Ste Letto
02-02-2003, 6:36 AM
1994 part 4(a)
Maurice was not aware of the fact that he was now to be a permanent feature under this desk. A discrete feeding tube had been inserted, delivering a nutrient solution, and he had been "plumbed in" so that any waste was disposed of cleanly. He was part of the furniture now, never to be spoken to again. Never to come again. He could feel arousal, but the mechanism for ejaculation was surgically destroyed. He would be frustrated for the rest of his life. His position could be altered, so that he lay flat, and his whole body position could move somewhat, so that his face was directly at the operative's feet.
April Levigne was a new member of the admin staff. At 17 she was still a trainee. The pretty, playful, headstrong teen liked to jog and play sports. The petite brunette was only 5ft 2 with a slender body and laughing eyes. She would jog to work.
Maurice was in a strange half awake, half dreaming state when he heard the chair moving backward, and some snatches of conversation. April's supervisor was asking her how it was going, and April was bringing her up to date. Out of his sight, April pressed a button on her desk, making Maurice's body lay flat, and sliding him along a tunnel in the floor. He finished up lying with his head only slightly raised, just below the edge of the desk. He saw a glimpse of a pretty young face, a small girl in a short white skirt, bare legged, wearing white scrunchy socks and battered trainers. Then she sat on the chair, which moved forward. In the semi-darkness Maurice saw the girl raise both feet, showing the scratched, stained, gritty soles of her trainers to his trapped eyes. He realised with horror that those soles were targetting his face. He screamed inwardly as the girl lowered her feet purposefully onto his face. The soles touched down simultaneously. Each heel found his chin. His nose was pressed on painfully. The balls of her feet pressed to his eyes and forehead. Some dust and grit drifted down into his eyes hurting them and making them water. His skull started to protest. The pressure from her shoe soles was like a bad migraine headache, and it was getting worse. His jaw ached, his cheekbones ached and his forehead ached.
April smiled to feel the trapped face under her feet. Those feet and shoes had been pounding the pavement only ten minutes ago. She ran to work every day. The soles of her shoes took a battering, and now this man was being abused by those very soles. April raised her right heel, and twisted her toe on Maurice's head. Due to the limitations of his diet, Maurice's skin had become thin, almost like rice paper. This simple act of twisting her foot tore his skin. He felt a sharp pain, then he became aware of blood seeping from the wound. The tear stung. April lowered her right heel. She deliberately banged her heel to Maurice's lips. The impact banged the inside of his lower lip against the edge of his teeth. He felt his teeth bite into his own flesh. April did it again. The pain grew. His lower lip started to pulse with pain. She did it again and again. His lip was splitting on the inside and the out. The hard edge of the girl's shoe heel was cutting in and down. Maurice's lip began to swell. It became pink, then purple then black.
April raised her right foot about 7 inches, and held it over Maurice's trapped face. She held the sole parallel with the floor. Smiling sweetly, the precocious girl stamped her shoe flat down. Maurice felt as if his head might split open like a pumpkin, or shatter like an egg. While he was coming back to reality, April lifted her left foot overhead, held it there, then it came down, hard. Maurice's vision swam and he felt as if he migh faint. His head hurt more than it ever had before.
As April set to work on her computer, she absent mindedly tortured Maurice's trapped face. After an hour like this, April's feet started to feel hot and uncomfortable. Leaning down, she untied the laces on her left shoe, and prised it off. Her grimy, wet, woollen sole thumped down onto Maurice's bruised and battered face. She removed the right shoe, and the twin of her left foot soon came down as well. Maurice now had two wet, stinky, grimy, fluffy sock clad feet on his bruised and battered face. Her wiggling toes tormented Maurice's eyes, which had ballooned up after the abuse from her trainer clad feet. Her fluffy heels spread his lips, bumping his teeth, making his cut lips complain. The smell was like acid in his nostrils. Maurice could not faint now no matter how much he wanted. He had no option but to sit there and take it.
April decided to make use of her stinky trainers. Humming contentedly, she took the pair and lay them, soles up, over David's face. The human ashtray could do nothing but watch as the smirking tormentress carefully positioned her shoes, one over his eyes, the other over his nose. The smell was rank, sickly, musky and strong. There was an earthy, biscuity quality to it that smelt of decay. He wanted to vomit, but his neutraliser would not allow it. He wanted to shake his head, but he was paralysed. He wanted to beg for mercy but his vocal cords had been cut. All he could do was hang there and take it.
Under April's shapely bottom, with his agonised neck screaming for release and movement, there was John. John was in his forties. He had been one of the first to be taken by the Ladies of Liberation. He had a fear of small, confined spaces, and of suffocation. His captor had read all this during his initiation and consequently chosen this role, that of living chair, as the most fitting. John tried to focus on anything but where he was. Although this was difficult. The change over of girls was hardest. He would grow used to the pressure points on his face beneath one girl's arse, the heat distribution, the weight on his jaw, cheekbones and forehead. The smells. He would get used to the strength and piquancy of each, even their flatulence. In the first year that had been the hardest thing to accept and deal with. Each time his occupant farted he thought he would be sick. With her sitting full weight upon him the smell would go straight in his nostrils, and some would be trapped for hours. Also, a girl would rarely fart just the once. One always became two, or three or four or more. He grew to know each girl's smell. Some liked beans, some chile con carne, some curry. Other's liked plainer foods. Still, during a long shift, he got a taste of each.
April never ate the same thing twice. When she farted it was always a surprise. She had taken to drinking aromatic teas based on elderberry or other fruits. John sensed she was about to fart. He heard a rumble in her guts, and felt her press down more with her right butt cheek. Her left cheek raised fractionally off his face. She juddered strangely, then pushed it out. The cloud of noxious gas was warm and sickly sweet. John knew she'd had a new fruit tea. He shuddered and concentrated on trying to ignore the smell that was invading his helpless nostrils.
Maurice was not aware of the fact that he was now to be a permanent feature under this desk. A discrete feeding tube had been inserted, delivering a nutrient solution, and he had been "plumbed in" so that any waste was disposed of cleanly. He was part of the furniture now, never to be spoken to again. Never to come again. He could feel arousal, but the mechanism for ejaculation was surgically destroyed. He would be frustrated for the rest of his life. His position could be altered, so that he lay flat, and his whole body position could move somewhat, so that his face was directly at the operative's feet.
April Levigne was a new member of the admin staff. At 17 she was still a trainee. The pretty, playful, headstrong teen liked to jog and play sports. The petite brunette was only 5ft 2 with a slender body and laughing eyes. She would jog to work.
Maurice was in a strange half awake, half dreaming state when he heard the chair moving backward, and some snatches of conversation. April's supervisor was asking her how it was going, and April was bringing her up to date. Out of his sight, April pressed a button on her desk, making Maurice's body lay flat, and sliding him along a tunnel in the floor. He finished up lying with his head only slightly raised, just below the edge of the desk. He saw a glimpse of a pretty young face, a small girl in a short white skirt, bare legged, wearing white scrunchy socks and battered trainers. Then she sat on the chair, which moved forward. In the semi-darkness Maurice saw the girl raise both feet, showing the scratched, stained, gritty soles of her trainers to his trapped eyes. He realised with horror that those soles were targetting his face. He screamed inwardly as the girl lowered her feet purposefully onto his face. The soles touched down simultaneously. Each heel found his chin. His nose was pressed on painfully. The balls of her feet pressed to his eyes and forehead. Some dust and grit drifted down into his eyes hurting them and making them water. His skull started to protest. The pressure from her shoe soles was like a bad migraine headache, and it was getting worse. His jaw ached, his cheekbones ached and his forehead ached.
April smiled to feel the trapped face under her feet. Those feet and shoes had been pounding the pavement only ten minutes ago. She ran to work every day. The soles of her shoes took a battering, and now this man was being abused by those very soles. April raised her right heel, and twisted her toe on Maurice's head. Due to the limitations of his diet, Maurice's skin had become thin, almost like rice paper. This simple act of twisting her foot tore his skin. He felt a sharp pain, then he became aware of blood seeping from the wound. The tear stung. April lowered her right heel. She deliberately banged her heel to Maurice's lips. The impact banged the inside of his lower lip against the edge of his teeth. He felt his teeth bite into his own flesh. April did it again. The pain grew. His lower lip started to pulse with pain. She did it again and again. His lip was splitting on the inside and the out. The hard edge of the girl's shoe heel was cutting in and down. Maurice's lip began to swell. It became pink, then purple then black.
April raised her right foot about 7 inches, and held it over Maurice's trapped face. She held the sole parallel with the floor. Smiling sweetly, the precocious girl stamped her shoe flat down. Maurice felt as if his head might split open like a pumpkin, or shatter like an egg. While he was coming back to reality, April lifted her left foot overhead, held it there, then it came down, hard. Maurice's vision swam and he felt as if he migh faint. His head hurt more than it ever had before.
As April set to work on her computer, she absent mindedly tortured Maurice's trapped face. After an hour like this, April's feet started to feel hot and uncomfortable. Leaning down, she untied the laces on her left shoe, and prised it off. Her grimy, wet, woollen sole thumped down onto Maurice's bruised and battered face. She removed the right shoe, and the twin of her left foot soon came down as well. Maurice now had two wet, stinky, grimy, fluffy sock clad feet on his bruised and battered face. Her wiggling toes tormented Maurice's eyes, which had ballooned up after the abuse from her trainer clad feet. Her fluffy heels spread his lips, bumping his teeth, making his cut lips complain. The smell was like acid in his nostrils. Maurice could not faint now no matter how much he wanted. He had no option but to sit there and take it.
April decided to make use of her stinky trainers. Humming contentedly, she took the pair and lay them, soles up, over David's face. The human ashtray could do nothing but watch as the smirking tormentress carefully positioned her shoes, one over his eyes, the other over his nose. The smell was rank, sickly, musky and strong. There was an earthy, biscuity quality to it that smelt of decay. He wanted to vomit, but his neutraliser would not allow it. He wanted to shake his head, but he was paralysed. He wanted to beg for mercy but his vocal cords had been cut. All he could do was hang there and take it.
Under April's shapely bottom, with his agonised neck screaming for release and movement, there was John. John was in his forties. He had been one of the first to be taken by the Ladies of Liberation. He had a fear of small, confined spaces, and of suffocation. His captor had read all this during his initiation and consequently chosen this role, that of living chair, as the most fitting. John tried to focus on anything but where he was. Although this was difficult. The change over of girls was hardest. He would grow used to the pressure points on his face beneath one girl's arse, the heat distribution, the weight on his jaw, cheekbones and forehead. The smells. He would get used to the strength and piquancy of each, even their flatulence. In the first year that had been the hardest thing to accept and deal with. Each time his occupant farted he thought he would be sick. With her sitting full weight upon him the smell would go straight in his nostrils, and some would be trapped for hours. Also, a girl would rarely fart just the once. One always became two, or three or four or more. He grew to know each girl's smell. Some liked beans, some chile con carne, some curry. Other's liked plainer foods. Still, during a long shift, he got a taste of each.
April never ate the same thing twice. When she farted it was always a surprise. She had taken to drinking aromatic teas based on elderberry or other fruits. John sensed she was about to fart. He heard a rumble in her guts, and felt her press down more with her right butt cheek. Her left cheek raised fractionally off his face. She juddered strangely, then pushed it out. The cloud of noxious gas was warm and sickly sweet. John knew she'd had a new fruit tea. He shuddered and concentrated on trying to ignore the smell that was invading his helpless nostrils.