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The Sensuality of Trampling…

I heard the knock precisely at noon, my shy and clean cut looking gentleman stood nervously behind my door for the first time.

I’m sure I didn’t ease him at all when I turned to let him in, my stilettos clicking loudly – intentionally – across the wooden entryway. “Hello Mistress, I’m Tim* he said, and I’m here to be your doormat”…. Ah, I love when they just come right out with it, after all there’s no need to be coy with me.

With this particular visitor, no pre-session talk was needed; though our extensive correspondence we had already covered every aspect of his wants, needs and limits, the scene was to begin the very moment he arrived. There was no sense of comfort or familiarity before being deeply thrust into whatever imaginative scenario I had laid out for him, just whatever anticipation he had built up before that fateful knock on my door.

Now, Tim is a deeply submissive man with a firmly rooted obsession of strong women in impeccably high heels. The taller, the better…in fact, the higher the heel, the more he longs to find himself beneath them; to feel the soles press into his skin, smell the finely polished leather, and perhaps if he’s VERY lucky, to smell the scent of the woman’s delicate foot firmly enclosed within the material.

I led him downstairs where I had set our scenario. Boxes of newly purchases shoes sat in neat little stacks surrounding two chairs – one, a throne on which I would sit and the other, more of a stool that clearly was meant for him.

I left him for a moment and headed upstairs to turn up my music and dim the lights. He waited, but I could swear I could hear his pulse racing while I put the finishing ambient touches together.

When I rejoined, he quickly composed himself, having figured out my role play. “Madam, may I show you a few shoes I’ve selected in your size?”

I sat in the chair in front of him, my tight latex dress squeaking loudly as I crossed my legs to offer him my foot. My eyes locked on him as he nervously pulled my stilettos off one by one, carefully setting them aside. My unflinching intensity made him focus on the task at hand, I could feel him falling into his subspace where only he and I were in this universe.

The first box was pulled from the stack and with the top removed, the fragrant scent of new leather wafted out. He stood facing a brand new pair of red soled (grin) 5 1/5 inch black open toe pumps. These to me, are the iconic footwear of every femme fatale.

Reflexively, I withdrew my leg as he eagerly went to place it on my foot for sizing. “Don’t you intend to check for stray threads imperfections before putting that on me??? I chastened.” “Run the lining of the shoe across your lips so you can feel out any imperfections. If there are none, you may help me put them on.” His face was frozen by the correction, but his pupils were wide – excited – by the command.

Each new box of shoes went this way. He would open, smell and caress them, trace the exterior, the insole, the heel and the bottom across his mouth or cheek, then carefully put them on me so I could feel their fit. One stiletto however had a sharp imperfection in the heel that he somehow (I’m sure intentionally) missed.

“I’ll take the ones with the imperfection, I announced, but I’ll need to walk around in them first. Remove your clothing and lay on the floor with your legs spread and your hands above your head.”

He quickly did as commanded, nearly throwing his clothes from his body as if they were on fire. His obvious excitement would prove to be quite painful as I factored a bit of CBT into my trampling… “do you always become aroused when around high heels?” I whispered. Be blushed feverishly without response.

I began mercifully, dragging the tip of the stiletto across his chest, down his stomach and back up again applying very little pressure along the way. I love to build anticipation, draw things out as much as possible… Tiny goose bumps raised across his body once the pressure began. I helped myself up to stand on his stomach, digging my heels in a bit more than necessary to see if he could feel the imperfection he so carelessly missed.

I began to step down his legs, his arms, even pressing my sole into his face, I continued to push, stab and walk across his entire body, making sure each and every inch had been given teh same forcefully erotic treatment. His smile widened, each time he could feel my full weight on his more delicate bits. I made sure this continued on for quite some time, we both savored the deep power play of this scenario. Occasionally, lost in his thoughts, his hands would wander up to touch the shoes directly before moaning at the very idea of his predicament and moving them back to the floor as instructed.

In this moment – this was his release – his fantasy – his deepest need. And in my love for seeing a grown man quiver beneath me, I was happy to give him this memory and in turn, satisfy my own need to be wrapped up in something so thoroughly overwhelming.

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