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Some years back, after reading the scenario of a new film, I arranged a deal with a very good friend of mine, who is a movie director. Most were platform and had wedge heels.
This is a true story. She always seemed to be working when I went.
I went back home after a day of work and was wondering if my girlfriend would be ok to give me a trample session. Maybe the outline of her firm breasts under her tight cotton tee-shirt. Or maybe it was just because, after three beers, he was slightly drunk, hence not quite so shy and inhibited as usual. On slow nights we would talk about what we liked to do, food, wine we both love it and we got to know a little about our private lives. In retrospect, John felt that it was probably her shoes, more than any other factor, which caused him to do what he did next.
While the women were pushed forward, they all did their utmost to prevent stepping on them, but from the fourth row, because of all the noise, the women had not heard the warnings and were unaware of the victims on the floor. She was dressed in blue jeans and some kind of pink business suit jacket.
I loved my Aunt Sarah and I used to eat with her on Thanksgiving while my parents were working they both worked at the hospital. Her blond hair was falling in a mess on her shoulders. He was to shoot a film in which during one of the scenes a group of about 80 women flies from a fire in their office building via a small corridor. Because of the jeans, I could not see how high the boots were, but what I could see had my full attention.
I loved her because she wore very sexy shoes. Nonetheless, it was debatable. There was a young lady college age who worked there.
I remember after dinner when all the men were watching football, the ladies sat around the table and chatted. The Hancock school was a private institution renowned for turning troublesome students into high achievers. Whatever the reason, John Preston rose from his seat, walked over to the beautiful woman whom he had never seen before in his life, knelt before her, and kissed her feet.
Of course, the women around them, unable to help, panicked and warned everyone to be careful, because their colleague was on the floor. The table sat eight ladies and was covered by a large tablecloth. She was amazingly beautiful.
A story about a fictional private school governed by women where male students are disciplined by the means of trampling. She was standing in the corridor, in between the still opened train doors and the narrow stairs leading down to the lower compartments in this double-decker train. Anyway, he was crying, begging for my forgiveness. She usually comes back at least one hour before me.
Maybe it was the way the light was reflected along the edge of her nyloned stockinged thigh. She was wearing high-heeled lace-up shoes, elegant and expensive-looking, and these, by raising her heels three inches from the ground, highlighted the firm muscles in her calves and thighs.
At the end of that corridor, they could leave the building via an emergency rope ladder. I changed clothes then eased myself and started watching a game on TV. Not long after, I heard the keys in the door and she entered. She will occasionally try on stiletto boots and shoes for me at the shoe store just to get a rise out of me such a tease! Dressed to kill with a white blouse, black skirt and opened toed block-heeled sandals.
I started eating and playing with my hot wheels amongst the high-heeled feet. The faculty demanded complete disciplinary autonomy from students parents. This meant teachers could use whatever means necessary to achieve the desired .
A Sandra Bullock sp look alike and a way about her that was so natural kept me seeking her out when I came in. We started doing some sessions not long ago and I was not yet really comfortable to ask her about it, but I know she had fun when doing it and she liked having me at her feet.
Heavy trampling forum
She was very tall — even though she was seated, it was obvious — and from his vantage point at a nearby table in the bar, he could see her long, muscular legs. In any event, I found myself with a small paper plate of thinly sliced turkey, playing beneath the table. A fictional story, written from a female perspective, about unknown trample of a man at a party where the guests were females only.
He fell in a heap, thanking me for touching him again, still crying.
As an added high, I make them wear their painted in red lipstick on their forehe. The story based the fantasy on the real experience that ended too quickly. I estimated her age around Long blond hair with a beautiful face and a nice feminine shaped body, not fat at all, but not skinny either. Maybe it was those deep, Mediterranean eyes — in which a man could sweetly drown.
I had spotted her at first sight as I walked to the train, or to be more precise, I had spotted her high-heeled white leather boots. She knows about my trample fetish and occasionally indulges in my fetish because she knows it makes me happy. Anyway, she knows I like to be trampled with shoes so she decided to give me my Christmas heel a few days early.
Unfortunately or so I thought at first she was working on the greeting card displays on the aisle where I had the most success since it was furthest from the register. They were, perhaps, the most beautiful legs he had ever seen in his life. She is afraid of hurting me and leaving scars. The school carried grades one thru eight, tuition was expensive and rules were strict. It was the end of a hot day in Summer. Amina, half Greek, half Spanish, had an astonishing trample of large, dark eyes, and the blackest hair that John had ever seen.
My ex-girlfriend and I are still friends. Run by a faculty made up entirely of women, it was set on the grounds of the former estate of the late Miriam Hancock, who had founded the school many years before. I walked back to his face, my shoes a half inch from his nose. The author writes about his experience as a dummy on a film set. Another of my memories from when I was around I would ride my bike to the local Hallmark gift and greeting card shop.
This one bartender Tracey not her real name caught my eye.
The author writes about an unexpected experience with a female acquaintance at a random foot party. Most probably those elegant shoes. I started going to this sports bar in town to watch the world series and have befriended a couple of waitresses and bartenders. I was surprised when entering the flat as she was not there yet. They were fully exposed beneath the hem of her short, black skirt, and accentuated by being encased in sheer black nylon. I quickly noticed that something was wrong, as her angel face had an annoyed air.