rugman
02-23-2003, 11:54 AM
Good, clean fun!
Okay folks, time to dig out your kenrug voodoo dolls; you’ll hate me seriously after this one…
Ms Sara, as you may know, is a lady who is meticulous regarding personal attention. However, what you may not know is that I’m frequently required (yeah, I object sooo much) to assist her in her endeavors. A few days ago I was, once again, called upon (lots of “upon” situations between me and Ms Sara!) to provide my meager services.
It was shower time, and I was called to the bathroom. “You go in first, ken,” Ms Sara instructed. I hurriedly disrobed and walked into the shower. I set the shower temperature (quite a bit hotter than I personally prefer, the first of many levels of discomfort to which I would soon be exposed).
Ms Sara then removed her own clothes and stepped in to join me. She looked at me, cocked her head to the side a bit and said, “what are you doing standing up?” I, growing quite a bit excited, smiled in anticipation and took my proper place on the floor of the shower, facing up. Ms Sara smiled kindly down at me and casually strode up onto my naked body, treading my groin in her first, thoughtless step.
I grimaced at the unexpended opening shot, but steadied myself quickly, ready for her next footfall. The water from the shower was spraying down into my face, making it hard to see, and even harder to breathe. To that discomfort, Ms Sara added her pretty weight on my chest. The sultry atmosphere closed down on me like a vice, restricting all my increasingly-desperate attempts to simply breathe.
Ms Sara’s feet trod me in perfect balance as she reached for the soap and began to lather up. The soap bubbles ran down her beautiful form, past her neck, down across her breasts, along her midriff, down across her nether regions, farther down her legs, then across her lovely feet. The bubbles then spread out across my chest. As I tried to look up at her, admiring her through the haze, splashed soap, water steam, I remembered anew how fortunate I am.
I also remembered that I was lying on top of the shower drain. The water level was increasing, and we have a 4-inch sill in our shower.
“Uh oh,” said Ms Sara. “I’ve got to go.”
Somewhat confused, I looked up to her face said asked, “What do you mean?” She smiled down at me and said, “you know what I mean, silly.”
“Oh sh*t,” was my only response. I know that Ms Sara is quite a bit more “dark” in her interest in kinky, nasty behavior than am I. It’s one of those understood hazards of my life with her. But I really wasn’t in much of a position to object, lying on my back, under her feet, being used (literally) as her shower mat. I resigned myself to the coming indignity as she raised her right foot and set it on the integral seat in our shower.
I closed my eyes and waited for the new shower to begin. I heard Ms Sara giggling after a few seconds and knew it was imminent. Hard, warm rain splattered on my chest as Ms Sara began to openly laugh. I felt her weight shift, and with it the splattering. Up along my neck the hard splashing torrent moved. Then on my chin. All over my tightly-clamped mouth. Finally rushing down onto my closed eyes.
‘Round and ‘round my face, to the sound of my love’s laughter. She really gets into this, which alarms me. There’s a streak in Ms Sara, a broad and deep streak containing her need to humiliate me in various ways. We have a loving, mutually-respectful vanilla life, but when she gets into this mood I can expect to be carried along her dark river of intense contempt, and I never know where I’ll end up. Shipwrecked, no doubt.
As I struggle to breathe without accepting her “gift,” the hard rain continues well beyond my ability to hold my breath or filter air to fill my screaming lungs. To my shame and bitter distaste I can’t help but ingest a small portion of her golden scorn. Her left foot holds me down like a pin through a dissected frog, compelling my service.
To my irritation, my “physical reaction” waves like a lunatic flagpole, which Ms Sara notices, inciting peals of disdainful laughter. “See! You do like it!” she mockingly says, her words hitting my ears with more force than her “gift.”
“No,” I object. “I can’t help what it reacts to.” She, of course, just smiles smugly and rams her right foot down onto my face, crushing my nose. “Uh huh. Right ken.” And she simply proceeds with her shower as I gasp for breath from under her foot, looking ridiculous as I contort my mouth to suck air.
The water accumulating in the shower lapped at my sides as the level rose. Unexpectedly, Ms Sara stepped off and kicked me lightly in the side. “Roll over,” was all she said.
I knew what was coming. Been there, done that, got the snow globe. I was beginning to worry because I wasn’t finished catching my breath from the previous entertainment to which I’d been subjected. But obediently I rolled over and prepared myself for what I knew was coming next.
In this position I was fairly uncomfortable. Our shower is pretty large, but I still had to twist my legs up to lay flat on the shower floor. Without preamble she stepped up onto my back as I held my face out of the deepening water. I began to think that the point for her was no longer showering. Torture was on her mind and I was the fool lying naked under her feet… target of opportunity, I think it’s called.
I could feel her feet moving over my back. She took a few minutes crushing my rear, playfully stomping me. Her feet walked up my back, treading with the confidence and casualness borne of years of practice. Step, step, step. And she was standing on my shoulders. Then her foot came down on the back of my head.
I resisted, not wanting my face in that questionable water. She was not to be denied, however, and she increased the pressure. My neck strained under her insistence. Then I heard her frightening giggling again. She was enjoying my hopeless resistance, reveling in her imminent victory.
My face was forced to the water. Then under. My nose crushed against the submerged shower floor. My lungs quietly reminded me that it was time to breathe. I wisely disagreed. The argument became heated as Ms Sara trampled me thoroughly down into the murky water. I could hear her giggles as she crushed me down unmercifully. She enjoyed my increasing struggles of desperation. I fearfully imagined that she was enjoying it in a deeply “personal” way, and that I may be condemned to serve her need until the need passed.
My own body worked against me as it stopped up the drain, unable to move while ground under Ms Sara’s careless feet. The gritty no-skid surface of the shower floor conspired to deprive me of all routes to salvation.
I could hear Ms Sara above me, no longer giggling, but moaning. It seemed to last forever, but finally she lifted her foot from my head. I yanked my face from the water and gaped like a beached fish, sucking air into my still-compressed lungs.
Suddenly I felt her left foot leave my back, and arrive on the back of my head.
FEAR!
She pushed down on my head again. But then she stopped.
“Just kidding, ken,” was all she said.
I lay there under her feet, being walked over again and again as she finished with her shower, shampooing her golden hair.
When she was done she simply opened the shower door and walked off me, leaving me there like the used shower mat I was. The door slit shut and I got up, looking forward to my own chance to clean up.
Of course, that was the final degradation. She’d used all the hot water.
Ken
Update: oh for chrissakes. Ms Sara read this. She was inspired by it. She wants to shower. Wish me luck!
Okay folks, time to dig out your kenrug voodoo dolls; you’ll hate me seriously after this one…
Ms Sara, as you may know, is a lady who is meticulous regarding personal attention. However, what you may not know is that I’m frequently required (yeah, I object sooo much) to assist her in her endeavors. A few days ago I was, once again, called upon (lots of “upon” situations between me and Ms Sara!) to provide my meager services.
It was shower time, and I was called to the bathroom. “You go in first, ken,” Ms Sara instructed. I hurriedly disrobed and walked into the shower. I set the shower temperature (quite a bit hotter than I personally prefer, the first of many levels of discomfort to which I would soon be exposed).
Ms Sara then removed her own clothes and stepped in to join me. She looked at me, cocked her head to the side a bit and said, “what are you doing standing up?” I, growing quite a bit excited, smiled in anticipation and took my proper place on the floor of the shower, facing up. Ms Sara smiled kindly down at me and casually strode up onto my naked body, treading my groin in her first, thoughtless step.
I grimaced at the unexpended opening shot, but steadied myself quickly, ready for her next footfall. The water from the shower was spraying down into my face, making it hard to see, and even harder to breathe. To that discomfort, Ms Sara added her pretty weight on my chest. The sultry atmosphere closed down on me like a vice, restricting all my increasingly-desperate attempts to simply breathe.
Ms Sara’s feet trod me in perfect balance as she reached for the soap and began to lather up. The soap bubbles ran down her beautiful form, past her neck, down across her breasts, along her midriff, down across her nether regions, farther down her legs, then across her lovely feet. The bubbles then spread out across my chest. As I tried to look up at her, admiring her through the haze, splashed soap, water steam, I remembered anew how fortunate I am.
I also remembered that I was lying on top of the shower drain. The water level was increasing, and we have a 4-inch sill in our shower.
“Uh oh,” said Ms Sara. “I’ve got to go.”
Somewhat confused, I looked up to her face said asked, “What do you mean?” She smiled down at me and said, “you know what I mean, silly.”
“Oh sh*t,” was my only response. I know that Ms Sara is quite a bit more “dark” in her interest in kinky, nasty behavior than am I. It’s one of those understood hazards of my life with her. But I really wasn’t in much of a position to object, lying on my back, under her feet, being used (literally) as her shower mat. I resigned myself to the coming indignity as she raised her right foot and set it on the integral seat in our shower.
I closed my eyes and waited for the new shower to begin. I heard Ms Sara giggling after a few seconds and knew it was imminent. Hard, warm rain splattered on my chest as Ms Sara began to openly laugh. I felt her weight shift, and with it the splattering. Up along my neck the hard splashing torrent moved. Then on my chin. All over my tightly-clamped mouth. Finally rushing down onto my closed eyes.
‘Round and ‘round my face, to the sound of my love’s laughter. She really gets into this, which alarms me. There’s a streak in Ms Sara, a broad and deep streak containing her need to humiliate me in various ways. We have a loving, mutually-respectful vanilla life, but when she gets into this mood I can expect to be carried along her dark river of intense contempt, and I never know where I’ll end up. Shipwrecked, no doubt.
As I struggle to breathe without accepting her “gift,” the hard rain continues well beyond my ability to hold my breath or filter air to fill my screaming lungs. To my shame and bitter distaste I can’t help but ingest a small portion of her golden scorn. Her left foot holds me down like a pin through a dissected frog, compelling my service.
To my irritation, my “physical reaction” waves like a lunatic flagpole, which Ms Sara notices, inciting peals of disdainful laughter. “See! You do like it!” she mockingly says, her words hitting my ears with more force than her “gift.”
“No,” I object. “I can’t help what it reacts to.” She, of course, just smiles smugly and rams her right foot down onto my face, crushing my nose. “Uh huh. Right ken.” And she simply proceeds with her shower as I gasp for breath from under her foot, looking ridiculous as I contort my mouth to suck air.
The water accumulating in the shower lapped at my sides as the level rose. Unexpectedly, Ms Sara stepped off and kicked me lightly in the side. “Roll over,” was all she said.
I knew what was coming. Been there, done that, got the snow globe. I was beginning to worry because I wasn’t finished catching my breath from the previous entertainment to which I’d been subjected. But obediently I rolled over and prepared myself for what I knew was coming next.
In this position I was fairly uncomfortable. Our shower is pretty large, but I still had to twist my legs up to lay flat on the shower floor. Without preamble she stepped up onto my back as I held my face out of the deepening water. I began to think that the point for her was no longer showering. Torture was on her mind and I was the fool lying naked under her feet… target of opportunity, I think it’s called.
I could feel her feet moving over my back. She took a few minutes crushing my rear, playfully stomping me. Her feet walked up my back, treading with the confidence and casualness borne of years of practice. Step, step, step. And she was standing on my shoulders. Then her foot came down on the back of my head.
I resisted, not wanting my face in that questionable water. She was not to be denied, however, and she increased the pressure. My neck strained under her insistence. Then I heard her frightening giggling again. She was enjoying my hopeless resistance, reveling in her imminent victory.
My face was forced to the water. Then under. My nose crushed against the submerged shower floor. My lungs quietly reminded me that it was time to breathe. I wisely disagreed. The argument became heated as Ms Sara trampled me thoroughly down into the murky water. I could hear her giggles as she crushed me down unmercifully. She enjoyed my increasing struggles of desperation. I fearfully imagined that she was enjoying it in a deeply “personal” way, and that I may be condemned to serve her need until the need passed.
My own body worked against me as it stopped up the drain, unable to move while ground under Ms Sara’s careless feet. The gritty no-skid surface of the shower floor conspired to deprive me of all routes to salvation.
I could hear Ms Sara above me, no longer giggling, but moaning. It seemed to last forever, but finally she lifted her foot from my head. I yanked my face from the water and gaped like a beached fish, sucking air into my still-compressed lungs.
Suddenly I felt her left foot leave my back, and arrive on the back of my head.
FEAR!
She pushed down on my head again. But then she stopped.
“Just kidding, ken,” was all she said.
I lay there under her feet, being walked over again and again as she finished with her shower, shampooing her golden hair.
When she was done she simply opened the shower door and walked off me, leaving me there like the used shower mat I was. The door slit shut and I got up, looking forward to my own chance to clean up.
Of course, that was the final degradation. She’d used all the hot water.
Ken
Update: oh for chrissakes. Ms Sara read this. She was inspired by it. She wants to shower. Wish me luck!