It wasn’t really Angel’s fault - it was mine. You’ve heard the saying about ‘be careful what you wish for’? well - I wished - and here I was about to have my head mashed into a tiny wet spot on this cold floor under Angel’s beautiful foot because of that foolish wish. To be perfectly accurate, it wasn’t actually my wish being granted - it was Angel’s. Have I lost you completely? I know it’s a little confusing. I don’t have much time but I’ll try to explain: Angel wasn’t always sadistic, at least not by nature. And she didn’t always have the power to shrink me down to the size of a small doll.

I’ve always been a connoisseur of women’s feet especially when they’re the beautiful feet of a gorgeous woman encased in nylons and high spike heels. I used to fantasize about being the only male at a formal gathering of Miss Universe contestants - lying on the floor while dozens and dozens of the most beautiful women in the world trampled my face and naked body with their deadly spike heels. They would nonchalantly walk all over my naked body puncturing it in various places, crushing my face, nipples, penis and testicles beneath their thin, metallic, four and five inch heels paying absolutely no attention to my pitiful screams and cries for mercy. I imagined I could feel Miss Venezuela stepping down on my neck with her razor-sharp spike heel crushing my larynx beyond repair while effectively cutting off the flow of sweet, precious air to my lungs. I could hear her laughing and giggling somewhere high above me as she listened to Miss Columbia, whose sexy stiletto heel was impaling my limp penis, telling her a joke in Spanish as I gradually succumbed beneath their beautiful feet.

The sad truth is, however, that I had never had a woman stand on me in high heels because I was an out and out coward. My girlfriends would wear their sexy heels to bed when we made love. They would stick them lightly in my thighs or backs of my legs generating minor pain and discomfort for me but nothing of any major proportions. It was a major turn-on and I always seemed to perform better. A little pain was great but what I really needed was for them to dominate me more with attitude than with pain. To stand over me with one slightly dirty foot on my face, then order me to lick it clean. Things really changed when I met Angel!

I know most of you won’t believe what I’m about to tell you but it’s not important. If you worship women as I do and you like to fantasize about them sadistically trampling all over your naked body in razor sharp spike heels, then you’ll want to listen to what I have to say. But if you’re squeamish or you don’t have a ‘thing’ about beautiful dominating Goddesses in heels, then you’d be best advised to go away and ignore the rest of my story.

frank.b@worldnet.att.net