Traffic Stop -- AAJones

[DeathXI]

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[DeathXI]

Prologue
“The decoding of the human genome was recently heralded as the culmination of the
greatest medical search of the twentieth century. But, what we see as a crowning
achievement, history will record as only a tiny spark, when compared to the size of the
forest fire it ignites. The next ten years will see a geometric explosion in genetic
knowledge and resulting world changes that cannot even be imagined today, and for
which the world is completely unprepared. Choosing a child’s (or even altering an
adult’s) intellect, strength, beauty and longevity will be commonplace. Public policy that
today seeks to restrict genetic endeavor will evaporate completely in the face of the
medical miracles and improvements to whole populations achieved by the countries that
undertake them. No government will be able to afford to restrict genetic enhancement
because to do so will make its population noncompetitive – even primitive -- compared to
the far more intelligent, healthier, more robust populations of participatory countries.
The result of the coming ‘eugenics race’ will be a world population of “super humans,”
each individual having most or all of the attributes of the most extreme members of
today’s society. The genetically enhanced humans of tomorrow will possess the sevenfoot
height of the tallest basketball players, but with the pure skin and perfect beauty of
the Nordics; they will have the intelligence of Einsteins, and the muscularity of
Schwartzneggers – literally!
This is absolutely the future and it is inevitable. The challenge of genetic advance is,
therefore, not to avoid or restrict it, but to proceed with measured care, making eugenics
available equally to all populations. The rush to knowledge, if done haphazardly, or
competitively, could result in minimizing the dangers of the ‘dark side’ of genetic
alteration; side effects that appear over time and become more pronounced with each
subsequent alteration.
If science does not proceed with restraint and balance; if we continue as we are, to rush
forward without any social safeguards; the spoils of genetic advantage will belong only
to the populations whose genes invite the easiest enhancement, leaving others behind.
Certain races, ethnic groups, even one of the sexes may find itself “favored” for genetic
enhancement, having few, if any, obstacles to rapid improvement. Research will
naturally concentrate on this group and will elevate them to super humans much more
quickly than other populations who are hampered by genes more resistant to change, or
whose economies do not possess the funds to compete in the race. The burden will then
be on the “unimproved” populations, who may find themselves looked upon, in short
order, as virtual children, by members of a new “master race” with the intellect and
strength to do whatever they will, and a rightly superior viewpoint that disdains lesser
humans.
H.G. Wells, in The Time Machine, envisioned a world where a superior aggressive
culture enslaves an inferior one because it loses the ability to see it as human. The
markers for the same genetic tendency in humanity are rife throughout history. If a true
master race does arise, there is little doubt it will not be able to curb its predisposition to
exploit its dominance, especially considering the vast resources it will need to thrive, as
its population expands, but rarely dies off. It will have almost no choice, but to justify
taking advantage of lesser cultures in providing it vast amounts of needed labor and
economic benefit, in order to maintain its quality of life. Soon after, any remaining moral
limitation on the treatment of other cultures will be overridden by the commonly held
view that they exist to serve the masters, as horses are used as beasts of burden today.
It behooves us as members of the world community to ensure this frightening scenario
doesn’t play out; that we keep the genie in the bottle, at least while we make friends with
him. There is no question we can live in a world where we are all equally super human;
but I increasingly fear we will instead create a world where only some of us will enjoy
that gift, at the expense of those less fortunate.”
---------- Dr. Wesley Pachek, Super Humans: The Coming Eugenics Crisis and the Rise
of the Master Race
Traffic Stop
He had noticed the police car well behind him, winding its way on the country highway
almost ten minutes ago. It had been slowly and lazily gaining on him, driving just a bit
faster than he was. But he didn’t want to go over the speed limit even one mile an hour
to stay well ahead of it. Hell, you didn’t even do that in the old days and he certainly
wasn’t going to do it now. Particularly today, the first day his wife, Kelly, had let him
drive with the new license. And, besides…he hadn’t done anything wrong….
As the cruiser pulled nearer, he made out the form of the blond female officer behind
dark sunglasses, looking straight forward – serious, but relaxed. His hands began to grip
the wheel just a little more tightly, and his eyes darted back and forth from the mirror to
the road to the speedometer. He laughed uncertainly at his own behavior. He hadn’t
done anything wrong and he just wouldn’t and the car would pass and everything would
be all right and he was worrying too much. A male orderly who had taken pity on him
when he was recovering from the male form of the Treatment, had told him there was a
slight paranoia gene implanted to keep him cautious while his strength degenerated and
he became accustomed to being dramatically weaker. That was probably why he was
feeling so apprehensive.
The cruiser pulled slowly alongside him in the left lane, all shiny black and white paint,
and high tech lights, “California Highway Patrol” on the door -- the cop ignoring him,
looking forward. He looked forward too. At the road. He had just started to relax as she
passed him, when he noticed the officer glance over at him, casually, then hold her gaze a
second too long. She was even more perfect than most women had become -- high
chiseled cheekbones, full lips, clear skin, a deep tan and, even from this vantage point,
athletic muscles. Obviously, one of the new Nordics he saw on the news now being
recruited for law enforcement in the U.S. (his wife had let him watch the news one night
last week). You DID NOT cross a Nordic, his wife had told him. They didn’t simply
consider men a lower class – they truly thought of them as insects. He shuddered
involuntarily.
He thought he noticed the slightest hint of a smirk on the cop’s face as she looked back
forward, continuing to pass him. Maybe she just hadn’t seen a man driving again
yet…Well, it was legal again now, and he had checked the restrictions and memorized
each one before his wife had given him the keys when he left her new house – or, his old
one, he reminded himself.
He had begun to relax even more as the cruiser had almost completely passed him, now,
when he noticed it had matched his speed. Then, ever so slowly, it began to fall back
alongside him! He swallowed hard and focused his gaze on the road, as his heart began
to thump hard in his chest! As the police car was again beside him, it held its position,
then began to lazily drift closer to his own car, toward his lane. He had a vice grip on the
wheel now, trying desperately to stay on the road, as the cop drifted casually into his
lane, so close to his door, he was certain she would bump it! To keep her from hitting
him, he moved out of his lane now, driving off the pavement a little, his right tires into
the berm, swirling dust to avoid getting bumped by the police car. Almost immediately,
the cruiser moved confidently back into its lane and dropped behind his car. Then its
lights lit up.
He began sweating all over! His hands were wet on the wheel and his heart was beating
so hard in his chest he almost hyperventilated! He knew he hadn’t done anything wrong!
He had tried so hard to not rock the boat since the Awakening – accepting his new role as
a consequence of things he could not control!
He slowed and pulled to the side of the road, his hands shaking a little, as he turned off
the engine. The policewoman stopped behind him, sitting in her car, in no hurry, it
seemed. He stared at the mirror, trying to calm down, when she opened her door and
stepped out.
He prayed he didn’t get a ticket. After all, how would he explain it to his wife, Kelly.
With the political tide turning against men – even dangerously – for a while, then the
Treatment and recovery, this was the first time he’d been out into the world in months.
He thanked God, he had such a wonderful wife. She truly loved him as he did her. She
was so young – 24 -- and energetic, her long hair always catching the sun as she looked at
him with those great brown eyes. She had always been attractive, a pretty brunette with
thick brown tussled hair. When the Treatment for Women had been discovered over two
years ago, before it was free to all women, he had worked extra hours at a second job to
make sure Kelly was one of the first to get the gene-splice. How could you not want your
wife to suddenly be healthier, stronger, more intelligent and free from all disease?! He
hadn’t anticipated how much more aggressive she would become, but Kelly loved him so
much, she rarely showed that side of her. When she grew three inches in the next four
months, he happily bought her a new wardrobe. He had never imagined how beautiful or
how intelligent she would become…or how strong. But, Kelly had taken it mostly in
stride. She still loved to sing as he played the piano, he, admittedly missing more notes
than he used to, now that his muscles were slower. She was learning to play it herself,
now, in a tenth the time it had taken him.
When she remembered things instantly or figured out how to do something or organize
something with seemingly no thought at all now, she deliberately didn’t make him feel
stupid. She would patiently listen to his ideas as you’d listen to a child’s – before
pointing out gently why he was wrong. She would even playfully pick him up with one
arm and ask him what he was gonna do now to make light of being three times as strong
as she used to be. When she was so hard on him during sex that he finally cried out and
she saw all the bruises, she had gone easier on him from then on.
But, she was also learning not to take ‘no’ for an answer. If she wanted something done,
it was becoming accepted in their house – her house – that he would do it. He had taken
over many of the household chores and she had taken to leaving without saying where
she was going and spending a lot of time at the gym, golf course or tennis club. But, that
was a small price to pay to have such a wonderful woman who loved him in this
changing world. In fact, it was Kelly that had fought to keep the changing world from
affecting him, too.
Nine months after the Treatment had been made available to every woman in most
countries, when the government moved to all female almost overnight because women
had become so intelligent, she didn’t make him feel worthless. Even when the tide began
turning against the men because of their newfound inferiority, she argued for equal rights
for men, even as the establishment sought to put them in a lower class. And, on a less
global scale, she protected him from the cruel fourteen year old who had kicked him in
the groin for taking too long to order at McDonalds, before she could hurt him more. (He
had laid on the ground for twenty minutes before he could move that day, thinking at the
time that the teenager’s violence and the boyfriend she had kept on a leash were isolated
“grunge things,” like her big biker boots. (He would never have believed that Kelly
would have such a leash by tomorrow afternoon).
In the end, though, Kelly couldn’t fight (or be unaffected) by the societal changes. It was
hard to go to the tennis club and watch her girlfriends from the sorority brutally slap
husbands they’d been married to for several years for talking out of turn or not wanting to
be the ball boy while they played tennis. Slaps that now brought them to their knees.
They would never have done that even two years ago. And playing golf, her friends all
used the same caddy – an 18-year-old boy she loved to flirt with and tease since he had
such an obvious case of puppy love for her. Only now, he carried five sets of clubs on
foot all day – which made her feel sorry for the poor boy. But she was getting used to it.
When one of her friends had told her to spike the kid one day for being too slow (after six
hours in 95 degree heat) -- just to be part of the crowd, (and even as he looked her with
total admiration in his eyes) she had forced him down and stepped on his fingers with her
golf spikes and smiled as she stood on him and he screamed in pain. She had even
twisted her foot to the side as she’d stepped off of him, her friends laughing as he rolled
around on the ground at their feet, clutching his mangled hand and crying like a baby.
Later, when she had seen what she’d done to his hand, she had felt terrible and tried to
convince herself she had had too much to drink. She had tried to go to him to apologize,
but he had run from her like a scared puppy, cradling his hand, now torn to shreds. She
hadn’t known he was only eighteen. But she never treated her husband like that.
When a different version of the Treatment – designed to weaken the men, not strengthen
them -- was required to be administered to “protect” the new world from male influence,
Kelly explained that it was the law and Peter would have to have it done. And, in fact,
she had pulled him hard by the hair alongside her when he wouldn’t go into the hospital
and held him down effortlessly while they administered the shots, her eyes tearing up as
his were. But, then she had nursed him through the pain, as his muscles dissolved and he
became weak, then kept his confidence up by saying that this could be a good thing,
since, when men weren’t perceived as a threat anymore, they would be allowed to do
things they’d had to give up – like being out after dark and driving a car. Sure enough,
men were allowed to get restricted driver’s licenses about two months ago and Kelly had
proudly taken him to get his. The only after-effect of the gene treatment (other than that
he could barely lift a grocery bag now) had been a general fatigue that set in by 8:00
every night.
Kelly would help him if she were here. But she wasn’t. So he was on his own by the
side of a lonely highway with a female cop -- and that was why his mouth had gone dry.
The CHP Officer stood up alongside her car, taller even than he expected, wearing the
khaki miniskirt uniform that the Highway Patrol had adopted after the Awakening, when
the patrol went to all females. She had long, perfectly straight, bright blond hair that was
blowing in the breeze, framing her perfect face. She walked up to his window, her long,
tan legs gracefully carrying her in her high boots, her gun catching the sunlight, a baton
on the other hip, a wicked looking whip, and other equipment he had not seen before.
The sway of her hips was mesmerizing. She stopped at his window and regarded him
with mock severity as if he should have known better. Her gun belt was tight around her
waist beneath large curvaceous breasts bursting from her blouse so much her badge was
not so visible from below as he looked up at her -- her muscular frame blocking the sun
by his window. She was a beautiful California blond with bright blue eyes he saw, as she
removed her Ray-Bans -- right out of the magazines! He felt so small next to her. ‘Calm
down, calm down, calm down, calm down….get it together….,’ he thought to himself.
“Good Afternoon, Sir, How’re ya doin’ today?” she said matter-of-factly, with a nice
smile. She had thick pouting lips. She was agonizingly beautiful, only about 28 years
old. Such a happy pleasant pretty face, and very tall – he had to look almost straight up
from the car window, squinting into the sun and her silhouette. “I just need to see your
license and registration real quick.” She was still smiling pleasantly and seemed to be in
a good mood – her face was like sunshine! She had sort of a fun, ditzy personality that
said she didn’t take life too seriously. This might not be so bad, he thought! He got the
brand new license out of his pocket and the registration from the visor with shivering
hands.
“Peter Cole,” she read from the driver’s license. “Is Cole your married name?”
He nodded, “I changed it a year ago as required.”
“You know why I pulled you over, right?” His mouth was dry. She continued, “You
went right of your lane. I’m afraid that’s a traffic violation,” she said pleasantly.
He stammered, “You were drifting into my….I…I…was afraid you’d…you were…so
close…”
She smiled broadly, seeming to understand. Maybe she was just messing around with
him. “Ohhh, okay,” she exclaimed. “That kinda stuff happens sometimes.” She asked,
“Do you have your pass, Sir?” He took the pass out of his pocket, hoping his wife’s
signature would count for something. As he handed it to the officer she dropped it into
his car, laughingly exclaiming, “Oops! Sorry!”
Without thinking, he reached down to pick it up for her. Instantly, the pretty blond
reached in and violently grabbed him by the throat in a vice grip and slammed his head
into the seat back behind him, stars springing up in front of his eyes! She squeezed his
throat so much he couldn’t talk, breathe or move, her long nails carving deep indentions
in his neck. He was stunned and the pain was coming in waves! My God, was she
strong! She stood calmly over him, still smiling sweetly, staring at him, pressing him
into the seat, and said, “For my safety, sir, you can’t make any sudden moves. I mean,
how do I know you’re not going for a weapon?” She smirked. His eyes were wide with
fear and pain. His wife had given him a pass to take the car. This couldn’t be legal. It
was getting out of hand. He didn’t want to cause trouble. If he could just explain….
“The thing is, you have committed a traffic violation, sir,” she said with the same nice
tone, like nothing at all had happened. “Pursuant to the Male Reintegration Act, you may
elect to pay the penalty through the arresting officer, which is me. Let’s see, if you
contest the violation, the court may triple the penalty if it finds you guilty. As an aside,
there have been no ‘not guilty’ findings since the law was passed. The penalty is fifteen
minutes. Oh, yeah, you are also permitted to know how much I weigh. I am six feet,
four inches tall – six-seven in my boots --and I weigh 188 pounds – 203 lbs. with my
equipment. Would you like me to handle the matter here, sir?”
He tried to think, but thinking was slower now. He didn’t know what to do. ‘Handle it
here,’ how? ‘Fifteen minutes’? She began working her sharp nails deeper into his neck,
watching his breath catch in his throat and his face begin to turn blue.
She continued, “If it helps you decide, I don’t have stilettos with me today, I’ll administer
the penalty in my duty boots. That’s a significant advantage for you, believe me,” she
said knowingly.

[DeathXI]

He looked up at her face; still smiling her beautiful California smile…almost
apologetically. His gaze flowed down her tall frame, over her long, strong legs and tan
thighs, and to her high leather boots, with their hard 3” block heels and brutal tread. He
swallowed hard, staring at them.
“If you could just decide, it’d really make it easier,” she said, tossing her beautiful hair.
“ ‘Cuz, I get off in, like, an hour and I’m supposed to go surfing with some friends of
mine before the sun goes down.”
His teeth began chattering, unable to stop. She tightened the grip on his throat, her nails
sinking in and drawing blood. He almost passed out. She screwed up her face in an
impish smile. “If you don’t decide, I have to arrest you and take you to jail -- sorry.”
“I’ll…take the penalty…. now,” he choked out. “Please, I’m very weak…I just had the
therapy three months ago. If you could…if you could just…. be…”
“Gentle?!” she finished. “Well…” she smiled. “The thing is, I have to implement the
penalty in accordance with the law, sir. My job is to make sure you pay more attention to
your driving in the future. I think…when I’ve finished -- you will! Reach up and open
your door with your right hand, okay?”
He reached up weakly and clicked the door latch, and was instantly and furiously yanked
from his car and slammed against it, his feet fully off the ground, by her arm strength
lifting him by his throat with her one hand! She held him facing her against his car, bent
backward a little, then, staring straight into his eyes, and without a word, she drove her
powerful bare thigh forward, her large knee smashing like a club into his groin! The
flood of pain was so overwhelming he lost his focus! She continued to hold him. Then,
almost as an afterthought, she knee’d him again, even harder, if that was possible. He fell
to the ground without enough air to even grunt – a rag doll! She let him fall face down
into the gravel, then dropped her knee on his neck, pressed it heavily into his spine. She
applied her full weight to her knee, bending his head against it, driving his face into the
hot gravel! He thought his neck would break! He felt it pop several times! She locked
his elbows expertly and painfully behind him and handcuffed him tightly. Bouncing a
couple of times on her knee, she watched him grunt in pain, and smiled. She removed an
auto hypo from her belt pouch, pressed it to his neck and pressed the activator, releasing
the drug.
“This is for both our safety, sir,” she said. “It will paralyze you while I administer the
penalty. One of its side effects is a much increased sensitivity to pain, unfortunately.”
She stood up beside him, towering over him now, as he curled into the fetal position, his
groin a mass of sick ache. She was a skyscraper of lithe, tanned muscle. His eyes flew
wide when she stepped almost against his nose with her boots, grinding the gravel
beneath them. He watched as a small cricket crawling across the gravel was smashed
horribly beneath her heel, half its little body crushed and half sticking out twitching
furiously as she unconsciously shifted her weight, never knowing it was there as it
crunched into paste!
He felt a flood of tingling overtake him now, his limbs getting very heavy and difficult to
move. In a matter of moments, he could not move at all, and his tongue was hanging
obscenely out of his mouth. He couldn’t seem to pull it back in and, embarrassingly, it
was dripping saliva on the ground in front of him.
She put her hands on her hips and looked down at him. “You should be ready now,” she
remarked. “I know I am!” she said brightly.
Peter laid helplessly at her feet, staring up at her towering form. He felt like an insect.
“What did you use to do for a living, sir?” she asked, as if she was just making
conversation.
He struggled to speak and it took him a moment. “I uthed tu be…..un conthert pianitht,”
he was embarrassed he couldn’t talk due to the drug.
“You used to be a concert pianist?” she repeated, her eyebrows raised. “Wow! That’s so
cool! I always wanted to play the piano! So, your hands are really your life, then, aren’t
they?” She picked up her boot and placed the heel ever so gently on his right hand.
“Oh, pleeath, pleeath, oh God, oh pleeath don’t…ith all I have, pleath…!” he cried. She
increased the pressure, then put most of her weight on her heel, bending his hand beneath
it, his knuckles cracking and his finger tips turning bright white, a wide smile forming on
her large lips, obviously enjoying the feeling of his hand compressing beneath her boot.
“My wife likth to thing with ne…pleeeeaaath…!”
She cocked her head, holding the severe pressure on his hand. He was gasping from the
crushing pain. “Your wife likes to sing while you play?” she asked. The female cop
considered it. “I’ll take it under advisement,” she answered.
She removed her boot from his hand, drew her long muscular leg back, and kicked him in
the side so hard his body spun onto his back. She placed the heavy boot on his chest.
“You know what I like most about this?” she asked. He just stared up at her, the hot
gravel burning his flesh. “I like the moment I transfer my full weight…. I put a lot of
weight down and a man’s eyes go wide because he can’t believe how heavy I am or how
much it hurts. But, the moment I like is that second I actually step up, when he realizes
there’s so much more weight than he ever thought, that he can’t comprehend it! His eyes
pop out of their sockets, his body – even his very bones – seem to buck and flatten
beneath me; then his legs, even his toes tense up and shoot straight out like a board and
his whole body becomes rigid, trying to take the crush. Finally, the air is forced out of
his lungs as his eyes start tearing up and I can tell he’s in so much pain he can’t even
speak. That’s what I like!” She gave him a model’s smile. He began to make small
whimpering sounds.
“So…are you ready for me, Pete?,” she asked coyly.
She placed her boot on the bottom center of his chest, looked at his eyes, now watering
freely -- and stepped on him! His whole chest bent into him, yielding instantly to her
weight; his entire rib cage literally curving and somehow flexing deeply beneath her as
she stepped up, driving every organ in his chest into the hard gravel beneath him! His
chest caved, his spine was driven straight down and his legs and head jumped up as she
smashed his midsection! His legs and feet shot out straight as a board, more tense than
they ever been in his life, trying to absorb her weight! “Like that! See what I mean?!”
she exclaimed.
She brought her other boot up and allowed the heels to take most of her weight, as she
began to twist back and forth, grinding them into him beneath incredible pressure. The
air was forced out of him in something like a horrible grunt and then he couldn’t scream.
She swayed back and forth, shifting her massive weight as he looked up at her tall legs as
she trampled him. “This always reminds me of surfing!” she exclaimed. “Did you used
to surf, Pete?”
As the drug fully took hold, Pete’s legs went limp and his body turned to paralyzed jelly!
He couldn’t even tense his stomach against her heavy, hard boots!
She positioned a boot heel on his nipple and twisted it hard, ripping the nipple open, then
stepped squarely on his throat, crushing it into the road as she stood on it, dangling her
other boot above his face, the cricket’s body still embedded in the tread! His mind would
not accept that this was happening to him!
“How we doin’ Pete?” she asked. “Gonna pay more attention to your driving?” She
placed the heel of her boot against his eye socket and stepped down, pressing his eye into
his head until the heel mashed into the bone around his socket and couldn’t go deeper.
She twisted the heel, giving Pete a wicked black bruise.
Pete had never experienced pain like this before! He could never describe it to someone
else! He felt someone must be able to hear him screaming in agony, then realized he still
had so little air, the only sound he was making was stuck in his throat, and the only sound
was the cracking of his own ribs as they sought to withstand the terrible crushing pressure
of this beautiful woman standing on him without the slightest thought what she was doing
to him! Still balancing on the heel on his eye, the cop bounced up and down and Pete
heard something in his face crack!
The officer then walked nonchalantly down his chest, each step a bone-grinding rib
bending, smash and stood on his stomach and began jumping in place, stomping heavily
on him, trampling around. Her boot heel caught his shirt as she twisted it into him,
tearing it open and exposing his bare skin to her heavy tread. “God, you’re not only
small, you’re really pale, too, aren’t you?!” she commented as she felt his body yield to
her and his bare skin began to bruise and mark with the imprint of her boots. She was
violently punishing him, and he could not even move to resist. She stepped over his
groin and walked down his legs, pausing to bounce on his ankles. On the second bounce
he felt both ankles snap and his whole body was racked with new pain flooding through
him! The policewoman now walked slowly and methodically up his soft body, able to
keep her balance because her feet sunk so deeply into him. She stopped at his upper
thighs, letting her weight sink into them between his soft muscles. Peter groaned with the
constant burning of her heels digging into his weak legs!
She looked at him severely. “Okay…stiff upper lip…Here we go, Pete!” she said. She
raised her left boot and held it above his groin, just long enough for him to realize what
was about to happen, before she smashed down on his organ and began jumping furiously
up and down on it, twisting every time she came down! Pete’s world erupted in pain! He
gasped with each new smash of her heavy boots, mashing his manhood! A disjointed
part of his mind wondered how such a tall woman could jump so high. Then even that
part of his mind shut down as her 6’4” athletic frame came down squarely on his
testicles, her thigh muscles rippling far above him as she mashed the organ that once
made him a man! His body buckled each time she smashed down, his torso flying up and
his legs popping to meet it, as her boots almost touched the asphalt, his organs beneath
them, a human trampoline…such was her power! Then his head would smash against the
gravel as her weight left him, just long enough that he could see her powerful body
coming straight down on him again, driving her cruel heavy boots! All the while she had
the most beautiful happy smile on her face!
His world was pain! He felt he was going to pass out as she ground his testicles
sadistically beneath her boot, gritting her teeth in concentration! She stopped and stood
stock still, her heel on the shaft of his member, her weight slowly pulverizing and
flattening it completely, then stepped up his chest again and walked on his face, somehow
missing his nose, but deeply gouging his upper lip with the heel of her boot! She had
stepped on his tongue, he realized, as it lolled outside his mouth and ground the guts of
the cricket into it as her foot twisted. The cop stood squarely on Peter’s face without
moving. The weight was incredible! Pete could see the finest detail of her tread above
his eyes, just a towering leg beyond. She allowed the tread of her boot to sink deeply into
Pete’s deformed face, now looking down, amused that he had a near perfect boot print on
his face now, the tread lines almost a quarter inch deep and forming welts in their pattern!
The cop stepped off Pete, bouncing massively, Pete’s face cracking as she did so.
The trampling stopped for a moment, as Pete groggily realized another police car had
pulled up. He weakly turned his head to the side. Everything hurt. Everything hurt more
than he had ever conceived! The other police car made a tight U-Turn and pulled in
about three feet from him, the tires crackling on the gravel. The driver’s door opened and
another female officer twisted around and dropped her long tan legs out onto the
pavement. Pete tried to swallow but couldn’t. All he could see was perfectly polished
toes in hard soled, open-toed platform stiletto heels at least six inches high and coming to
a point like a dull pencil at the bottom, tan legs above them. The second officer stood up,
her miniskirt straightening, her weight leaving the seat of the cruiser and her legs
straightened to reveal a stunning Amazon standing about seven feet high. Pete managed
to swallow…maybe the drug was wearing off a bit. The new officer was a tall brunette,
with haunting eyes and a model’s face. Her body was more lithe, more streamlined.
Maybe a lifeguard before the Awakening. She had the same strong legs as the first cop,
and a perfect ass, which revealed thong underwear beneath her miniskirt, which, itself,
was very, very short.
Pete began to thank God another officer had happened by and could stop this insanity!
She would put a stop to his torture, call an ambulance for him and the other officer would
face charges for what she’d done to him! Finally, it was over!
As the new officer stood up, her weight leaving the car seat, Pete thought he heard a
muffled moan. He could see into her cruiser through the open door. He stared
uncomprehendingly. The sight made his eyes tear up and he began freely crying! Until
this moment, he had believed what was happening to him was an aberration; that it was
one officer taking advantage of her power. Now, the truth overtook him like a wave! He
now realized Kelly had kept him from seeing what had truly happened to his world.
Strapped securely down against the bottom seat cushion of the driver’s seat of the new
police officer’s cruiser was visible the head and shoulders of a small middle-aged man,
his head, facing up, his face somehow deformed, flattened! His body stretched straight
through an opening at the bottom of the backrest, and was strapped tightly down against
the back seat of the cruiser, his legs wrapping up and over the backrest on the back seat.
The tall female officer had been driving around on patrol, nonchalantly -- while sitting on
his face in her miniskirt! The moan, Pete realized, was the man as the female officer’s
weight left his head and she twisted her ass to get out of the car. Pete wondered in horror
how many hours he had been suffering like that! Probably quite a few as his face was
purple and his cheeks looked something like a chipmunk’s, spread wide and flat, and his
nose and lips were bleeding! As first Pete thought he was crying, but it could have been
the sweat from the beautiful cop’s thighs.
As Pete looked at the man, the female officer that had left the cruiser planted her spike
heel on Pete’s head and rested it there. The sharp pain went into his scalp but she wasn’t
even looking down at him. This was just the weight of her leg. Slowly and painfully, the
tortured man in the cruiser tried to turn his head to look at Pete. Their eyes met and both
exchanged a silent moment of resignation – Pete’s head beneath a painful spiked heel on
a six-foot-plus woman, the man’s face flattened by hours of continuous mashing beneath
a powerful Amazon’s ass. It was a horrible, pathetic sight. Then the officer reached back
and closed the door and Pete couldn’t see the man anymore.
At first the two officers talked in muffled tones. Part of the time, the newer cop put her
heel in Pete’s ear and pressed down hard enough that the ringing kept him from hearing
their voices as his eardrum was forced into his head. But, then they grew louder,
ignoring his helplessness, talking among themselves.
“Who’s the ‘face sit’?” the first cop asked.
“A curfew violator out of Pasadena.” The other replied. “I think we may have lost the
paperwork because he was strapped there for my shift yesterday, and, after eight hours I
didn’t get a release order, so I turned the car over to the C-Shift officer and left him there.
She worked him for another eight hours at least – big girl, too! Then, when I came in
today, he was still strapped down, so, what the hell, I sat on him again today. Near as I
can figure it, he’s been continuously facesat for over 24 hours. And, of course, today was
especially hard on him since it’s been slow and I haven’t left the car at all in over six
hours. I was in a mood, so I spent some time driving on that mountain road with all the
big potholes and bumps…I like when my weight smashes down on him over and over. I
did try to get him some food…but I don’t think he can chew solids anymore. I’ll sit him
the rest of the shift and check his disposition if I remember it. It’s kinda fun to have
someone to talk to while I’m working. ‘Course, he isn’t talking much anymore,” she
laughed. “Who’s this?” she asked, looking down and twisting her heel in Pete’s ear. He
groaned.
“Ohhh, he, um…drifted off the road a little, as it were,” the first officer giggled, tossing
her long blond hair back in the sun and smiling, her blue eyes twinkling. “I’m about
halfway through his session.”
“You’re such a bitch, Toni. I love it! But, um, you can’t work a traffic penalty in duty
boots…you have to use stilettos. Seriously, you have to use departmental procedures.”
“I don’t have them with me.” Toni replied thinking. She glanced at her friend’s evil
spikes. “Wanna work him for me? In fact, since you’re a bonified Training Officer now,
why don’t you show me the newest techniques.”
“He’s only a traffic ticket, Toni. Are you really comfortable doing that to him?” Toni
glanced down at him, nudging Pete’s nose with her boot. “A traffic ticket now, a serious
criminal if he doesn’t learn his lesson. C’mon, show me, Michelle.”
“If you insist.”
Toni hopped a little and clapped her hands, “Yesss!”
Michelle removed her heel from Peter’s head and spoke down to him with mock severity.
“Sir, Officer Caleberra has not properly followed departmental policy by trampling you
in duty boots. I apologize for the way she has treated you. Procedure is for you to be
trampled in stiletto heels and that is what must be done. Additionally, it is obvious Toni,
er, Officer Caleberra, needs additional training in the full range of police interrogation
and penalty techniques for males, so I will need your cooperation to demonstrate these
techniques now. If you object, please so state right now and you will not be subjected to
this.”
Peter tried desperately to speak, but his tongue would only loll lazily about and his words
were unintelligible. “I’m sorry, Sir, I can’t understand you. Speak more clearly,” said
the new cop.” Peter tried desperately to form clear words…to save himself from what she
was about to do to him! He stuttered and gasped out more random syllables, his tongue
useless, hanging outside his mouth. Finally, as the female officer put her hands on her
hips and rolled her eyes looking down at him impatiently, he gave up, and began crying
quietly.
I don’t understand a specific objection, sir,” Michelle said. “So, I will begin. Thank you
for your cooperation.” She redirected her attention to the beautiful blond cop, then looked
back at Pete. “This is going to be extremely painful for you, I’m afraid.” She looked at
Officer Caliberra, now ignoring Peter’s pleas completely.
“One of the reasons platform heels are so effective is there is no give in the hard sole.
Every bit of weight you bring to bear is transferred to his body,” Michelle explained to
Toni. “And don’t forget how much weight a 6’5” athletic woman can bring to bear on a
soft, weak male against the hard ground.” Toni nodded. She remembered the way that
little 18-year-old’s whole ribcage had bent and broken beneath her – the cracking
sounding like bubble paper popping – completely yielding to her when she’d stepped on
him last week at that convenience store. It had surprised her how little resistance his body
offered to her weight. She couldn’t remember what he’d done, now – rode his bike on a
sidewalk she thought. She did remember his pleading face, and his eyes bulging out of
their sockets when he stepped on him. She loved it when they begged…
Michelle placed her sole on the side of Peter’s face and stepped down slowly, her dark
read polished toes spreading out in the shoe as she brought her weight to bear. Toni
heard Peter’s jaw crack along the side of his mouth! It seemed his skull actually
compressed beneath Michelle’s foot! He screamed in new pain! Michelle continued to
step onto his face, her increasing weight finally making his eyes roll back in his head as
he tried to endure the mind numbing pressure. He could look up and see her giant
platform sole, her huge toes sticking out just over the top of it and her toenails just visible
beyond the end of her toes, as his face gave in to the overwhelming crush! Then Peter’s
face felt her spike heels, as she brought her feet completely onto his face.
Nothing in life could have prepared him for the horror of having his face walked on by
spike heels, a tall woman’s towering frame atop them! He felt he was in a forest of sharp,
hard, full-size trees being continuously ground into his face beneath a giant! This is how
an insect had to feel when a woman stepped on it, without even a thought. It was like
having nails driven repeatedly and completely into your face without the benefit of
knowing where the next would land. All Peter could see as he looked up were the
towering heels filling his vision – even the platform soles seemed as high as a house as
they smashed down on him over and over again. The cop’s towering physique stretched
miles above them, her tall muscular legs and ass, then her tight torso and full breasts, and
finally, way above him, her stunningly beautiful face seemingly in the sky, ignoring him,
facing forward. The sheer violence of life beneath the female officer’s brutal spikes
belied her complete lack of attention to what she was doing to him! The cop was
casually talking to her friend as she subjected Peter to the horrible crunch and fury of
each step.
Though only several feet apart, they now lived in two different worlds; hers, a sunny
South California day, her thoughts wandering to the pretty scenery and talking to a
colleague as she walked in place in her sharp stiletto heels; his, a violent, furious
unstoppable cacophony of rage and violence and pain – every fiber of his being devoted
to surviving the horrible crush and continuous grinding and crunching of his bones! It
was like having his head placed in a mechanical crushing machine! There was no give,
no hesitation, no mercy and no holding back! Peter had become an insect -- part of a
world where his very existence was not even worthy of notice, except to be stepped on by
the cruel shoes of a female giant without a thought as to what it was like to be the little
insect -- full of terror and pain as your tiny body was mashed into the dirt without a care!
From his vantage point, Peter felt, even if he screamed as loud as he could, she would
never hear him, being so far above.
Where the officer felt she was just marching in place -- to Pete, each footfall was a
terrible stomping impact, followed by the cutting of her heels and then the huge crushing
pressure of her weight being brought fully atop her platform shoe, and then, finally, the
impaling heel as she balanced her weight neatly atop it, slightly wobbling side to side,
tearing and crushing his face.
Her heel would grind his lip into his teeth; then go straight into his mouth, tickling the
back of his throat, as he tasted the salt and grime from the side of her bare foot, as it sunk
past his teeth. Her other foot would drive its hard spike against the inside corner of his
eye, just missing blinding him. Then his eyebrow would be unceremoniously mashed,
the skin crackling, as she briefly lost her footing, her sharp spike ripping down the side of
his face. But, his cheeks got the worst pummeling. The cop’s spikes sunk so deeply into
them, he thought she must be penetrating his face!
His face was covered in her heel marks now, the tight rosy welts deep in his flesh. Her
heels cut and burned horribly as she shuffled around, digging into his cheeks and the side
of his nose as she shifted her weight. After she’d walked in place on his head for several
minutes, she slowly began grinding her foot back and forth, tearing his cheek and
rendering him semi-conscious. She was smiling.
“Notice I haven’t even used my spikes to their fullest yet,” she said. “Now I will.”
Michelle spent the next five minutes raking her heel over Peter’s chest, tearing deep
scratches in him, Peter bucking half unconscious with each slice. Then, after Toni had
rolled Peter onto his stomach by grabbing one of his legs and flipping him over, Michelle
positioned her powerful spike heel on his little finger, and stepped down and broke it
beneath her weight, her entire frame balanced on the tiny knuckle. Peter shot awake and
began screaming, “Oh God, Oh God, Nooooo! Please! Please! Don’t take that away!,”
as the pain flooded him and made him dizzy.
“He’s a concert pianist,” Toni mused.
“Not anymore,” replied Michelle.
She placed her stiletto carefully on his next finger and stepped on the fingertip, easily
smashing it to pulp. Peter screamed in abject terror! Ignoring his pleas, and enjoying his
helplessness, Michelle methodically crunched each of his fingers beneath her horrible
spikes in turn, breaking each of them, beneath her full weight. Some fingers, she stepped
on two or three times, breaking them in several places or crushing a joint or a fingernail,
taking her time before stepping off after they were crushed, letting the pain get fully
developed. She would rock from side to side on her heel and watch Peter’s face,
contorted and hyperventilating now from the damage she was doing.
The index fingers were toughest. Michelle bounced on them and twisted back and forth
until her spike had literally gone into Peter’s finger and she had to shake off his hand
when she picked up her foot when it stuck to her shoe. She then moved to the top of his
hand, which she simply stepped on heavily with her heels balancing her weight and
viciously trampled back and forth, her breasts bouncing with the effort. Peter was in a
state of pain he didn’t even know could exist! He could hear the crackling of the small
bones in his hand as her heels ground them into the dirt without mercy, but could not
move his hand even an inch to avoid Michelle’s wicked heels!
“Now, crushing the fingers is only part of it,” Michelle explained to Toni. “What really
matters is how you work them after you’ve crushed them. But, he has to be fully
immobilized for this. It’s too much for many males.” She took out her baton and slid it
along Peter’s gaping tongue to moisten it. Then the cop pulled down his pants and
paused, watching him, giving him time to absorb what she was about to do to him. Peter
tried to think of a happier time to take his mind off what was about to happen to him.
“This is going to be whole different kind of pain,” she told Peter.
Michelle carefully positioned the baton, then forced it inward slowly but forcefully. As
Michelle penetrated him, Peter’s breath caught in his throat and he became locked in
frozen shock. Michelle began to slowly work the baton deep into him, violating him,
pressing the baton firmly into him and twisting it as far as it would go. Toni could see it
took some effort. Peter’s eyes nearly came out of his head and he let out a loud
continuous almost animal-like moan as he felt the baton continue to relentlessly force its
way deeply into him! The slightest movement was impossible to conceive of! He was
now frozen, shivering in pure pain – immobilized!
Michelle now simply stood over him, smiled with satisfaction, and stepped on his broken
fingers with her hard sole, standing calmly on them, his hand bent and broken, fully
compressing beneath her foot. She stared at him as he whimpered. “You have to stand
fully on his hand without moving for a good five minutes. That’s when the pain becomes
debilitating.” She counted off the minutes on her watch as both women watched Peter’s
lower jaw begin to quiver uncontrollably. “Then, you grind his fingers into the dirt. It’s
horrible for him! Watch!”
Michelle began twisting and grinding Peter’s fingers beneath her platform shoe, her long,
lithe thigh muscles tensing with the pressure she applied. Peter came unglued, writhing
and shaking in mind searing pain! Toni stepped on his throat to hold him still and Peter’s
screaming was instantly changed to a funny-sounding gurgle that made Toni laugh out
loud! Michelle continued relentlessly, watching his fingers twist and bend as she ground
them into the gravel beneath her shoe – her foot pressing her weight into them, pressing
them almost completely flat against the ground. She wouldn’t stop anytime soon. She
would enjoy this a little while.
After fifteen minutes of nonstop finger-grinding, sometimes with both shoes together
twisting his hand beneath her weight, Michelle stepped off. Peter’s fingers looked like
they’d been put through a meat grinder. He was utterly and completely broken and
whimpering like a baby. He didn’t even know where he was anymore and his mind had
completely shut down!

[DeathXI]

Toni removed the baton from Peter with a quick pull, eliciting a yelp, then a moan from
him as Michelle pushed him onto his back with the toe of her shoe and stepped on his
chest and invited Toni to join her. Toni stepped up with her and all of Peter’s ribs
cracked like a giant zipper; giving in to the roughly four hundred pounds of female
muscle. Both officers could feel their feet sinking deeply into Peter’s chest and noticed
he was completely unable to breathe and his eyes were bulging out of their sockets, his
mouth gaping in shock and disbelief. Michelle worked her heel between two ribs
allowing her weight to bear down on them. She calmly placed her other spike heel
against the inside corner of his eye, stepping down powerfully enough to hold him
motionless. She filled out the traffic citation as she stood on him then she and Toni
stepped off, using his face as a springboard, crushing his nose and stood next to him,
talking to each other, Michelle’s foot up against Peter’s face.
As his tongue began working again, Peter began licking Michelle’s dusty polished toes,
weakly. Michelle looked down at him piteously. “He’s not trying to cull my favor to not
torture him anymore you know,” she told Toni. “He’s thanking me for stopping the pain.
He’d do anything for me right now. I own him. It’s rather pathetic, isn’t it?” She let
Peter lick her toes in quiet amusement.
“Cool,” Toni replied. “I’ll use these new techniques…they seem to be really effective. I
especially like the welts the heel marks on his face are forming.”
“Oh, that reminds me,” replied Michelle. “Always leave a permanent mark for the next
officer to let her know he’s been cited.” Michelle positioned her stiletto heel in the center
of Peter’s forehead stepped up, her full weight on the single sharp heel. She tilted back to
a corner of the heel and began twisting back and forth, her full weight, carving a deep and
permanent circular scar right between Peter’s eyes – her permanent mark. Michelle
stepped down and they continued talking. At one point Michelle unconsciously stepped
back onto Peter’s other hand with her heel and stood on it for several minutes talking, but
it was not part of the penalty…she just never noticed.
Michelle strode off, glancing over her shoulder with the standard warning to Peter to
drive more carefully. She opened the door to her cruiser, looked balefully at the middleaged
man still strapped face up in her seat, full of fear and pain, turned and sat down on
his face heavily without a word. Peter thought he saw the man take a deep breath and his
eyes close in resignation as she sat down on him, her ass completely covering his face
and the seat groaning beneath her weight. She sat down rather hard on him and Peter saw
the rest of his body buck as his face took her weight. She wriggled her perfect ass to get
comfortable, fully enveloping him (there were more muffled moans), closed the
door…and drove off. Peter never saw the man again.
Officer Caliberra gave Peter a warning and told him she would have to contact his wife,
to pick him up, took his driver’s license and left him laying at the side of the road, a
bloody, crushed and broken mess.
As she was getting into her cruiser, a car full of screaming teenage girls came flying
down the highway, girls hanging out the skylight and the car swerving and speeding very
fast.
The cop walked to the side of the road and sternly motioned the car to pull over. The
girls complied and Officer Caliberra approached them and asked where they were going
in such a hurry. “The big concert – Allannis!” a nineteen year old college student replied.
We’re hoping it doesn’t get rained out.”
The tall cop remembered how it was to be a young girl going to a concert. “Look,” she
said to the driver. “Get out of the car and take a ten minute break to calm down a little
before you finish the drive, okay? Then go a little slower. And have fun at the concert!”
The girl smiled. “Okay…take five, girls!” And all the girls piled out of the car jabbering
and cracking open some beers. “It’s okay if we’re not driving, isn’t it?!” one asked. Toni
Caliberra just smiled, shook her head and got in her cruiser, her gorgeous legs against the
warm leather seat. They were all slightly buzzed, but what could you do? Girls will be
girls! She put the cruiser in gear, her boot on the pedal – a little blood on it, she noticed -
- and drove off.
It took a minute for the girls to notice Peter, still lying helpless beside his car. They
sauntered up as a group, standing around him, looking curiously at him. They were
wearing boots, high heels, and sandals and one with filthy bare feet. Ignoring his injuries
and torn clothes, a large framed blond with blue jeans and a halter-top on swigged her
beer, and casually nudged his lips with her dusty big toe, then gently forced her toe into
his mouth as he began to suck it. “And, who might you belong to?” she asked. “Wanna
go to a concert?”
Peter tasted the dust from the big girl’s toe, as it was dampened by the inside of his
mouth. It was big and meaty, as she was rather stocky, with big thick muscular thighs
below her Daisy Duke’s, like a bobsledder. The grime began to come loose against his
tongue. Her foot was almost black on the bottom, meaning she’d been walking barefoot
probably the whole day, he figured. But, compared to what he’d just endured at the
hands (or, rather, the feet) of the beautiful but cruel policewomen, he thought, this was
nothing to object to. He pondered that for a moment. This morning, if someone had told
him he’d be forced to take a beautiful woman’s filthy toes into his mouth and suck the
dirt from them, he would have been repulsed and mortified. He would have absolutely
refused and been completely confident no one could ever make him do such a vile thing.
Now, he was…he was….well, compliant…even…yes, even….grateful… to be able to
please this striking woman enough that she didn’t hurt him …didn’t step on him like a
roach. He was learning he was good for sucking her toes.
“I asked you if you wanted to go to a concert.”
Peter was still not able to talk with the damage done to his jaw when the cop’s heavy
boots stepped on it. He just kept quietly suckling the girl’s toe…and praying they would
leave him alone.
“Yeah, I think you want to go to a concert. You like Allannis?” The big girl reached
down, her dirty blond hair cascading over her full breasts, which were almost coming out
of her top. She grabbed Peter by the hair and began dragging him toward the car. Peter,
for his part, tried desperately to crawl, but couldn’t keep up, and finally went limp, which
didn’t even cause the woman to break stride, as she dragged his legs and lower torso
across the rough gravel, Peter’s head occasionally bumping against her powerful tan
thighs as she walked. At the car, she effortlessly tossed him by the belt onto the rear seat
and walked around the back of the car as three of the other girls got into the back from
the first side.
He knew what was coming even as surely as he knew he was powerless to resist it. He
could barely move after the cruelty the two female cops had meted out. He felt, well,
flattened completely – like a rug. And his insides seemed to have been completely
rearranged and ached like he couldn’t believe. How was it possible he was even alive
after what they’d done to him. It had only been thirty minutes since he had been pulled
over and it seemed like a lifetime. What had happened to his old life?! Where was
Kelly?! And how would she ever find him if he was taken away by these women?! He
was no more than a dog, picked up by a passing car; never to be seen again; his whole life
gone behind him forever, and no chance Kelly would ever find him in his new home.
He couldn’t believe he was so completely powerless to influence his fate. He had no
rights, no choices at all. And he didn’t understand any of this. Why would women who
now hated men want to take him to a concert so badly? He was filthy on the bright white
seats of their BMW1235i, a bigger car, now made for bigger drivers. Why would they
even let him in the car?! Even Kelly didn’t let him ride in the cabin of the car anymore.
She preferred him in the trunk. God, he hated that he couldn’t think or focus like he used
to! He felt like he did in college when he had pulled an all-nighter and just couldn’t
make his mind focus enough to remember the last line he’d read. Only he felt that way
all the time now.
He was about to be sat on. Sat…on! ‘Why would you sit on me?!’, he wanted to ask.
‘Why would you do that to someone?!’ Four girls. He’d never had such debilitating
weight on his chest before! The two cops, standing on him together had weighed almost
four hundred pounds and he’d thought he would never survive. But this might be worse.
Close to seven hundred pounds of female muscle pressing him into the seat beneath them
with no relief for almost two hours, if the concert was at the outdoor amphitheater in
Riverside. He had been a doormat; he would now be a seat cushion. He wondered what
it would be like – all that weight on him for so very long, never moving, never giving him
a reprieve. But he would be made to endure it. Why, he asked himself? Because, he
thought, because I am…nothing.
The first girl, Elena, a stunning brunette, about 6’3”wearing a tight red leather micro mini
skirt, and red leather bodice, dropped hard onto Peter’s stomach and groin, giving him a
satisfied look as he let out a pathetic, “WHOOOF!.” She was impossibly beautiful! That
someone like him could never have her was so obvious by her expression as she looked at
him amused that it just killed his soul. Her ass easily covered his midsection, knocking
the air out of him again, as she bounced a couple times for good measure, the springs in
the seat creaking beneath him, but her weight was spread out enough, that he thought he
could take it. Except that when she twisted around to talk to the girl next to her, she
ground his damaged manhood under her ass and that stopped his breathing instantly as
the ache flooded him. Peter’s body bowed up around Elena’s ass, as she pressed him
beneath her, like a soft worn couch cushion. Elena’s friend Carolyn, a short haired blond
in khaki shorts and a halter top, bursting with beautiful natural breasts and wearing heavy
tread wooden hiking sandals, then got in and sat on his chest without even looking at him,
spreading her long tan legs in front of her, giving him an eyeful of her perfect thighs and
calves. She had very long fingernails, Peter noticed, and some kind of grit beneath them.
The two of them were seriously heavy when their weight was combined and Peter found
he was making quite an effort even to take shallow breaths. Finally, Paula, a tall, lean
haunting vision with penetrating eyes and thick brown “breck girl” hair to her shoulders,
wearing tight jeans and high heeled cowgirl boots, then sat on his legs, right at his knees,
hyper extending them as her weight bent them the wrong way. Peter whimpered as his
knees buckled under her ass. He thought both his legs would snap right there. And it
seemed she looked over at him and shifted more between his legs, so the pressure wasn’t
so bad. He also thought she gave him a concerned look, but decided he must be
imagining things.
Peter’s unfocused mind was trying desperately to find a way to accept the crushing
weight; to somehow believe, as hard as it was to breathe, his whole body squashed deep
into the seat, that he would be able to handle the crush. That was when the door near his
head opened and he realized the big stocky girl, Denise, who had dragged him across the
gravel, had finally made her way around the back of the car. He’d forgotten about
Denise. There was only one place for her to sit on him and he knew she had deliberately
chosen it for maximum pain. He looked up at her thick smooth muscular bare thighs, as
she smiled down on him. She didn’t have to say a word. He knew what she was going to
do to him. It was the same smile the cop had given him. Slowly…luxuriantly…the six
foot three, stocky girl turned her ass toward his face, giving Peter a good view of the
thick hard seams of her jean shorts and the expansive curve of her rear. She lifted her
powerful tanned right leg into the floor of the back seat, the muscle looming above him
as it carried her weight. Looking down at him, over her shoulder with the same cruel
smile, she simply raised her eyebrows and asked, “Ready?”
Peter swallowed hard, and his lips quivered, which she saw. She smiled with even more
satisfaction at the fear in his eyes. The girl never took her eyes off Peter’s face, as she
ever so slowly lowered herself toward Peter’s head, the shadow of her tall muscular body
enveloping him. He saw the rough seams in her jean shorts expand to complete tautness
as the girl’s ass fully stretched them, as she descended squarely onto his nose, her thighs
like tree trunks. The last thing he felt was his teeth begin to chatter as the girl’s ass
completely covered his head, her weight enveloped him, then mashed his whole head
deeply into the springs inside the seat. Peter’s teeth stopped, unable to budge now
against her crushing bare thighs. He was in total darkness. She pressed his jaw
backward, then collapsed his nose into his upper mouth, as his face compressed. His
head sank so deeply into the seat, he could pick out the individual springs in it, poking
sharply against the back of his scalp, threatening to jab through the upholstery and into
him at any moment. He thought the weight would never stop increasing as she settled
herself onto him, then adjusted to get comfortable for the long ride. Finally, as he
realized he was now somehow bearing her full weight on his face, his cheeks pressed and
wrinkled like a Halloween mask, she began to grind herself back and forth, the seams
twisting brutally against is nose and twisting his cheeks obscenely. He gritted his teeth
and tensed his face as much as he could, wondering how Denise could be so sadistic, then
realized she wasn’t even paying him any attention – she was just sitting in for the ride.
He heard muffled laughter, as the car started and began driving out onto the highway,
taking Peter away from his wife’s car and away from the life he’d known…perhaps
forever.
The girl driving floored the accelerator and shot onto the highway, across the berm-side
drainage ditch, about three times as fast as she should have. The resounding crash, as the
car slammed hard against the deep bump lifted the girls in the back seat fully off Peter,
then sent them all simultaneously crashing down upon him, smashing his frail body fully
into the seat and against the floor of the car, the seat’s springs not sturdy enough to keep
him from being bounced hard against the floorboards. Peter heard his ribs crack anew
felt his body just flatten beneath the four girls’ heavy bodies, as he was pressed deep into
the soft seat, a spring jabbing at the back of his neck through the upholstery. The
highway was old, and every time the car hit a new bump, the girls’ weight would
simultaneously slam him deeper into the seat and crack every bone, from his legs to his
face, the women above him oblivious to the horrible crush they were bringing to bear as
they talked excitedly about the concert. He thought of the poor man the tall cop had
been sitting on in her cruiser. This was agony! He felt as if his very brain would collapse
beneath the weight! His skull would crack, and Denise would drive his broken facial
bones into his brain and what was left would be impaled on the spring that was even now
threatening to poke through and slice into the back of his head. And Denise probably
wouldn’t even notice. She’d get up in a couple of hours and see Peter’s face, looking like
a chipmunk’s – like the man in the cruiser’s had. And she’d laugh along with her friends
at him. Peter imagined the scene as his body was literally mashed beneath the four
women’s tight asses. Peter was “Flatman.”
The thought hit Peter like a lightning bolt as his cheeks burned and his nose was
smashed. The obliterating pressure was not his most immediate problem! Peter realized –
he hadn’t taken a breath! He had been so awestruck by the fear of what was about to
happen to him, he’d forgotten to breathe! Now, fully enveloped and broken beneath the
well-built woman, Denise, he couldn’t breathe at all. He sucked in, trying to get even a
little air, but it was completely futile, the hard denim against his lips. Even if his mouth
and nose were uncovered (and they surely had no chance of being so), the weight of
Carolyn and Elena on his chest would make it next to impossible to draw a full breath.
He tried to buck furiously to let the women know he couldn’t breath, but their weight
prevented that completely and his body couldn’t even jerk an inch. He grunted with the
little air he had, praying they would hear him. They just kept talking and laughing,
oblivious. Now, he panicked, as he felt the first wave of dizziness start to come over
him. Darkness tickled the edges of his brain. In complete desperation, and running out
of air, he managed to move one of his legs, since Paula was sitting more between them
than on them, but the girls just kept talking. As the darkness got worse and shiny spots
appeared before his eyes, he thought he felt Paula’s weight change a little – lean to one
side. He desperately moved a leg in what was almost a spasm, then shook it as much as
he could, pathetically. The girl on his face continued to grind him powerfully as she
talked about the concert. His nose was flattened completely, as he still heard them
talking unconcerned, the rustling of her jeans loud in his ears as she slid back and forth.
Then Paula, from a fog, almost casually, said, “Hey, Denise, did he take a breath?” Their
voices seemed to be getting farther away.
“What?” Peter felt he was floating down a dark tunnel.
“Did he catch a breath when you sat down? Because I think he’s spasming.” Peter’s
vision was collapsing into small dots, a million shiny dots against a night sky in his mind.
“I don’t know, I guess. I certainly gave him plenty of time, why wouldn’t he?” Denise
replied. The voices were still farther off now.
“I don’t know. I think he may not be an experienced slave and he may not know to. He’s
got a wedding ring on; maybe his wife doesn’t play with him. Some women are still kind
to them, you know,” Paula said sarcastically.

[DeathXI]

“Paula, you are so a bleeding heart!” laughed Denise.
“Just give him a quick breath, alright?” Paula asked, a little concern in her voice.
Peter thought he heard the big girl reply, but the darkness was closing in and the words
were lost. He began to drift and the sounds became distant mumblings. Then, amid a
strange loud sound of blood pumping feverishly in his ears, the pain in his nose began to
numb and, he felt…apathy. In fact, he slowly realized he really wasn’t really concerned
about anything. Couldn’t remember why he ever had been. Everything was going to be
just fine. And he was drifting into a flat darkness…and silence was upon him…and
finally he felt he was floating, lying on green grass…soft green grass, the pressure all but
gone.
Then the dream came of his wife, now a female giant, a hundred feet tall, in a short
sundress, looking down at him, now the size of an insect, laying among the now giant
blades of grass and smiling her beautiful smile, her eyes sparkling at him, as they always
did. And Peter smiled up at her in return, completely safe with her watching over him.
And then, she echoed down, “It’s alright honey. Don’t worry. Everything’s gonna be
fine, sweetheart…everything’s okay…you know why?” Peter wondered up at her,
smiling, her words a soft, safe caress to his ears. “Because you can pay the penalty
here!” she said sweetly.
And, as Peter looked up in growing dismay, his beautiful smiling wife lifted her massive
spike heeled foot high above him, and brought it slowly down over his little body to step
on him and grind him into the grass he was laying on. And, as she carefully placed her
stiletto heel over his crotch, Peter sitting up reflexively and grabbing in vein at the giant
spike, the size of a pillar taller than he was, she laughed as she effortlessly crushed into
the dirt those organs that once made him a man. She mashed his pelvic area completely
into the dirt as she stepped down on him. Then, as the horrible pain came, and a terrible
scream rose in his throat, and he saw her cruel platform sole descending upon him as it
brought a shadow over his entire body. Finally, he saw her, high above, begin to shift her
weight forward. The world went dark, the hard sole pressed into his tiny body, cracking
his ribs and arm bones, forcing the air out of him in a microsecond; and he felt her
crushing him into the ground with her hard sole, and he felt himself being mashed deeply
into the earth, his bones cracking and yielding completely now and the edges of the dirt
rising around him as she pressed him into his own shallow grave, becoming part of her
deep footprint in the soft grass. Then, his organs filled his throat; just before they burst
out his mouth and his body, exploding like a grape, burst a giant splash of blood across
both his arms, as she squashed him completely flat beneath her massive foot, like a pulpy
insect. The last thing he thought was that the weight was incredible…
Peter’s eyes shot open as a terrible burning rush of air filled his lungs and he heard his
own throat desperately taking in massive gulps of oxygen. He wasn’t on the grass…he
was riding…in…a car. ‘Why was he in a car?’ He managed to focus on the big girl
above him, now holding her weight fully off of him, as the other girls were also doing,
but still smiling her satisfied smile. He looked down and…Paula…yes, her name was
Paula…was staring at him with a genuine motherly look. “Are you okay?” she mouthed.
And, as Peter regained consciousness, the memory of the horror he was living flooded
back into him with the desperately needed air. He tried to speak, but no words came out.
He just gaped in stupid disbelief. His chest and especially his jaw were so sore and his
eyes were watering profusely.
Before Peter could gather the energy to answer, Elena called out, “He’s fine,” and then
calmly dropped hard on his stomach again and resumed the conversation as if nothing
had happened, once again, crushing the air out of Peter’s lungs. She crossed one thigh
over the other, revealing a wicked red stiletto heel, the sharp nail worn through the spike,
as she concentrated her weight on his intestines. Her skirt rode high up her toned thighs
and Peter found he couldn’t take his eyes off of them no matter how much pain they
brought him. Denise was poised to drop herself back onto Peter’s face, Peter looking up
at her giant form in terror, when Paula asked if they could just put him on the floor for a
while until he regained full consciousness. Paula was like his wife, Kelly, Peter thought,
as he began to be able to think again. She was…kind.
Muttering objections, the other girls lifted up and rolled Peter unceremoniously onto the
floor, lifting their feet onto his soft body. Elena’s heels were incredibly sharp and she
wasn’t restrained with them, as she rested one deliberately on his groin, then again
crossed her leg over that leg, pressing the heel in even more cruelly, then rocking her foot
back onto it, as she lit a cigarette. Paula placed her boots on Peter’s knees and the hard
heels and soles ground heavily against his weak joints as time went by, but Peter was
convinced she didn’t know how much just the weight of her legs hurt him. Denise, again,
was the cruelest. She calmly placed one giant foot heavily on Peter’s throat and the other
into his mouth, turning his head forcefully toward her and driving her big, thick, filthy
toes – all her toes – between his lips, spreading them obscenely and threatening to split
them. Then, she looked down at him, simply saying to him, “Lick!”
He didn’t have to be told twice. Peter began voraciously licking all over her toes, then
between them, and then the black filthy sole of her foot. The sweat and dirt from her foot
and the jam between her toes, was vile in his mouth, but he kept on. Occasionally she
ground her big meaty foot against his face, but mostly she just ignored him as he worked
away diligently, while she talking to the other girls. After forty minutes, both Denise’s
feet were spotless, Peter having swallowed the dirt she’d stepped in all day. Peter’s
tongue was numb and it wouldn’t even move right anymore. Denise hadn’t even looked
at him in over twenty minutes and he thought maybe she would be too distracted to notice
if he slowed, then stopped, content to have her foot resting in his warm mouth as long as
she liked.
But, when he slowed, then stopped licking her, she instantly yanked her foot out of his
mouth and clubbed him with it, without even breaking conversation; as if restarting the
foot licker was something she was used to doing. Peter’s head bounced off the floor, his
head exploded with stars, and he once again dutifully returned to licking the filth from
Denise’s feet - willing his tongue to continue - as he moaned. She seemed to like the
vibrations of his moans against her foot.
It was ten minutes later, after Paula had made an offhanded comment about the fact that
they just should have left Peter where they found him, when Elena clapped her hands
delightedly, saying, “I know! Let’s do an experiment! See if we can hold him so still he
can’t even get my cigarette to roll off of him!” The other girls laughed. Peter barely had
time to whimper, as Elena drove her high heels into his flesh so hard, he thought he’d die,
gritting her teeth as she did so. Then Denise joined in, pinning Peter’s face to the floor
under her huge bare feet. Paula pressed her boots hard into his legs, but somewhat
halfheartedly, it seemed; and the fourth girl, Carolyn, wearing the hiking sandals, ripped
them across Peter’s chest, as she pressed. When Elena leaned down and carefully placed
the lit cigarette on Peter’s bare chest, he almost went out of his mind! He tried to buck
furiously but Elena’s heels had sunk to bone and Denise was driving her bare foot with
her full power into his throat, crushing his windpipe. Just as if on a resting on a counter
top, Elena’s cigarette laid on his stomach calmly burning him with the hot ash, as Peter
couldn’t move a muscle.
Peter screamed as the searing pain rocketed across his body, but Denise squeezed his
throat with her toes and cut off his air. Finally, after an eternity, Paula placed the heel of
her boot on the cigarette and ground it out on him, saying, “Alright, that’s enough.” The
pain of the cigarette being ground into his flesh under Paula’s heel was too much. A
white hot flash shot through Peter’s brain, his head lolled to the side, and he passed out
fully this time…..
He didn’t know how long he’d been blessedly unconscious, when he awoke to a rush of
air, as the girls had opened the sky roof. Carolyn was the first to stand up on Peter’s
chest, crushing the air out of him, and bending his ribcage into him, as she stuck her head
outside, shuffling around with the heavy waffle tread of her wooden hiking sandals, then
placing them at the sides of Peter’s chest and deliberately sliding off his sides over and
over again. Her weight scraping his flesh, raking it with the rough tread, she ripped it
with her shoes. Elena joined her and the needle heels she’d driven into his groin now
carried her full frame atop them, as they impaled him, bending him backward against the
hump in the floor of the car, as Peter screamed, looking up at Elena’s strong legs dancing
on him and rocking side to side on the heels as his ribs cracked audibly beneath them and
they threatened to puncture his stretched-taut skin between his ribs. Now standing on
Peter’s chest, which was inclined over the floor hump, she kept sliding toward his throat,
her heels ripping his flesh open to his groans, when he could breathe enough air to groan.
It took some encouragement, but Paula eventually joined them, carefully avoiding
stepping on Peter. He saw her look down at him with compassion, as she brought her
cruel boot over his face but didn’t step on him with it. His chest was a mass of bruises
and gouges from the girls’ shoes. Paula carefully placed her boots just astride his arms
and stood out the sky roof and yelled with the other girls. But on the next curve, the car
hit a pothole and Paula momentarily lost her balance, stepping squarely on Peter’s face
with her hard heel, then regaining her footing on the floor. Only this time, she wasn’t
really standing on the floor; she was stepping all over Peter’s arms at the crook of his
elbow, as Peter yelped and jumped. But, with the weight of the two other women on him,
he could hardly move. Since Paula never looked down, she had no idea, and
consequently stepped all over the soft flesh with her hard block heels without a care in
the world. Peter watched the cruel boots cutting and crushing his arms until his eyes
watered so badly, he couldn’t see anymore, then focused on the beautiful blue sky above
the sunroof, and the towering shape of Paula’s lithe body as she rhythmically danced over
him, swaying back and forth in time to the music, as he slowly went out of his mind!
When Peter finally felt the car slow and turn into what he assumed was a gravel parking
lot, he felt he had become part of the grit on the floor. Spasms of pain racked him and an
ache he’d never known filled him. The girls in back had ceased standing on him, and
where now sleeping from the pre-concert drinks they’d had on the way down. Denise’s
bare heel was planted firmly in Peter’s mouth, which he dared not move for fear of
waking her, Carolyn’s brutal hiking tread was on his throat and Elena’s stilettos pierced
his groin as they had the whole drive when she wasn’t stepping on him with them. Only
Paula had kept her boots from his more tender spots. That he could be in so much pain
when the women were sound asleep was terrifying!
The car came to a stop, and Allison, the driver, a luscious blond, but very young looking,
woke the other girls. Denise stepped onto Peter’s mouth with her bare heel, before
twisting it to the side as she opened the door and stepped out of the car, her full weight on
Peter’s teeth. Carolyn was no less gentle, not even looking at Peter as she stood on his
throat with her hiking sandals and left a footprint on his face as she stepped over him.
Elena did look at him, Peter noticed. She smiled sadistically as she put her spike heel
into his sack and stood up, pinning the thin flesh to the floor under her stiletto and
twisting it beneath her weight. Peter screamed loud enough for half the concert to hear
him and Elena laughed out loud.
Paula reached over and actually helped Peter out, giving him a sorrowful look, as if she
knew what was going to happen to him and she wished she could save him from it. Peter
started to try to stand up, but Paula firmly drove him to the ground, whispering, “Don’t
even think about it!” Peter realized standing up would have brought serious retribution
from the other girls. He was still trying to learn the rules. The parking lot WAS gravel;
made of large rocks, each about the size of a fist. Peter’s knees hurt as he fell on all fours
and the rocks dug into them, and he prayed they didn’t make him crawl into the venue.
And once again, as had been true all night, the truth was much worse than his fears.
“Can we all get on him in a row or do we do two on the other two’s shoulders?” asked
Denise.
“Let’s do shoulders,” replied Elena. Peter looked balefully at Paula, silently begging her
to intercede.
Paula half-heartedly said, “You know, I don’t think he has calluses on his hands and
knees.”
“Well, then, we’ll give him some! It’s not our fault he’s not a proper slave!” Paula met
Peter’s gaze, and then, sadly, looked away. Apparently she only had so much sway with
this group. He prayed for strength, as Denise was the first to throw her heavy leg over his
back and drop her weight onto him. He bent beneath her, but not nearly as much as when
Paula climbed onto her shoulders. Then the pressure was debilitating. Then Elena got
into position behind Denise and Carolyn climbed onto her. Peter’s knees cried out for
relief, then Allison, the driver stepped onto his hips in her tennis shoes and stood erect
behind Elena. Finally, the front seat passenger who the other girls had called Sandy
approached him and stood over him, giving Peter a good view of her black, hard soled,
high-heeled, thigh high leather boots. Sandy had a pronounced British accent and wore a
black and white spandex mini skirt jumper that came down to about two inches above her
boots.
She was a six-foot-four Icelandic goddess! Perfect skin, a perky nose and perfectly
straight glowing blond hair that hung around her electric blue eyes. Sandy hadn’t even
acknowledged Peter during the ride. Now she stared at him, her hands on her hips and
watched his face in obvious pain, his arms shaking from the weight of five girls on his
back and smiled. “I’m so glad we came across you,” she said, with her clipped accent. “I
thought I was gonna have to use these on a stranger!” She lifted the sole of her right boot
to show Peter the cluster of sharp little nails that covered the bottom of the sole.
“They’re new. They’re called ‘ Mikayla Aerators’. We’re going to get to know each
other real proper later,” she chided. Peter’s eyes welled up at the thought, and he begged
them, “Please, please no more! Please let me go home!” Sandy said to the rest, “I love it
when they beg.”
She snapped a choke leash around Peter’s neck, turned and walked forward, yanking it
hard. The cord tightened and Peter had no choice but to crawl forward if he wanted to
keep breathing. There was no time, as Sandy was walking quickly forward, pulling him
along, to test his way through the sharp rocks. So, every movement forward with the 900
pounds of girls on him was an event of pain he had never conceived of. The sharp rocks
drove into his knees and damaged hands, bloodying them, scarring him for life and
making him cry out loud with every step. His back had bent to the degree he thought it
would break in half, as he watched mesmerized by the movement of Sandy’s tight ass
above him as she walked confidently forward, yanking on the choke leash with every
step. Her mini skirt flashed back and forth above her thigh high boots, just a couple of
inches of flesh between the two. She never turned to his cries and the girls riding him
ignored him completely, as if this was the sound the men always made when they rode
them across the parking lot.
Peter had no chance of making it. He managed almost a hundred yards, his knees
bleeding freely, when his spastic arms gave out and he collapsed forward onto his face,
the women sliding forward onto the back of his neck. This did get their attention because
they weren’t used to riding a man who collapsed before they’d even reached the concert
lawn. Sandy whirled on him and he had only a second to anticipate her brutal kick to his
face. She caught him just below the eye with the point of her thigh high boot, kicking
him hard enough to send a football into the end zone. Her long, strong leg wound up for
a second kick and this time she got him squarely in the eye. Peter began crying freely
now, begging, pleading for it to stop. Sandy walked up to him and placed her boot sole
on the side of his face rather gently and said sternly, gritting her teeth, “Get up…or get
aerated.” Peter felt the razor sharp points of the tack nails on the bottom of her boot
pressing against his face. He knew what she could do to him. But, he simply couldn’t
make his arms lift the weight, as the other girls continued to sit on him, waiting for him to
see the light. He strained against the weight, crying out in anguish, but his arms wouldn’t
move.
Sandy waited only a moment more, then shook her head. “All right, we’ll get to know
each other NOW!” She shifted all her weight forward, and stepped onto his face with the
sole of her boot, driving the tacks straight through his cheek. Peter screamed anew, but
found any movement of his jaw at all, caused the wicked nails to rip him to shreds.
Sandy gazed down on him, lifting her other boot off the ground to concentrate her weight
on his cheek. Peter clawed frantically at the rocks, Sandy above him, placing her hands
on her hips and flexing her leg muscles for effect, doing calf raises, bouncing on his face.
“Are you going to get moving, pack mule?!” she asked, looking down at him cruelly,
eyebrows raised.
White-hot knives shot through Peter’s face. Sandy was rocking the nails on her sole in
and out of his face, shredding his flesh over and over again. He felt them slide in like
needles, then out; then press and puncture all at once again as his cheek yielded to
Sandy’s crush. Not only was his face being stood on by a woman wearing thigh high
boots, concentrating incredible pressure on his jaw which he felt actually bending, then
driving his head into the rocky ground; the nails in her soles were cutting viciously into
his flesh, puncturing him repeatedly and covering his face in bloody dots. Still, Peter
couldn’t move his arms with the weight of all the women on his neck, who still sat
amused, crushing his spine under hundreds of pounds.
It was luck that finally saved him. He knew Sandy would have stood on his face with the
nail boots until there was nothing left but pulp, but suddenly the lights in the venue
flashed and the girls realized it was almost time for the concert. Sandy grudgingly ripped
the sole of her boot out of Peter’s face, showing Peter the bloody tacks as she turned to
walk into the amphitheater, saying, “You are SO lucky!” The girls all got up from
Peter’s neck, Denise bouncing brutally on his neck, causing it to crack as she stood.
Stepping on Peter’s head with her bare foot, she got in front of him and grabbed him by
the hair and began dragging him again. “What’s WRONG WITH YOU?!” Denise
screamed at him. “It’s like you’ve never DONE THIS before!”
Peter found he could no longer speak. The holes in his cheek combined with the
wreckage that was his jaw made it impossible. He tried to keep up and was half dragged,
half crawled into the amphitheater, then dropped hard on the ground as the girls reached
the ticket window. The girls were buying tickets when the ticket taker looked down and
saw Peter on the ground at their feet.
“Are you bringing him in?” she asked.
“Yeah,” replied Elena, “he’s ours.”
“He’s not wearing pink undies,” she said.
“Yeah, we know. We didn’t know he was coming until the last minute,” replied Denise.
The ticket vendor looked at Peter’s condition doubtfully. “He looks like he’s already
been to a concert tonight! All right, he can go in with you, but you can’t toss him unless
he’s in pink. And he’s not allowed above waist high, unless one of you is riding him.”
“That’s fine,” said Paula. She gave Peter an encouraging glance.
The crowd formed thickly around the girls and Peter as they approached the entry to the
concert. Peter, on all fours again, found himself in a sea of strong tanned female legs,
crushing in around his head, squeezing him between their thighs. Numerous women
stepped on Peter’s fingers and the bottoms of his bare feet with their heels, boots, and
hiking treads, grinding them into the hard ground. The pain was excruciating after what
the cops had done to his hands, but not one girl even looked down at what she had
crushed under her foot. A couple of girls knee’d him in the side when they bumped into
him, jamming him out of their way.
After an eternity, they reached the concert grass and Sandy dragged Peter on the leash to
a spot halfway to the front on the aisle and set him on the ground. All the girls sat on
Peter’s chest and stomach, dropping heavily on him and pressing him into the ground,
getting beers from their cooler. Even Paula sat on Peter, not out of cruelty it seemed, but
just because she, too, needed a cushion. Peter was utterly spent. He couldn’t tense his
muscles to save himself from the crush anymore, so he just relaxed and let the six girls’
weight press his whole body into the ground beneath them.
The crowd grew quickly until it was a thick mass all around the girls and Peter. The girls
occasionally knew someone who happened by and said ‘hi’ but usually didn’t even
mention the human being lying humiliated under their collective asses. Peter saw,
looking through the blades of grass his head was pressed into that this was because many,
many women had males they were using in similar fashion. Many of the males were
small and many were wearing pink underwear and nothing else. Some moaned, holding
their ribs, and were summarily slapped in the face very hard. Peter thought the ones
wearing pink looked particularly fearful, but he didn’t know why. He decided the best
thing was to try to become so inconspicuous, all the girls forgot about him. Suddenly, the
girls stood up from Peter’s back as they saw a friend, and he found himself so grateful,
just for a full breath of air. Peter was able to look around and saw a stunning brunette,
about nineteen, very tall and well-endowed, wearing tight wrangler riding jeans and a
halter top; and riding in a saddle on the bare back of a very small, pale, emaciated
teenager, his spindly arms shaking from her weight as Peter’s had been earlier; his face a
contorted image of pain. A steel bit in his mouth was tied to the reins the woman held in
her hand. The guy looked so innocent. He couldn’t have been more than five feet tall
and a hundred and twenty pounds and the girl just dwarfed him with her large frame. It
reminded Peter of how Gabriella Reece would look riding a German Shepard. He
noticed the striking brunette wore spurs on her high-heeled boots, the spinners of which
were especially wicked. He shuddered involuntarily, as they approached, the lad
lumbering slowly beneath her, utterly exhausted from his load.
“Oh my God! Celia!” Carolyn happily exclaimed. “And…is that…Kevin?!” she said,
looking down at the young man. “Ohmigod, he’s so small now! You guys are
together?!” The tall brunette’s eyes dropped to the back of the guys’s head calmly as she
tossed her thick hair to one side, the saddle creaking as she shifted her weight. “Well,
sure,” she replied, sitting back tall in her saddle. “Isn’t the head cheerleader always
supposed to hang with the quarterback of the high school football team?” Then, to her
steed, “Though you hardly have the muscles to throw a football anymore, do you
honey?!” she added. She yanked hard on the bit and Kevin’s head snapped back as he
yelped in obvious pain, the bit grinding and clicking painfully against his teeth. The girl
didn’t release the tension immediately. She continued to hold the reins tight, holding
Kevin’s head stretched back against his own spine as she sat on him and he groaned.
“I thought he broke up with you sophomore year in high school, before – well --
Before…,” said Elena, walking forward so her creamy thighs were directly in front of
Kevin’s upturned face, her red leather micro skirt barely covering them. She noticed
even though Celia was giving him a lot of pain, he looked at her legs longingly. Elena
smiled. She liked teasing them.
“Oh he did break up with me,” replied Celia. “He’s since told me he REALLY REGRETS
that particular decision, don’t you, sweetie? You see, as it turns out, after the Treatment, I
decided I didn’t like Kevin breaking up with me. As it turns out, I was rather; let’s
say…ummmm…MIFFED – yes, ‘miffed’ is good. “Anyway,” she continued, “you know
how Kevin’s dad was raising him alone? No mom around, too-bad-so-sad? Well, I
thought Kevin and me should spend a lot more time together – let him get to know me
like he’s NEVER KNOWN ME BEFORE! You know, so I could thank him PROPERLY
for treating me like shit?!” She shouted the last word angrily directly into Kevin’s ear.
“So, I decided to go over to his house a few months ago after cheerleading practice and
sweetly ask his dad to sign Kevin’s custody over to me. I was really impressed with
Kevin’s dad! It took six really hard kicks with my tennis shoes to his sciatic to get him to
sign the papers, but then he came around. I’d never used a man’s sciatic, had just learned
about it a few days before, but, ewe, does it work! Daddo shot across the room like he
was on coming out of a cannon! And they used to say men don’t cry! YEAH, RIGHT!”
she laughed.
She remembered the vision of Kevin’s dad, a short, balding, pudgy, middle-aged man,
groveling and pleading on the floor; licking, as commanded, at the gritty turf shoes of the
teenage cheerleader he’d used to fix Peanut Butter and Jelly sandwiches for along with
his son, after school when she used to visit him. His little girlfriend! Now, she was over
a foot and a half taller, breathtakingly beautiful, and had ten times the strength and
cruelty of her former self. “Please, Celia….please…he’s my SON!” he had begged her.
And she’d stood over him, humiliating the little man in front of his son, as she’d stepped
forward and stood on his hand with the hard rubber soles of her trainers, his fingers
cracking against his kitchen floor as she slowly twisted her foot back and forth and he
wailed pitifully. Then, she’d stepped on his poor potbelly, squishing it to the floor (he
was soooo out of shape), and watched his moaning stop and his eyes bug out of his head,
as his face turned blue and his hands grabbed feebly at her strong legs. And daddy cried
and cried and pleaded as his bones cracked and his organs squished under her….
And yes, she knew she could just walk over and step on Kevin’s little fingers -- or,
better, his little Willie (THAT would be fun) -- and daddy would do anything when his
son started screaming. But, she’d wanted daddy to break. She wanted him to know it
was his fault his son spent his future days in pain. So, she’d decided to do a cheer,
standing on daddy’s body. A nice high-jumping cheer. “WE WILL, WE WILL STOMP
YOU!” WE WILL, WE WILL STOMP YOU!” She’d jumped up and down on his body
from his legs to his face, yelling at the top of her lungs, just like she’d done at football
games, her pom-poms whishing excitedly out, then to the sides as she stomped and
jumped and twisted in her cheerleading outfit, hanging in the air in a high jump, before
smashing downward, squishing Kevin’s dad into the floor as his head bounced against it
from her impacts. Kevin had laid in the corner crying,
“NOOO…PLEEAASSEE…DADDYYYY….,” like a little baby! It was a total rush!
When she was out of breath, she’d stood with both shoes on daddy’s face and twisted the
hard rubber soles back and forth brutally twisting his features and ripping and breaking
his lips and nose. Then, she’d dropped hard onto daddy’s broken chest in her
cheerleading skirt, kneeling on him, then “walked” on his face on her knees, which, um,
REALLY seemed to hurt him (she’d have to remember that one). Then, tired, and her
ears ringing from all his screaming, she held her face close to his to watch his every
pained expression; then she’d used her long nails on his face, concentrating hard to really
make it hurt, as he begged and moaned and she studied him. Occasionally, she’d lick his
ear, before biting down hard on it. But he STILL wouldn’t sign the papers! It was, like,
sooo unbelievable! She’d gotten an ice tray from the freezer, taken out the bladed part
and set it on his head and stood on it, driving it into his scalp, but even that hadn’t done
the trick! Then she’d remembered the sciatic! She’d flipped Kevin’s dad over and
delivered a kick with all her power, right into him where she’d been shown in Social
Relationships 110, and he had cart wheeled across the floor like he’d been hit with one of
those electric cattle prods! Celia was so amazed, she’d kicked him around the room five
more times before she’d even allowed him time to recover enough to speak. Then, she’d
stood over him again as he laid on his back, letting him look at her tall, lithe, teenage
frame in her short cheerleading skirt, her cleavage bursting from her tight top. She’d
stood over him, hands on her hips, and asked politely, “Shall I continue, Mr. Phillips?”
And Kevin’s dad had looked at his son, tears in his eyes and still racked with spasms of
sharp debilitating pain, his legs and arms spasming at random and said, “Son…son…I’m
so sorry….I can’t….,” and Celia had placed the dirty, gritty sole of her shoe over his
mouth, cutting off his speech, and pressed down hard, as she dropped the custody papers
onto his chest, thanking herself she’d left him one good hand to sign with.
Kevin had cried nonstop as Celia had put him on a leash, swung her leg over his back and
dropped her weight onto him, riding him down the hot asphalt street, his hands and bare
knees being burned on the pavement, and whipping him with her cat o’ nine tails, as his
dad crawled feebly onto the front lawn crying and pleading with her to just let him say
goodbye. Celia let him hear her telling Kevin she was going to buy some spurs and a
saddle and train him to take pain he couldn’t even imagine now. And Kevin, whimpering
beneath her and calling for his dad, had carried her on his back, the sixteen blocks to her
house, where her mom had invited her cheerleader friends later, to initiate the former
quarterback. And, oh, had they initiated him! Even her mom had joined in, with her
secretary pumps! She hadn’t liked Kevin breaking up with her daughter either! Celia
snapped back to the present. “Yeah, his daddy really didn’t wanna give him up!” she said
cheerfully.

[DeathXI]

“But, alas, now, little Kevin’s mine and I’m getting to share how I really feel being with
him, or, umm, ON him, you might say -- all the time! Today, for example, I shared how I
felt on the three-mile crawl over here on his back. I only had to whip him three or four
times to get him to keep moving! Isn’t that right, sweetie?” Kevin groaned again as she
pulled the bit even harder, yanking his head so far back Peter feared it might snap off. He
could see Kevin’s eyes watering a bit and his arms still spasming from Celia’s weight.
There were dark stains in his jeans where his knees pressed against the ground. Peter
closed his eyes and prayed for release from the nightmare he was living.
“Like the ads used to say,” she continued, ‘Gene therapy will change your life.’ I don’t
think Kevin realized how much it would change his! I’ve put him through the Male
Treatment three times now. I’ve had the Fem version twice. Each time he gets smaller,
weaker, paler; and I get taller, stronger and -- let’s say it together, honey – heavier!
Sometimes we look at pictures of the nice body he used to have, don’t we, honey? Not
much left of it that I can see. Not much at all, I’m afraid,” she said mockingly. Kevin
dropped his eyes in humiliation. “I send his dad pictures of Kevin every so often to show
him how his son is holding up in my care,” Celia added. “I’m sure Papa’s a little worried
with some of the poses of me standing on his son’s naked body in my spiked boots – or
sometimes in my roller blades -- but I wanted to show him what a tough kid he has. I
even figured out how to roller blade over Kevin’s throat and make a sort of choker tattoo
for him out of roller blade marks! It’s like ‘designer scarring!’” she said. Sure enough,
Peter could see what looked like a line of purple links of a chain around Kevin’s throat,
made by Celia’s roller blade wheels. “Only thing is, I don’t really have a good place to
keep him anymore, because my mom tends to get carried away with him when I leave
him at home and she gets in a mood – especially when she’s just bought a bunch of new
heels at the mall! I’ve gotta remind her Kevin’s dad lives alone now. Maybe she’d like
to play with him…though he wouldn’t last very long. She’s a true nymphomaniac, I
swear. My dad’s still got four more days in the hospital from the last time they did it –
or, the last time she did it to him, I mean!”
“You’re lucky, Cee,” said Elena. “We found Peter here by the side of the road on the
way in and he couldn’t even make it across the parking lot! Oh, wait, there were five of
us on him, I forgot about that! So, I guess you can’t really compare!” she laughed. Peter
just sulked, too humiliated to meet the women’s gazes.
“Maybe you should get a saddle,” remarked Celia.
“I don’t like them, they always slide off, unless you strap them to the genitals, and even
then, they don’t feel too secure,” Elena replied.
“Oh, no, not anymore! Get one of these!” said Celia. She released Kevin’s bit and stood
over Kevin’s back, as Kevin’s eyes closed softly in gratitude for her weight leaving him.
Then, she reached down to the side of the saddle and lifted it from Kevin’s back. Kevin
suddenly screamed like a child, as the saddle came up with a noise something like a
zipper, or bubble paper popping, Peter thought, scrunching his eyes shut.
The girls crowded around to look at the saddle. Just as on Sandy’s boots, the bottom of
the saddle was covered in hundreds of sharp little half-inch tacks. Peter cringed as he
saw Kevin’s bare back. It looked like he’d been skinned, with raw flesh ripped and torn,
then healed over, and hundreds of perfect little evenly spaced red blood dots from Celia’s
latest ride, where the saddle tacks had penetrated his skin. Celia smiled. “It stays
perfectly attached to him, so no matter which way you lean, you don’t fall off. And you
only use the genital straps as a back up,” she said brightly
“Cool,” replied Elena.
“Only thing is, I usually use a ball gag because it’s hard to keep him quiet when you’re
riding him, especially when you squeeze his ribs with your legs. It’s sort of hard on him,
I guess,” said Celia, casually stroking Kevin’s hair, “but he’s a little trooper, aren’t you,
honey?” she said sweetly. “Oh, also, you’ve got to pour alcohol over his back after you
take the saddle off keep him from getting infected every night. It’s kind of a drag.” She
seemed not to notice or care what she’d done to his flesh. Peter saw a ripple go through
Kevin’s entire body at the mention of the alcohol and Celia noticed, too. “Oh, that’s
right. He definitely doesn’t like the alcohol! You know what honey? I won’t use the
alcohol tonight! Tonight, we’ll try Tabasco Sauce! Okay?” Kevin’s teeth began
chattering, which made Celia give him a satisfied grin. “Anyway, if you want one, the
saddle’s only $840, and Kevin was able to earn that in one hard week laying in Wild Pair
at the mall.”
Celia dropped the saddle back on Kevin’s back, which made him grunt. But he yelped,
then screamed, and began moaning loudly, as Celia dropped her weight hard onto his
back again. “It’s easier when you drop real hard so all the nails can puncture him at
once,” she explained. “You need a good, strong bond.” Little rivulets of blood slid down
Kevin’s sides as he bucked his head back and forth repeatedly, trying to endure the
consuming pain. He kept the pathetic head motion going long after Peter thought the
initial pain should have subsided. Then he noticed Celia was sliding her weight back and
forth and side to side, making sure all the tacks were firmly embedded in him. “Geez,
Kevin, have a cow! He always does that!” Celia laughed. “Stop his head, okay? It’s
annoying!”
Elena stepped forward and straddled Kevin’s head with her strong tanned thighs. “Do
you like my legs, Kevin?” she asked cruelly. “I saw you yearning for them.” She
brought her legs closer to the sides of Kevin’s head, which was still careening side to side
absorbing Celia’s weight shifting (which she was continuing, even though it was obvious
the tacks should be set in him by now). Then Elena simply clamped her thighs tightly
around Kevin’s ears, stopping all movement completely. She put her hands on her hips
and stared down at him, squeezing his neck between her thigh muscles strongly. You
couldn’t even tell Kevin was a living being, thought Peter. He couldn’t move a muscle,
even though Celia was still sliding around on his back and the pain must have been
excruciating.
Elena clamped down even harder. Kevin’s arms began to go limp, then hung uselessly
over the ground. But Elena’s legs were clamped so tightly around his neck, she was
holding him up, even with Celia’s weight on his back. The two girls continued to talk
casually, as Peter saw Kevin’s head had completely disappeared into Elena’s muscular
legs. She seemed to be releasing some of the pressure in a practiced motion to let just
enough blood in to keep him conscious. Then, she would clamp down hard again, there’d
be a muffled groan from between her thighs, then silence as she stood over him.
Finally, Peter saw Kevin’s body begin to relax and Celia began to sink toward the
ground. She looked at him and evaluated for a moment, before saying, “Okay, that
should be enough…he’s going limp.”
Elena seemed a little disappointed, and hesitated for a moment, before stepping one leg
sideways, allowing Kevin’s head to fall from between her thighs and onto the ground
between her heels. She smiled satisfied. “Have a good sleep, Kevin?” she mused.
It didn’t appear Kevin was even fully aware again yet, when Celia yanked the bit so hard,
his head shot up on pure adrenaline and Peter could hear the bit grind into his teeth. He
groaned a horrible, woeful groan. “Yep, need a ball gag,” said Celia.
“Have you seen anyone else we know?” asked Denise. She lifted her bare foot onto the
back of Kevin’s neck, then absent-mindedly drove his face straight into the mud with it,
holding it pressed in the dirt for a moment, causing Celia to lean back automatically to
keep from sliding forward. Denise removed her big foot and Celia yanked the bit and
Kevin shot up, only to have Denise step on his neck again and slam his face into the
muddy ground. Neither girl talked about this amusing game, just as you might start
playing catch while you talked and not discuss it. They talked for a few minutes, Denise
absent-mindedly slamming Kevin’s face to the dirt, grinding it in, and Celia yanking him
up again.
“I saw Jennifer over there a while ago. Now where did she go?” Celia said. “Lemme get
a better look.” Celia smiled straight down at Kevin’s bare hips as she said, “Have I told
you how much you mean to me lately Kevin?” Then, making even Peter cry out in
anguish, she simultaneously slammed both her spurs as hard as she could into the flesh at
the sides of Kevin’s rump, driving the spinners fully through his skin, cutting it horribly,
as they penetrated into his flesh and up to the hilt as if they were cutting through butter.
The spinners disappeared completely into him as Kevin screamed through the bit so
loudly that several women around them turned to look, then smiled at him. “Would you
anchor him down in front?” asked Celia. “I’m gonna stand up and look around.” Kevin
began screaming, pleading unintelligibly through the steel bit in his mouth, as Celia
looked down at him as he began bleeding and smiled a wide contented smile. “Hell hath
no fury, Kevin…” she said, mostly to herself.
Elena stepped forward once again, this time stepping on Kevin’s hands with her stiletto
heels. He screamed anew. His hands bent in a depression beneath the cruel spikes as
they dug in firmly with Elena’s weight directly over the top of them. Kevin moaned and
Elena smiled. No way was he going to be able to buck when Celia stood up.
Then, when Kevin was obviously anchored, she did. Peter watched in horror as, with the
spurs still impaling his flanks and their spinners fully inside him, Celia slowly pressed
down and raised herself, standing fully, as one would stand in stirrups…only her stirrups
were the spurs embedded in Kevin’s flesh. Kevin’s head flew back and he tried to leap
backward, letting out a terrible, “YYYYEAA! YYYYEEAAAAA!
YYYYYYYYYEEEEEEEEAAAAAHHHHHH!!!”, but Elena’s spikes held his hands
fast to the ground. Kevin screamed and cried, as Celia stood erect, bringing her weight
fully to bear, as she looked around the concert venue. She towered over him, now rising
to almost eight feet above the ground! Her spurs now supported her full-figured weight
and she was even rocking her weight from side to side a little with her thick legs, tearing
his flesh like raw meat. Kevin moaned piteously, tossing his head side to side violently,
flecks of saliva flying from the bit as he suffered the excruciating pain. A nearby woman
rolled her eyes and put earplugs in her ears to shield herself from the screaming. Celia,
looking down at him, had an idea. “Here, take my camera and take Kevin’s picture for
his dad,” she asked Allison. Allison took the camera and spent some minutes setting it,
as Kevin screamed, from the constant torture. Then, she took the picture of Kevin
suffering beneath the tall teenage woman’s crushing weight, his face beat red and
spouting tears, his eyes wild, and his body sweating, torn and bleeding. Then, she handed
the camera back to Celia. Celia looked down at him once and smiled. Then she went
back to looking for people she knew.
Elena also watched Kevin’s face intently, her ruby lips pressed into a pout and her liquid
brown eyes penetrating him. She ran her tongue over her teeth, savoring Kevin’s
expressions. Her low cut red leather corset squeaked around her perfect breasts as she
shifted her weight from one of his hands to the other, watching her red toenails spread in
the straps of her red high heels as she pressed his hands flat beneath them. ‘It was so
amazing the variety of faces they made when they were in pain,’ she thought. Like
snowflakes – no two facial expressions exactly alike! And she liked giving them pain,
she mused. Oh yes, she liked that a lot! We all like giving them pain, she thought. So
much drama! So much entertainment! Every time you stepped on them; every time you
kicked them; every single time you tore their skin or broke a bone or raked their genitals
with your fingernails and made them bleed; no matter how many times you did it to them,
they always gave you a show! They were so much fun to watch! All the thrashing back
and forth, and the begging, and the whimpering and moaning…she really liked the
moaning! It was so forlorn…so hopeless…so pathetic, she mused with a slight smile!
She felt herself getting wet.
And, god was it easy! I mean, they were so weak! You just picked a spot and squeezed
or crushed and they’d come apart! Use your thighs and you could crush the very marrow
out of them! She loved humiliating them, abusing them, toying with them – breaking
their spirits – then watching as they lost their own identity and then lost all hope. And
she especially loved using her beauty. She knew what it did to them to look at her. She
saw the longing in their eyes at the sight of her perfect body, her toned legs and flawless
face, with her pouting lips and haunting eyes; the despair on their faces as they gazed at
her in something like her red leather mini skirt and corset and knew they could never
have her.
She loved to turn them on -- to brush by