, but I have learned how to accept the pain as part of "the-way-it-is". If you can't do that you will very shortly go mad. I take pride in the realization that there aren't very many people who could do what I do.
So we were in two different worlds. The girls were doing their girl thing, whatever that is, and me doing my thing. My job was to take whatever they dished out without complaint and, as much as possible, without their notice. As you can guess, I had the harder job. The more we separated the more the girls would treat me with total abandon of the consequences their actions had on me; like the day that Ginger was standing on my face with both of her feet in her favorite sling-back pumps, listening to the radio. She was swaying around and moving with the music, which was enough of a problem for me, when suddenly she broke out and started doing the "twist"... right on my face! The bones in my nose were breaking and the cartilage was crunching and still she danced on till the end of the song. Then without even so much as a "by your leave" resumed her standing on my ruined and bleeding face.
Actions like these were slowing transforming me. I was becoming flatter! My nose, hopelessly broken and pressed into my face, was permanently laying flat in the center of my face. The teeth in the front part of my mouth were, one by one, accidentally stepped on in such a way that they were knocked out. Of course most of the girls liked this better. They could soak their tired feet in my soft, warm mouth without fear of catching or tearing their nylons. My head was actually becoming flatter... like a tire with too little air. At one point I had to remake my urethane body mold to accommodate my flatter features. My face, and indeed my whole body, was becoming easier and easier to stand on. My stomach had become flatter and much harder. I had lost some weight. Partly because I didn't eat lunch any more (occasionally, Carol would put a slice of bread or two in her shoes in the morning and then feed me the damp doughy meal from her shoes as a mid day pick-me-up) and partly because of the constant exercise of drawing my muscles and holding them taut to help support the woman walking on me above.
Sometimes the girls were concerned that my presence would cause them some trouble... like when the regional manager visited the store. Usually they had advance warnings of her visits. When she was coming they would have me stay home that day and cover my pit with a special wooden cover I made to fit right to my urethane mold. The regional manager always made a point to visit each of the workstations whenever she came. She felt this was a more personal approach and it gave her a chance to evaluate each of the girls in a more relaxed environment. The regional manager, they told me, is a no non-sense kind of manager and they were certain she would not understand the advantages of having a human rug underfoot. They didn't want to have to explain me.
This situation worked fairly well until one day the regional manager, Caroline, showed up unannounced! She walked right into the store and out onto the floor visiting the girls at their workstations before anyone even knew she was there.
Carol got the word just a moment before she saw Caroline approaching. She pretty near panicked. She didn't know what to do. Carol tried to intercept her before she got to Carol's workstation in the hopes that she could steer her clear of me lying in my mold. But, Caroline just walked around her and headed directly for me! All Carol's blocking movement did was guarantee that Caroline would step directly on my face instead of any of the other places she may have ended up.
I too was scared to death. I knew I couldn't let her know I was there. I'd have to be totally quiet. As I saw her approach my fear mounted... she was an Amazon!
She had to be at least 6 feet tall! She must like to tower over people because in spite of her towering height, she was wearing classic black pumps with 4" stiletto spike heels!! She had to be heavier than any of the other girls. She wasn't at all fat. In fact I don't think there was an ounce of fat on her whole body. She was solid as a rock (a mountain would be more like it). She had an attractive face with swirling blonde hair. She had full large breasts and a flat hard stomach perched on a tight full ass... and the longest legs I have ever seen! She must have lifted weights everyday or spent hours on the Stair Master. She wore sheer black nylons disappearing under a swirling black skirt topped by a crisp white blouse. The thought of all that woman heading directly towards my face with those scary stilettos scared me to death.
Before I knew it her spike heel tore into my cheek as her considerable weight transferred hard onto my face. It took all of my resolve not to cry out as she mounted my face with both feet and then twisted around on it till she was facing my feet, crushing my nose in the process. She came to rest with her towering sharp heels digging into my forehead as her soles mashed down my mouth and chin. Her right sole was planted directly on my flattened nose. She wobbled and twisted on this foot a bit to get a comfortable footing. I thought my head would pop like a grape from the pressure. The spike heels digging into my forehead threatened to break through by skull.
Carol quickly stepped close to her on my chest to block Caroline's view of the rest of my body. The only way Caroline could see me would be if she were to look directly down. Even then with her considerable feet covering my entire face, she might not see anything. If I could just manage not to give anything away...
The two women began conversing, just small talk, nothing important, as I suffered beneath their feet. I could feel Caroline's every shift of her weight as she nonchalantly stood on my face. Occasionally she would shift her feet around a little on my crushed face. Once she even reared back one her one heel and casually twisted it into my forehead as she talked. It seemed like an eternity with her standing on my sore face. I thought I was going to go mad. Finally after 20 minutes or so she twisted smartly on my face and stepped off to another part of the store.
We had gotten away with it... she never knew she was standing on a human face. But my face knew it. It was always a little bit flatter after that. And the indentations in my forehead from her deadly heels remain yet today.
....To be continued.