TRAMPLE STORIES - TRAMPLING STORIES

TRAMPLE EVENING STORY

part 3

The next morning Marion woke Robert by kicking him in the head.

“Shower” she demanded.

Robert ran to the shower, set it going, then lay on his back ready for his voluptuous wife. The water cascaded down as he lay there, spattering his eyes and occasionally getting in his mouth. Marion stepped into the shower and onto Robert’s chest. As he turned red, struggling to breathe, his heavy wife began showering. It was Robert’s job to ensure she did not slip.

Marion washed her hair, letting shampoo suds run down her back, over her buttocks, down her legs and onto her husband’s straining face. She constantly moved and turned, pressing her toes deep into Robert’s belly one moment, then crushing his face or windpipe the next. All the while he desperately held her ankles to keep her steady. When his head lifted from the slatted floor of the shower stall Marion cruelly slammed it down beneath her toes of her right foot.

Next she conditioned her hair. The dribbles from her conditioner ran in Robert’s eyes burning them. They also burned his throat. Next came the shower gel. Marion washed herself using a large sponge. She washed herself all over, carefully cleansing every inch of her magnificent body. When she washed her foot-soles she balanced on the other foot for several seconds, letting all her weight crush her husband’s belly. She made a point of raising herself up on tiptoe during this phase. Robert’s poor abused abdomen felt as if it were on fire.

The cascading water, along with the shower gel, served to cleanse Robert’s body as he lay pinned beneath the feet of his absolute ruler. Still, in the interest of her own comfort and convenience Marion would grant Robert 5 minutes alone in the shower to get himself clean.

Robert went downstairs to prepare Marion’s breakfast as she put on make-up and dressed for work at Press-man-down. He lay out the breakfast then clambered inside her bar stool. Marion got a lot of ideas from the work of Namio Harukawa a famous fetish artist who depicted bigger, more voluptuous ladies dominating men. The bar stool was one such idea. It was designed so that Robert could get inside it, contorted in such a way that his tilted back head was pressed up and inside a padded ring at the top. The result was that his face was held in position millimetres away from his wife’s fulsome bottom.

The chair’s original design had put the male’s face up higher, in direct contact with Marion’s bottom. The idea had been to show the man the frailty of his life and his powerlessness in the hands of women. That he could be killed simply by a woman sitting down and doing nothing else, sitting in comfort as he smothered, was meant to break the man’s will, resilience and sometimes sanity.

She had first used the chair on her first husband, Walter. In order to collect his wealth and properties she had decided to break his mind. Working at Press-man-down, she had access to medicines that could render a man docile, weak and obedient. Slipping medicine into Walter’s bedtime cocoa had been simplicity itself. Watching him drink it hungrily had made her pussy wet. Carrying him downstairs and fastening him into the chair had been no great chore either. She fastened him firmly into place with leather straps. She turned a calibrating screw to position his head. Walter mumbled incoherently, eyes rolling left and right. Marion, looking stunning in bra and panties stood with her back to the stool that held her unfortunate victim. Somehow he managed enough will and concentration to whisper,

“Marion, please.” Surprised, she ignored him, her face a mask of grim determination.

She hopped up onto the stool, letting her hands find the rim. She hovered over Walter’s pinned and imploring face. He stared up, helpless at her broad, silk covered buttocks, the backs of her thighs and the bulk of her upper body. He saw it come down. His world went dark. His world went soft, as Marion’s buttocks spread and covered his features. He felt great pressure in his skull. He tried to do that thing he had done all his life, that thing that he’d always took for granted, that thing that followed the little impulse in his chest. He tried to breathe.

Marion’s bottom, in its silken cover, prevented him from breathing. He tried again. Again, Marion’s backside imposed her will and stopped him drawing breath. Walter’s head swam. His stomach looped in sickly panic. His head hurt. His lungs hurt. He tried again and again to breathe. He struggled to get free. Marion crossed her legs, swinging her foot, shimmying in her seat.

“Something wrong dear,” she teased.

Walter started to pass out. Marion stayed still. Walter’s struggles lessened. Marion lifted a fraction. She waited for Walter’s autonomic system to drag in ten breaths, waited for some signs of returning consciousness. After ten breaths she heard “Marion, please stop,” his plaintive voice far away.

Marion smiled, then said “No dear, I will not stop.”

With that she sat back down again, cutting off Walter’s faint cry of “Nooooooo.”

She sat on his face again. Wiggling for a few seconds, then keeping quite still. She timed her sitting until 3 minutes passed, then lifted again. This time it took longer for Walter to start to revive.

“Marion, darling, please stop. Please,” he begged. “I can’t take much more. Please. You’re going to kill me.”

Marion lowered to an inch above his face. She was laughing.

“Really Walter,” she chided.

“Whatever gives you that idea?” She sat heavily, unmoving this time.

She kept checking her watch. After 2 minutes she was about to get up when she heard a noise from the open kitchen window. She looked, and was delighted to see a cat jumping down into the room.

“Hello there,” she said jollily.

The cat ignored her.

“Where have you come from?” she asked.

The cat inspected the room. Marion, absorbed by the intruder’s antics, forgot about her husband who was dying beneath her bottom.

It was fully five minutes later when, with a little cry of shock she raised herself. It was instantly clear that her husband was dead. She wasn’t sad, merely inconvenienced. She had to call in a few favours to hush it up.

“Still,” as she told herself, “no real harm done.”

Back in the present, Robert awaited his wife. In her own time she came in, hopped up and sat over his face. In the hot, fetid dark, trapped beneath her buttocks he felt the last of his self-esteem trickle away forever.

Marion was dressed for work. As a Matron at Press-man-down she wore a very correct dress uniform. Her hair was neat, shoulder length, her blouse was navy blue, long sleeved, close fitting over her fulsome breasts. Her above knee skirt was black, with a side split. She wore barely black stockings, and black, high heeled, zip up boots. The boots were her favourite items, made of patent leather. They made her feet hot and sweaty. Already she could feel her feet growing hot.

Marion sat over her husband’s trapped face and tucked in to breakfast. There was orange juice, and coffee, toast, marmalade, eggs, bacon, sausages and more. Marion had a very healthy appetite. She sat, legs crossed, and smiled to think of Robert under her ass. She felt a build of pressure in her belly. She smiled. She loved to fart on Robert at any time. She let the pressure build as she put more food into her mouth. Finally she could hold back no more. She let rip with a noxious, sickening fart that was instantly trapped in the gap between her ass and Robert’s face.

Robert’s eyes teared up. In the hot darkness he screwed his face up with sickly disgust. Marion’s waste air was acrid, seeming to burn his eyes, mouth and throat. In his ass prison he could do nothing to escape Marion’s wind. His senses were concentrated on the hideous, unrelenting scent of her trapped fart, his discomfort in the chair, and the sounds of her ass making the seat creak. He could vaguely hear distant noises of his wife eating her breakfast, watching morning TV.

Ten minutes later, when she lifted from her seat, Robert’s face was creased with discomfort and self-loathing. Marion smiled at him, and smacked his face.

“You may get out now,” she said matter of factly, “and get about your work.”

With that she marched out of the house. Robert meekly obeyed. He thought about Arnold, but knew better than to interfere.

Thirty minutes later, Marion arrived at Press-man-down. She was in control of the inmate processing wards. At any one time there could be as many as fifty inmates to be processed. Processing the male inmates involved teaching, or reminding, them of their new, permanent, powerless state. This involved using and abusing the men for sexual pleasures, trampling them, proving their vulnerability and generally playing with them any way the all female staff of nurses saw fit.

Marion was soon on her corridor. Neon lights glowed in the high ceiling. The walls were a soothing shade of blue above a soft green. The floor was wooden. The corridor was six feet across, forming a square passageway between two walls with locked doors on either side.

The floor had a rather unique design. Sections of the floor could be removed. This revealed man shaped holes, much like the symbol for a gent’s toilets. Uncooperative inmates could be installed in these floor holes for a variety of punishments. Some would simply lie, firmly fastened down, as part of the corridor floor. With their vocal cords chemically frozen these men could be stood on, walked upon, stamped upon etc without disturbing the delightful tranquillity of the ward. Some would have a perspex lid placed over them, with a hole cut so that the cock and balls could be pulled through and left to lie, small, vulnerable and exposed on the corridor floor.

Marion liked to walk the entire circuit of the corridor when she arrived at work, to see how many men were installed underfoot. She was barely a few feet from the entrance when she saw a group of nurses stood around a hole. There were five girls, all wearing crisp white uniforms, opaque white tights and flat, lace up, rubber soled shoes. The girls were all young and attractive, in different ways. The girls stood, two on each long side of the hole, supporting a fifth, an Asian girl named Asha, to walk down the man in the floor’s body from head to feet, then back again. As Marion drew closer, she realised that Asha had her eyes closed. This meant that her little feet came down with intensity, planting themselves deep to avoid stumbling or falling. Marion knew this game. If the girl could travel from the man’s head, to his feet, and back again, five times, without opening her eyes or losing her balance, she would receive a prize.

Standing off to one side Marion saw Asha’s shoe land heavily on the man’s left thigh, heel digging down. Her next step nailed his limp cock as it lay across his belly. The sole of her shoe gripped and twisted the delicate flesh of the struggling male’s penis, making his mouth moan open in a silent scream.

One of the nurses turned and said “Hi Marion.”

Marion smiled and said “Hi” back.

“This young man’s name is Farley, he arrived last night.” Nurse Kelly continued, “He seemed a bit aggressive so we thought we’d gentle him down a bit.”

Marion nodded with approval as she observed Asha lifting her foot. All the girls smiled to see the man’s damaged cock briefly sticking to the sole.

Marion moved round the group as Asha’s sole crushed the man’s lips, before she twisted round, tearing the delicate skin. Marion was satisfied the new arrival was being well taken care of.

Further along the corridor was a man she recognised as a local senator. He’d been in the news only a year before accused of having an affair with a secretary. It had come out that he was innocent, but Marion cared little for men, guilty or innocent. The man was strapped down, naked, staring up through his perspex lid. This meant he could see everything that was going on above. With his cock and balls protruding through the hole he could see far more than he desired. A tall blonde, nordic looking nurse stood next to a fuller figured African looking girl. Both wore white uniforms and broad belts, but while the nordic girl wore flat white shoes and tights, the African girl was barefoot.
The man’s cock and balls looked unfeasibly large. The blonde girl, Erica Stantz, was merrily pressing the heel of her right shoe down on the man’s left testicle. The abused ball-sac was swollen and painfully distended. It looked more like a sausage than a ball. The skin was badly bruised and the whole thing looked hot and purple. Erica was pulsing her heel, increasing, then decreasing the pressure over and over and over, flooding the man’s body with pain signals.
Erica smiled at her friend, Makosi Astler, whose bare toes were spreading as her foot closed in on the man’s limp cock. Makosi used her toes to grip the man’s damage swollen penis, twisting the pinch of skin left and right in her clever toes’ grasp. She flipped the man’s cock side to side, laughing.

“Your cock looks so funny Mr Bebbingham,” she said, laughing wildly.

“How does it feel to have your manhood stepped on? Hmmm? How does it feel?” She emphasised each word to maximise the man’s embarrassment and shame.

Makosi squatted down and fondled the man’s limp cock with her strong fingers.

“Why aren’t you hard? Aren’t we beautiful?” Makosi asked scornfully.

The man could not answer her as his vocal cords had been chemically frozen.

“Accchhh, you are very rude,” Makosi said, pinching his cock between thumb and forefinger before standing up.

“You must be taught a good lesson.” She pressed his meat beneath her foot, making his cock swell as much as his testicle. The two girls’ foot abuse was overwhelming. Never had Donald Bebbingham felt so helpless and vulnerable.

A little further on, Marion saw one girl, short, athletic, slightly Hispanic looking, using spread toes to work a man to a climax. The girl’s bare feet looked broad and somehow heavy. Marion noticed that the girl, Conchita Limenez, had short, chubby toes with nails painted a deep maroon shade. She had her big toe and its neighbour spread wide, gripping the man’s foreskin and moving it insistently backward and forward. Marion studied the man’s expression. He was clearly exerting a lot of self-control.

Conchita maintained the rhythm of her stroking foot and said “Remember, if you splash cum on my foot I will stomp your balls flat.”

She smirked down at her prisoner while continuing the irresistible footjob. The man’s eyes were rolling wildly.

“Try to resist,” Conchita said, goading him, “resist.”

Then she laughed. “My lover’s all say my feet are irresistible.” She giggled.

“I made my last husband cum 7 times in one evening. As he came the seventh time, giving just a splash of thin white cream, he clutched his heart and died. What a way to go hmmm?” She continued stroking the man’s rock hard, angrily reddened knob.

“Can you resist? Or are you going to cum?” she asked softly.

“Oh, look out, look out! Here we go! Yesss!” she shouted.

As his cum began jetting out Conchita began stamping on his cock and stomping his balls again and again saying, “I warned you what I’d do if you came, I warned you!”

The man’s supersensitive cock flipped and flopped left and right under the fiery girl’s stomping heel. Marion watched the show a moment longer then moved on. She encountered a total of fifteen men set into the floor. She saw girls jumping up and down on men’s faces, chests, bellies and cocks. She saw girls grinding balls under shoes, socks, stockinged feet and bare feet.

The last two men she saw being tormented struck her as being tormented in the most elegant way. Only their faces protruded through the floor. There was a padded rim around the edge of the floor and the side of each man’s face. Each was in front of a telephone box in the corridor. Many of the staff took taxi’s home after shifts. Marion saw a queue of girls all waiting to call a taxi. The caller’s at each booth stood nonchalantly on their victim’s faces. The girl on Marion’s left was tall, solid and chunky looking. She wore flat soled, shiny leather, black boots. Her right foot pressed hard on the face below. Her heel was on his chin, her toes over his eyes. Her left foot was only touching the man’s face at the toe. She had all her weight on her right leg, so her left was crossed behind. She was absent mindedly scraping the toe of her boot against the skin just below the man’s eye.

The other girl was barefoot. Her pale, white, slender, long toed feet, with unadorned nails simply covered her victim’s face. Those feet neither moved nor flexed. The only adornment she wore on her feet was an ankle chain around her right ankle with a key dangling from it. The man below this girl’s feet had turned beet red and Marion guessed those unmoving feet were suffocating him. She smiled. In the queues behind each girl Marion saw women and girls who looked as young as 20. All had a certain air of confidence and sexuality about them.
Marion’s eye was caught by a movement of the barefoot girl’s left foot. There was also a sound of amused surprise from the girl’s in the queue. The girl had lifted her left foot, allowing the man to get some air, but now she had it angled like a ballerina, and was boring her big toenail into the man’s eye. Marion realised that she was looking at Nurse Teresa Maidstone, a girl many talents.

Reluctantly Marion set off again. A few minutes later she was Marion watched the show a moment then moved on. She encountered a total of fifteen men set into the floor. She saw girls jumping up and down on men’s faces, chests, bellies and cocks. She saw girls grinding balls under shoes, socks, stockinged feet and bare feet. back to her start point. Now it was time for the next phase of her rounds.

Marion’s day at work passed steadily. At home, however, Robert was not feeling so good. Only ½ hour after his wife had left for work Robert began to feel sick. His body seemed to be burning up. Sweat ran from his pores and his heart beat fluctuated madly. His vision blurred and swam. He ran to the bathroom and vomited. His legs and arms lost all strength. He collapsed just over an hour later, to lie in a helpless, motionless heap.

He did not know, could not have known, that the final injection Marion gave him had done more than seal his cock’s fate. It had sealed his fate as well. The injection had cut off his brain’s access to his body’s motor functions. In short, he was paralysed and immobilised.

He lay on the wooden floor, naked as per Marion’s insistence, and terrified, listening to the sound of his body running itself to exhaustion. Then the front door opened. He heard female voices, conversation, laughing and chatting. He felt the vibrations from their footfalls as they sauntered into his home. From the floor he saw four young, attractive women come into the room. They were pushing a trolley. Each woman had a ponytail. Each wore a black baseball cap. Each wore dark sunglasses. Each wore a black, cotton, long sleeved blouse, black bum hugging trousers and black ankle boots with four inch heels.

They communicated with one another with little nods, inclinations of the head and other facial gestures. This was standard policy as it excluded the target from the group, making them feel isolated, alienated and alone. It made the balance of power clear. A brunette grasped Robert’s left wrist and tugged firmly on his arm to straighten his position on the floor. This hurt, making his shoulder ache. The other girls each took a limb, and they pulled him into a spread-eagled position. The girl’s silence, coupled with their dispassionate faces and professional demeanour struck real fear into Robert.

He tried to speak, but while his jaw moved, all that came from his vocal cords was a meaningless moan. Jackie, Lynsey, Hazel and Michelle smiled to see his helplessness.

Robert was aware of four girls standing above him, looking down coolly. Jackie, a slender blonde, crouched near his head. She turned his face to look directly upward and smiled coldly. Robert shuddered inside. He saw Jackie reach out her hand and arm but could not see what for. She was handed a strange looking contraption. It was a flat rectangle of plastic 1 ½ feet long, and four inches wide. It had two sliding attachments at right angles to the main piece, with adjustable straps attached. Jackie raised Robert’s head and slid the device beneath it, so the back of his head rested on the device between the two sliders. As Jackie moved the sliders in, to press against the sides of his head, Robert understood the thing’s purpose. When she fastened the straps together, and adjusted them to a tight fit, he found his head was forced into an upright position. Smiling, the girl stood up, affording Robert a worm’s eye view of her perfect physique.

Without a word, Jackie lifted her right foot, brought it over Robert’s trapped face, then lowered it down. She pressed the gritty, ridged, hard sole of her boot against his lips. With firm pressure and a vicious twist of her heel the cruel girl ground Robert’s lips against his teeth. His own teeth cut his lips before he opened his mouth.

“Lick” Jackie commanded.

Robert had not realised, but he could still move both his jaw and tongue. The drug Marion had used had been refined in order that its administration did not cause instant death. He gathered some saliva, hesitated a second, then surrendered to the situation. He put out his tongue and licked this strange girl’s sole. His tongue encountered bitter tasting grit and dirt. Jackie smiled grimly.

“Keep going” she instructed.

Robert did. He kept pulling his tongue back to wet it in his mouth, then pressing it forward again. He was forced to swallow dirt from Jackie’s boot sole. As he licked the gritty, sticky, disgusting sole, he suddenly felt a sharp boot-heel pressing into each of his palms. The pain was instant and excruciating. Where the sharp plastic edge of each heel pressed into his skin it seemed to cut. It certainly felt as if it were cutting him. The girls were both putting a lot of weight on his hands, and shimmying their feet in order to cut in and down more and more deeply. Red hot fire burned in his palms as the wicked girls twisted and turned their elegant boots.

Robert had a moment to wonder what had become of the fourth girl he had seen. Then he felt something in his groin. A soft, cool feminine hand was handling his cock and balls. He felt incredibly helpless and frustrated. His cock, of course, stayed limp. Robert knew how it felt. His whole body was soft, limp and helpless in the hands of women.
Jackie began thrusting her boot heel in and out of his mouth. The two girls who were treading on his hands and grinding his fingers mercilessly, continued their work absent mindedly, and the fourth, she had gone from handling his cock and balls to squeezing them. She had his balls tight in her hands and crushed them one in each hand, with all the strength she could muster. Robert desperately wanted to scream, but his vocal cords were frozen.

After several agonising minutes, the ball crusher let go his balls. They ached terribly. Sick pain flooded Robert’s groin. The girl’s abusing his hands were now stamping on them making them swell and redden, making the fingers turn into bloated sausage like balloons. Each impact seemed worse than the last. Robert was sure his bones would break if they were not already broken.

Jackie, meanwhile, was now standing on his head. She stood with her heels on his temples, facing down his body. Her weight was a constant pain. Her heels were a constant pain. Her soles were a constant pain.

The girl at Robert’s groin trapped one ball under the toe of her right boot. So as not to let it slip, she carefully raised her heel, keeping the ball gripped underneath. She began to pulse her foot on the trapped testicle, giggling as she did. She pumped his testicle under her ridged and pain inducing sole. Throbbing agony spread from the abused gonad. Robert’s mind was on overload. His skull felt as if it would collapse, his hands and fingers felt as if they were on fire, and his groin was a sheet of flame. He was awash with pain. He did not know that this was standard treatment for a new inmate at Press-man-down.

The girls abusing his hands stepped off his hands and each extended one leg and foot so that a sharp edged heel pressed into Robert’s chest. With a smile at one another they began drawing their heels back and forth across Robert’s chest. They drew deep red scratches in his sensitive skin. They drew interconnecting patterns that soon had his whole chest bright red. Jackie, still perched on Robert’s face, smiled to see her friends’ work. She took to raising either foot, momentarily, to put all her weight on one foot at a time. The girl at his groin began kicking his cock and balls with ever increasing firmness. The girls attacking his chest began kicking at his reddened skin with their heels, making deep scrapes that stung furiously.

Finally, incredibly, the abuse ended. The girls removed the head steadier and moved Robert’s arms to his sides and his legs together. They strapped his ankles, knees and thighs together. They ran a belt round his waist and attached his wrists to cuffs on that belt. They put a neck brace on his neck and shoulders to stop his neck snapping when they lifted him onto the trolley, then they lifted him up and dropped him onto the padded cushion. One of the girls gave his balls a firm squeeze just to see his face crease up, then they put a blanket over him, for appearances sake and then rolled him out of his house forever.