TRAMPLE STORY (part 2)

by FrankB

The pain in Don’s hand was excruciating but the damage was minimal compared to the real damage done to his pride and his heart. Surprisingly, he didn’t slink out as might have been expected under the circumstances but instead, stayed to watch the rest of the show. His mind stayed on Cindy and in spite of the men’s laughter and ladies giggling, he felt a stronger need to stay and try to see her after the show - an act that impressed Cindy greatly. He was quite surprised that not one of the girls bothered to pick up his money but he simply didn’t understand that this club and its girls were strictly first class. Any one of them could, and in many cases did, make twenty times that much for one hour of extra curricular activities. "Hello, Sweetheart. How’s my favorite daughter?" It was Suzanne’s voice on the phone interrupting her thoughts. "Mom! I’m your ONLY daughter! How did you know it was me?" Cindy asked puzzled. "But if I HAD another daughter, you’d still be my favorite. Who else calls me at 5:30 on Friday evening because they’re stuck on the Bay Bridge and can’t get home? Don’s still giving you fits isn’t he?" Suzanne knew her daughter very well. "You’re amazing, Mom! Right on every count! So what should I do?" Cindy had been asking her mom this same question for the last six months. "You know I’ve been telling you the same thing since you married that prick but you always ignore me, besides, you know a lot better than I do what you should do," her mother answered with exasperation. Suzanne, at 36 was a gorgeous woman in her own right. In fact, it would have been very difficult to say who was the more beautiful of the two when you saw them side by side. It was obvious to the casual observer that they were related but you would have sworn they were sisters rather than mother and daughter. Suzanne was maybe a half an inch taller than Cindy with the same midnight black hair and eyes - the same rich, full hair being a little shorter falling to just below her shoulder blades. She was slightly heavier at 108 pounds but their feet, their luscious, beautiful, cruel and deadly feet were virtually identical. "You know, Honey, you really amaze me. For a girl who’s really a lot more sadistic than I ever dreamed of being, you just let that asshole treat you like a kitchen maid. It really saddens me," Suzanne lamented. "Oh, Mom! You know I’m only mean to people and things I don’t like. When Don married me, I was really in love with him. It wasn’t the same kind of thing when I hurt him. I only did it because he wanted me to," Cindy replied. "Yes, I know. You do everything he wants you to do but he just gets worse doesn’t he? If you could see past those rose colored glasses of yours, you would see that he’s just dirt the same as Johnny is - the same as all those others you ruined with your feet just for your own amusement. What did Johnny do after you hospitalized him for ten days? He came crawling back to you and begged you to hurt him some more didn’t he - which, as I recall, you did without any hesitation," Suzanne said with a hint of pride in her voice. "Sure, but they were fools! They’re still fools! Why shouldn’t I have ripped them up? They were too stupid to stop me and I was too power hungry to stop myself! I was just a spoiled little teenager, barely ninety pounds - not exactly hard to overpower if they had wanted to. When I stamped my little foot, the boys fell all over each other to see who could be the first to obey my every command. Besides, I didn’t like them! I always stomp and crush things I don’t like - I learned that from you, Mom," Cindy answered defensively. "That’s my point! They didn’t stop you because they couldn’t! They worshipped you, Cindy! Don wants to worship you too but you won’t let him. He treats you bad because he’s frustrated with you for treating him so nice. He keeps hoping that you’ll put him straight. The others were dirt and so is he! You can only treat dirt one way - you have to trample it and grind it under your feet! You were such a deliciously wicked little girl. How did you become so soft?" her mother said sadly. It bothered her very much to see her little girl unhappy and not in her rightful place - standing next to her, side by side, on the faces and balls of every man in the world in their sharpest and deadliest spike heels! "Mother, you talk about me like I’m some sort of monster or something. You made it pretty obvious that you wanted me to treat men the same way you did. As early as I can remember, you were always walking on some slob in front of me. I remember watching you from the big chair, clapping my little hands every time you made one cry out in pain. ‘That’s how we do it, Cindy!’ you would say. Then when Jack and his little moron, Johnny moved in, you made a special effort to treat them both as slaves while I watched. So, maybe you got your wish and I’m a little mean where most men are concerned but I’ve still got a heart. I cry at sad movies. I take in stray kittens and I love little children - even male children. At least I never snuffed a man under my high heels like some people I could name," Cindy answered cruelly. "Oh, Baby, I never meant for you to become cruel and sadistic, I just wanted you to understand a woman’s place in this world. As far as men are concerned, we are untouchable, porcelain goddesses. They must obey our every command without hesitation. A man must service our every desire and receive nothing but pain in return. He must be willing to risk his life just for the privilege of licking the filth off the bottoms of our shoes. The only favors a man gets are the ones we choose to give them. I truly believe that and I’ve spent my life proving it to be true over and over. You used to believe it too until that idiot, Don came along. You didn’t learn to be sadistic from me, you were born with it. And why can’t you let me forget about that unfortunate incident with Jack? You were at the trial. You know and I know it was an accident! The jury called it manslaughter! I never served any time nor should I have! A year of therapy starting next week and that’s it!" Suzanne felt wounded by her daughter’s barb. "I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have thrown it in your face like that," Cindy said apologetically, "I never blamed you for doing it, in fact, I was proud of you. I don’t think that having 10 men on the jury hurt you any either. So, how come you never told me about it? All I know is what I learned at the trial - that you choked him to death under your heel but you never told me why you really did it. Not that I care! I never liked that S.O.B. anyway! I would have really enjoyed doing him in myself and probably would have if I had stayed around long enough." "That’s for sure!" Suzanne said perking up. "As it was, you probably did a lot more damage to Jack during that last year you were here than I did over the whole five years combined. You definitely kicked out more of his teeth than I did. Anyway, there was never any reason not to tell you what happened but you weren’t around at the time and besides, you never asked." "So, why did you finish him?" Cindy asked excitedly. "I hate to disappoint you but it really was an accident. Everything I testified to at the trial was true. When you stand on someone every morning, noon and night for five years, it’s pretty easy to forget that they’re down there under your feet. You talk about stupid! Jack worshipped me so much that he never so much as lifted a finger to let me know he couldn’t breathe. At least he died quietly with a peaceful smile on his face. I remember I had been standing on his pecker with one of my high heels while I had the other one on his chest. I didn’t go into detail at the trial for obvious reasons. I was using my gold, strappy sandals with the 5" metal heels. You should remember them - the slender metal heels are about as thin as ice picks - you put Johnny in the hospital with them the first time that you wore them. You crushed one of his balls under the heel. Do you remember? What were you - thirteen - maybe fourteen at the time?" "I remember," Cindy answered dreamily, "It was my 13th birthday and it was the first time I had ever worn a pair of 5" heels." "I remember watching you that day," her mother continued, "I had let you have a couple of glasses of wine because it was your birthday and you were feeling pretty giddy. You climbed up onto that low coffee table and made Johnny kneel down and put his balls in front of your feet. Then you turned around and started trying to pin one of them under the pointed tip of that metal heel. ‘Pin the spike on the donkey’s balls’, you kept saying over and over a little slurred as I recall. Tears were rolling down my face from laughing so hard because it kept slipping out from under your heel every time you tried to step down on it. Johnny screamed to high heaven every time his ball squirted out from under your heel and you ended up pinning his sac to the table instead. At first you cussed like a sailor every time you missed and you almost decided to grind them under the soles of your shoes in frustration but then you started laughing too. You were so wobbly on those heels. I don’t know if it was the wine, or because you weren’t used to skinny 5" spikes, or just because you were laughing so hard but you almost fell off the coffee table a number of times," Suzanne was laughing joyfully as she recalled the incident. Cindy started giggling too as her mind drifted back to that pleasurable afternoon. "Yea, I was pretty zonked. That wine really brings out the sadist in me but I didn’t ‘make’ Johnny, or anybody else, ever do anything - I just showed them my sexy feet and told them what I wanted and they did it - just like lambs to the slaughter! I remember trying to stab his ball and keep my balance at the same time but it was practically impossible. Remember when I slipped and accidentally stepped sideways onto the back of his hand snapping two bones in the process? He sure made noise over that one. My spike got stuck in his hand and I had to step on his wrist with my other foot in order to pull it out. He was bathing my feet with his tears. I can still hear him crying, ‘Please, Cindy! Please, please, Cindy! Don’t do this to me! For God’s sake, Cindy, have a little mercy! I’ll never be able to have kids! Boo hoo hoo!’ or words to that effect. What a fool he was! And still is!" "Cindy! You were so cold in those days! Didn’t you feel even a little bit sorry for him?" she asked with a mixture of delight and incredulity. "Why should I?!" Cindy laughed, "I’d had my birthday wine and was feeling no pain. He wasn’t tied to that table - Johnny could’ve left with only a mangled hand but he chose to stay of his own free will. He got what he deserved!" Cindy said with finality. "Even now, alcohol always puts me in a ball crushing mood. That’s why I don’t drink around Don." "Yes, and you did give him a chance to come away a whole man, remember? The first time your heel slipped off of his ball and pinned his sac to the table, you told him that if he could lick the arch of your foot without pulling his sac out from under your heel, you would spare him. I never saw anybody bend in so many places at one time before," Suzanne was laughing so hard she could barely speak, "Obviously, he never made it but he sure dislocated a few things trying. I remember that you made it possible for him to reach your other foot with his mouth and he almost devoured it with his tongue. You were so cruel, Cindy, moaning and carrying on like he was really pleasuring you and you were going to let him off the hook. Then you dropped the bad news on him. ‘Sorry,’ you said, ‘you’re worshipping the wrong foot,’ and you proceeded to finish smashing his ball. As I recall, it took you nearly a half hour to finally trap that elusive left egg of his - or was it his right? - under your heel and squash it. To this day I’ve never heard such a horrible, agonizing scream as the one that seemed to come out of Johnny’s soul that afternoon even though it was only for a split second before he passed out on the floor. After all that shrieking, the silence was deafening!" "Yes, it really was terrific! Wonderfully glorious!" Cindy gushed, "I had to trap it against the wall of his sac with one heel and then squish it with the other one. He fell to the floor like a sack of cement when I finally popped that slippery little sucker. I never felt so powerful and invincible. I was Super Girl and Wonder Woman rolled into one. I was so overwhelmed with my superiority that I jumped down from the coffee table onto his prick with both heels and then trampled it under those metal heels while I sang ‘We are the champions’, too bad he wasn’t awake to feel my heels making mush out of his ruined prick. He’d have just passed out again anyway. I had really intended to finish that ugly thing off but he got lucky - that time! I never heard of anyone getting stitches in his prick before, let alone close to a hundred of them. I never told you this, but my panties were sopping wet that day, I really thought I was going to have my first ever orgasm. Now that I think about it, it was his right one that I crushed that day because I remember distinctly mashing his left one under my bare feet two years later while I was masturbating. I kept teasing him by rolling it around between the table and the heel of my foot, over and over, almost crushing it but always letting up at the last possible second. Every time he screamed, I’d get a little closer to orgasm until finally - just before I was ready to climax - I stepped down on it with all my weight! I timed it perfectly. He let out the most blood curdling scream you ever heard, even louder than the time I ruined the other one under my spike. My ears were still ringing two hours after I finished with him. I climaxed at the exact same second just before he passed out. God! What a rush that was! It sure is a lot easier to crush balls under a bare heel than it is with a spike heel and it’s so much more thorough. It’s so much more sensuous too, to feel it splattering under your bare skin! Too bad you missed that one! It was truly wonderful!" Cindy was beginning to breathe hard as she recalled how exhilarating it felt when she finally exploded his testicles under her sexy feet on those two separate occasions. "Yes, I’m getting a warm glow just listening to you recall it. I would have enjoyed seeing your face as you crushed it but you could have at least called ‘911’ instead of letting him lie there unconscious until I got home to do it. You know," Suzanne said with reluctant respect, "When you think about it - at 15 and a half, which is how old he was the first time you eliminated one of his testicles, it took a lot of guts for him to leave them out there fully exposed for a half hour waiting for you to finally crush one or both of them under those wicked spikes." "You may call it guts - I call it stupidity in the highest form!" Cindy said with a sneer. "Especially the second time when he sacrificed his last chance at fatherhood just so his spoiled little fifteen year old stepsister could have an enjoyable orgasm. I even told him beforehand exactly what I was going to do to him in gory detail so he could leave if he wanted to," Cindy continued. "He had come home from basketball practice. I was sitting on the couch drinking my second beer - starting to feel a little horny. The only thing I had on was my red bikini. I held up my dirty foot and he rushed over, knelt down and started kissing and licking it. I waited until I could see the wet spot forming on the front of his pants and then I told him, ‘Johnny, I’m really hot! I need to masturbate but I need your help. If I could crush your other ball under my bare foot while I play with myself, I would be very happy.’ You should have seen his face! He looked like I had already stomped him!" "‘Please, Cindy,’ he pleaded. ‘Please don’t do that to me, I beg you.’" "‘I have to!’ I told him. ‘It’s what I want to do! You can leave if you’re not man enough to take it but you’ll never again get to kiss my filthy feet.’ Unfortunately for you, you won’t be a man anymore when I get through with you!’ I started giggling uncontrollably at my little joke while Johnny’s face got as white as a sheet but he never stopped licking the bottom of my soiled foot. He started to get up and leave two or three times but it was as though some invisible force was holding his face against my foot. He just couldn’t pull himself away because he knew he might never get near them again. ‘Okay, then! Let’s get to it!’ I told him. ‘Take down your pants and sacrifice your last remaining testicle. Put it on the table to be squashed by the little bare foot that you’re now kissing and cleaning with your tongue! You’ve done it before - you know the routine!’ The beer had given me the giggles and I just couldn’t stop laughing. He looked like a man going to the electric chair. He was crying uncontrollably but the idiot actually did it in spite of everything. I didn’t feel the least bit sorry for him. I even kicked him in the face three or four times with my little bare feet so hard that he cut the back of his head when I slammed it back into the edge of the coffee table. The rest - as they say - is history! Just like Johnny’s balls!" "Oh, Cindy!" Suzanne said proudly. "You were oh, so mean! But you really should cut him a little slack. He only let you finish castrating him because he worshipped you so much and wanted you to be happy! He still does! He never stops talking about how beautiful you were as you were masturbating above him that day." "I know, I know, Mother. Finish your story about Jack’s unfortunate demise," Cindy said impatiently changing the subject. "Okay. Where was I? Oh, yeah. I remember I had an early appointment and was leaning forward toward the mirror putting on my makeup. I had all my weight on the heel imbedded in his prick and was trying to ignore his ear-shattering screams. Normally, I would have enjoyed hearing Jack scream. Seeing his penis impaled under the tip of my stiletto heel while its head stood at a right angle was always a big turn-on. That particular morning, however, I was running late and his blood curdling screams were beginning to irritate me so I moved the heel that was on his chest up to his face and stood on it temporarily while I unstuck my other heel from his pecker and moved it up to his chest. I guess everything’s relative where pain is concerned. I know Jack was still in a lot of pain from the heel on his face and the other one buried deep in his nipple yet he quieted down considerably. I guess when you have a metal spike heel stuck in your penis, it makes everything else seem tame by comparison. Well, I’m starting to ramble again. To make a long story short, when he finally settled down to quiet moans and whimpers, I completely forgot all about him and inadvertently moved the heel from his nipple onto his throat which I was always fond of doing. I used to enjoy watching his eyes bug out and hearing the tiny little squeaks coming out of his mouth while he tried desperately to get just a little taste of precious air. But like I said, I wasn’t watching him that morning and I was completely unaware that I had moved my heel onto the center of his throat and was slowly choking him to death. Originally, I had most of my weight on his face because it hurt him more and I liked seeing my deep, tiny, little heel prints on his face for days and days afterward - but I guess I must have inadvertently shifted my weight to the heel on his throat when I leaned to my left for whatever reason. That was all she wrote - he died very quietly under my heel. I don’t know how long I stood on him after he stopped breathing. I’m sorry I did it but I can’t bring him back so no use crying over spilt milk. As a little side note to this story, I do remember that my foot slipped on the tile when I stepped down off of his face from all the slobbering he had done on the bottom of my shoe. At least, unknown to me at the time, he had contented himself by kissing and licking my shoe during his last few moments on earth. I’m sure he died happy." "Too bad!" Cindy said, "He didn’t deserve to die happy! He sure wouldn’t have if I’d been around! I would have made him suffer for a long time before finishing him!" "Oh, Cindy! You really do worry me sometimes," Suzanne said in a worried voice. She changed the subject, "What did you want to ask me about Don and are you quite sure you’re ready to listen to the answers?"