How I get laid...(on the floor for trample purposes, that is).
28-Dec-98 15:01:31

For some time I have read the experiences of you, my kindred... how you achieve unknowing finger crushes, or how you skillfully acquire genuine trample experiences from your coworkers or friends. Granted there have been many clever methodologies posted to this board. I too have posted experiences of my own. It was my original intent to provide you with a progressive history of the development of my fetish over time. However, I have grown impatient and decided to skip to the good part now. Of all the methodologies posted to this board by you, my kindred, I have not seen that anyone else has ever done what I shall reveal to you of myself. Please bear with me, because this account, though a synopsis of my experiences, may prove rather lengthy.

After I graduated from highschool, I went through a period of wondering how I would achieve further gratification for my insatiable hunger. Of course, I used the classic "back walk" method to get a few trample experiences from some of my female friends, but this proved unsatisfactory for me. I wanted... no, needed more. A couple of weeks after highschool ended, I went to stay for a time at my uncle's house with him and his wife. I found myself spending a lot of time at the mall. Having come from a small town, this mall phenomenon was new to me. One thing proved eminently fascinating to me about the mall. On any given day, there were literally hundreds of nicely dressed women all wearing highheels. I began to wonder if there were any way for me to convert this huge potential into at least a few experiences. I had acquired a strong affinity for finger crush from my highschool experiences, so my first attempts concentrated on getting my fingers stepped on. Of course, I wanted it to be unknown to the women, so I tried different forms of personal concealment. I remember that I could never seem to get close enough to the women's feet to get my finger under the heels. Then one day I noticed how women in one of the clothing stores walked amongst the round clothing displays. I got the bright idea to hide under one of the bigger ones, so that when women would walk through to look at clothes, I could put my finger under their heels. I did not succeed, partly because the position I was in made it hard to reach far enough to get my finger under their heels and partly because I was just plain scared. At length I abandoned this method. I recall that some of you, my kindred, have had success in bookstores. Well, I tried that too. I came really close once, but was unable to convert the experience. After that, I never could find any eligible females in the mall bookstore. In fact all my mall ideas failed. I just could never get close enough without putting myself in danger of discovery.

One very disappointing day after numerous disappointing attempts, I left the mall in a state of utter dispair. I was extremely desperate. A number of wild ideas were running through my head. One idea I had toyed with before was to approach a woman in the parking lot and claim to have some nervous condition that made my hand contract violently. Then I would claim that the only way to ease the pain was to apply focused pressure to my hand in various places with the heel of her shoe. I never had been able to get up the courage to do this before, but desperation has a way of changing one's mind about a lot of things. Just as I was leaving the mall, I saw a woman in her late fifties, stunningly attired and made-up. Perhaps most stunning were the 3.5 to 4 inch black pumps she was wearing. She was rather wealthy looking, and she had that air of superiority about her. My depressed mind decided to approach her and claim the nervous condition. As I walked over to her , she saw me coming and started getting in her car faster. I got to her just as she was climbing in. I began with, "Mam, can you help me...," and that was all I got to say. She responded with a curt, "No!" and swung her other leg into the car. I admired her black sheer nylons and those gorgeous black pumps she was wearing as she slammed the door of her red Dodge Intrepid shut. I must have gone subconscious, because I don't remember actively willing myself to do what I did next. Something about how she automatically assumed I was a thug trying to hurt her really turned me on. I walked over the the front tire on the driver's side and knelt down. Then I put my right hand behind the tire. She looked at me through the window with a look of utter disgust and said, " If you don't move, I'm going to call the police!" I don't know exactly what made me stay, but I stayed. She didn't call the police. She got this angry expression on her face as if she were upset that her warning hadn't had the desired effect. Then her expression turned to a scowl of strong contempt.

She cranked the car and put it in reverse. All the while she kept her eyes fixed firmly on me. She then gave what sounded like a half-hearted warning, "You better move!" I didn't and she looked almost pleased that I didn't. I could hear the engine rev a little as the car moved slowly backward. The car stopped as the wheel pressed on my hand. The woman's look of contempt had transmuted to a look of "fine, stay there then and get what you deserve." She kept her eyes fixed on me as she revved the engine enough to make the car tire roll up onto my hand. I was beyond arousal. This gorgeous mature woman was deliberately running over my hand, using those gorgeous nylon-clad legs and those gorgeous black pumps to force her heavy car over the flesh and bone of a stranger. There was a look of satisfaction on her face as she rolled completely over my hand and backed out into the parking lot throughway. I stayed there kneeling down as she put the car in drive. But instead of driving off right away, she looked at me for a moment as if to invite me to put my hand under her tire again. To this day I wish I had. Then she drove off looking back at me in the rearview as I walked to my car. I looked around to see if anyone else was looking at me, but no one was. Either the other people were too busy to notice or they just didn't care what had happened. I learned right then and there the power of anonymity. I sat in my car for a moment to absorb what had happened. I was thrilled out of my mind. I was on a high, and my confidence was bolstered. For the rest of that day and a few days after, I spent my time in parking lots. I would park beside a car and wait for the woman to come out of the store. Then I would sneak around my car and position my hand under the rear tire on the passenger side. As she backed out, she would run over my hand, sometimes with both tires. I eventually progressed to the point of lying down parallel to the car with my shoulder wedged under the rear tire. As the woman would back out, she would have to rev the engine to make the car run over my shoulder. Usually I would get run over with both tires. And sometimes the tire would bump forcefully into my face as it came down off my shoulder. Most women just drove off, not even caring what they had run over. Some women actually saw me after they had run over me, but they, too, drove off.

I had fun doing this while I was visiting my uncle, but on the day I was supposed to go home, my thoughts again turned to finger crush. I just could never get close enough to the woman's feet to get my finger under her heels. Anyway, I made a stop at Wal-Mart. I don't remember what I was looking for, but I do remember what I found. As I ventured down one aisle, I saw a woman standing there, stepping back and forth as she looked up and down the shelves. She was wearing multicolored highheels. I remember thinking that if I were to kneel down behind her and place my hand on the floor, I would almost be able to touch her heels. So I did kneel down behind her and place my hand on the floor, waiting for her to step back. My heart was pounding in my chest. People that walked by paid me no attention as I knelt down. After all this was Wal-Mart, and people knelt down to look at stuff all the time... they also put their hands out to brace themselves. So I looked perfectly natural. Finally she stepped back. Her heel barely scraped the side of my pinkie finger. I rose quickly and walked out of the store. I had what I needed -- validation of the viability of this method. I received an epiphany of the method I would use in the future. When I got home I decided to go to neighboring towns to the Wal-Marts there and practice my craft. I never practiced it in my hometown, knowing that anonymity was the primary component of success for me. The very first time I went to a neighboring town's Wal-Mart, I met with immediate success. I got my pinkie finger crushed by dozens of women in one day. I was in heaven. I had struck gold! For the time being my appetite was asuaged.

However, in time, this too no longer satisfied me. I wanted more. Keep in mind that I am from a small town in the south. I didn't have the opportunities of California or New York available to me. Nor did I have a computer at the time, so I had no idea of how to proceed. I had no community of kindred to confer with to get ideas. It was all up to me to generate these experiences, to bend reality to my will and wring a fetishist's existence from a "normal" world. Thank goodness for Wal-Mart! It was again at Wal-Mart that I received my second epiphany of how to take this practice, which I had nicknamed the "activity," to a higher level. I was in a Wal-Mart about one hundred miles from my hometown. I noticed a lovely young woman down one aisle. She had on really highheeled, spikey, black pumps. I assumed the position behind her and waited. Finally she lifted one heel and I quickly placed my pinkie finger beneath it. She stepped down, but stepped off quickly. I was not satisfied, so I placed my finger behind her other heel. She stepped back right onto the tip of my pinkie, but her heel slipped off, and she turned around to see what she had stepped on. I left my hand flat on the floor and looked up at her. She said she was sorry for stepping on my finger, and I assured her it was my fault. She smiled and went back to shopping. There I was kneeling at the feet of this gorgeous young woman, racking my brain as to how to milk this experience. Then it came to me, that second epiphany I spoke of. I got her attention and told her that I should actually thank her for what she had done. She inquired as to why. I said that my pinkie had been numb for some time and that nothing I had tried so far had restored feeling to it. But just then when she stepped on it with her heel, I felt sensation return. Then I swallowed hard and asked her if she would mind stepping on it again in the hopes of restoring all sensation to it. She looked down at me kneeling at her feet and, with a smile, asked me if I was sure I wanted her to step on my finger with her heel. I said yes and so she did. However, her heel kept slipping off and she said she couldn't see my pinkie under her heel and so couldn't put her heel directly on it. I must have gone subconscious again, because I immediately lay down on my stomach and reached for her heel with my other hand. Then I guided her heel onto my pinkie and she bore down. Every so often she would ask me how my finger felt. I would say good and ask her to apply more weight. She gradually increased the weight she was applying to my fiinger as I lay prostrate at her beautiful feet. I could feel my stiffening penis press through my pants against the cold hard floor of the aisle. It felt so good! Anyway, she soon thought she had done enough, so I thanked her most humbly and we parted ways. After that I mixed this in with the unknown finger crush practice. Whenever the women would feel my finger, I would simply launch into the "my finger was numb" routine. Some women wouldn't do it again no matter what I said. But most would either agree immediately or agree with a little coaxing. My favorite were the ones who offered before I could finish telling them. They showed the least concern for my finger by grinding their heels or bouncing on my finger. However, I couldn't forget that feeling of near orgasmic pleasure I got when I was lying on the floor at that young woman's feet with my stiff penis pressed against the cold hard floor. I could have cum if I had just moved around a little. So, I decided to try for a true orgasm during the activity.

Then one fateful day I was in the arts and crafts section of an out-of-town Wal-Mart. I spotted an older woman, perhaps in her early sixties, standing in one aisle. She didn't have on highheels, but she did have on some really nice looking black flats. She too had an air of richness about her. I assumed the position behind her at her feet. She stepped back almost immediately onto my hand, my whole hand. I thought for sure she would notice, but she didn't. She stood there for a moment, full weight, and then stepped off. I had a good feeling about this one. I must have gotten my hand and fingers stepped on by this one woman about twenty or thirty times before she felt it and turned around to apologize to me. She was insistently apologetic, and I, for the first time was just as insistent that it was my fault. I even apologized to her for getting in her way and startling her. She kept on insisting in her apology and I kept on insisting in my acceptance of blame. Finally she got the point that I didn't blame her in any way for what had happened, so she smiled and accepted my apology for getting in her way and startling her. That turned me on big time. Then she proceeded to another aisle. I followed her after a few minutes. I once again assumed the position. To my surprise, the same sequence of events began to unfold. Finally, she turned around and said, "I stepped on your hand again, didn't I?" No apology this time from her, just the question. I responded with my usual "it was my fault," and she smiled again. Just then her friend came around the corner. She began to relate the events to her friend who just said, "Oh, my!" Then I said, "You actually did me a favor." Both women wanted to know how so. I launched into the old "my hand was numb" routine and saw them thrill at the prospect that her accidental steps on my hand could have helped me somehow. Then I did something in that subconscious mode. I bent over, face first, and kissed the woman's shoe. While I was kissing it I said, "I should really be thanking you for what you did... You helped me so much." She and her friend beamed with big smiles and said, "Oh, isn't that sweet." I enjoyed their maternal condescension for a moment, then I made my request. I asked the one woman if she would deliberately step on my pinkie with her heel. She was glad to. So there I was lying face down in the crafts department with a woman crushing my finger under her heel. She put all her weight on it and even started to bounce a little. Her friend then began walking up and down the aisle looking for something as I lay at the woman's feet. Her friend just went on shopping as if nothing strange was going on. Then she finished on that aisle and went to another one. I could hear the laughing and conversation of the female workers in that department. They were on the first aisle I had been on and they had no idea what was going on one aisle over. I could no longer contain my excitement. As my errect penis pressed through my pants against the cold, hard floor, I could feel the dirt particles on the floor. I used a few unnoticeable pelvic thrusts against the floor and I came forcefully inside my pants. I had finally achieved orgasm and the woman had no idea that I had just "creamed my jeans." From my prostrate position with my finger still under her heel, I thanked her again and kissed her foot worshipfully. She said, "You are welcome," and joined her friend on the next aisle. Now I was spoiled. From then on every time I went out, I had one objective -- to cum.

My friends, my post is getting rather lengthy indeed, and I haven't gotten to the really good part yet, believe it or not. I'll continue this account with a second post later this week.

To pleasure eternal, and immortality in the flesh...
This is immortalmasochist signing off.