I enjoy trampling and stomping on my boytoys, crushing various vulnerable body parts. From my early play days, wrapping someone in sheets of plastic, mummifying them and turning them into my rug, doormat, trampoline or whatever allowed me the excuse of stepping, jumping and kicking with abandon would bring such a thrill to my skin. One client was transformed into a punching bag that I worked like it was a job. Another was my dance floor and I giggled as my high sharp heels found their mark from one end of him to the other. My feet are a wonderful tool for all this tortured attention; strong and flexible and deft. stripping myself arsenal down to just hands and feet can bring out some primal feelings.
Recently on Niteflirt, I enjoyed a very interesting conversation with a crush aficionado. At first, I felt hesitant about the discussion because of its negative associations. However, as the call went on it became more and more engrossing. From his point of view, crushing was all about being objectified, turned into Mistress’s “special victim”, having a laser attention focused on him, as well as enjoying being completely helpless and at Her mercy. Not having really explored the fetish past enjoying trampling and stomping and crushing various doormats and rugmen of my acquaintance, I found myself being drawn deeper into fantasies of being 100 feet tall, legions of tiny supplicating, begging men at my mercy.
I stumbled across and couldn’t get enough of the hot and cheeky images. I think I’m spending more time there than I care to recount, poring over drawings of huge gorgeous women. Inevitably, all this new data input is bleeding into my unconscious. I’ve been waking up from recent dreams where I’m standing over tiny creatures, laughing manically as my shoe comes down, crushing them. Suddenly, I’m looming over metropolises kicking down buildings, destroying trains, cars scurrying desperately from my path. Drowning people in endless golden showers…
Call me on Niteflirt:
My ignore line!