Standing on Steve Pt. 02

Literotic asexstories – Standing on Steve Pt. 02 by Footscribe11,Footscribe11
I was having a beer with Erin and Steve a boardwalk café in Toronto. I was drinking a Heineken on the patio with my chisel-toe Blundstones resting on Steve’s face, who lay on the interlocking bricks beside me and Erin’s table. The server had gotten to know us and didn’t mind our antics, as long as we didn’t get carried away. No slurping or sucking, but my resting my boots on Steve either kneeling or laying down was fine.

“I want to get a little bolder, get more involved in your matches,” Erin said, taking a sip of pale ale.

“What do you have in mind?” I asked.

“I want you to degrade me in front of my Steve, in front of the audience. Stomp on me. Stand on me. Stand on my tits,” she said.

Erin was a big, strong woman who’d wrestled for years. She was forty-five and had put on some weight that seemed all to go straight to her chest. She had enormous breasts. She had very curvy hips as well and stood almost six feet tall. She had muscle and tone and fantastic looks: long wavy blonde hair, full lips, and with her glasses looked like she could be librarian.

I ground the sole of my boot into Steve’s cheek enough to hurt. “Hmm. Have you run this by poor Steve, here?” Steve knew better than to talk while Erin and I were talking shop.

“He got hard as a pipe when I talked about you sinking into me. I think the audience are going to love it. Of course we’re going to play it as an outrage. Steve will get up of the mat, where you’ve left him bleeding, incapacitated, and covered in your load and will try to stop you from torturing me with your feet.”

“Then what?” I asked?

“You’ll beat him bloodier. Steve will open a fresh cut for you to play with, and we’ll get the ring apron red with his blood. I actually want to record you leaving a bloody footprint in the apron… What do you think?”

“That’s totally hot. What if after I finish abushing him I give your face a spray?” I asked, smirking.

“I think that would be appropriate,” she said.

“Are you playing it like you like all of this, or am I just grabbing you by the hair from

inside the ring, pulling you in, and stomping you down?”

“I want to play it like it’s all your idea and its something my marriage can’t take. Something scripted but unscripted. Pull me in by my hair.”

“How rough am I going on you?”

Erin had been sucking my toes while I forced Steve to gobble my knob for weeks by that point, but I’d never stood on her before.

“I want you to stand on my fucking grill. Both feet. Full weight. I want to feel all of you on me,” She said, smiling a wicked smile. “Right after you squish my tits under your feet,”

“Wow. Okay. It’s a lot of pressure. You sure?”

“I’ll have you by the ankles so I can control how much weight is on my face. I’ll be fine. I’ve seen how your jobbers take your weight,” she said. “Besides, you know I’m stronger than you. I can bench 250. If I had to, I could lift you by your ankles right off my face!” she said.

Wow. I had been a little nervous about playing rough with Erin, but I knew she was tough. She’d been a jobber for years, which meant lots of getting slammed, stomped, worked over, and sat on.

“You know what I want to work up to?” she said, her bottom lip trembling.

“Tell me.”

I want your foot right in my pussy, ankle deep,” she said. She shivered.

“Wow. Oh, my God. You struggle to get all five of my toes into your mouth,” I warned.

“How are you going to get my little toe past your slit?”

“I’ll worry about that. I’ll make it fit,” she said.

XXX

The next day we were filming a match. There was a small studio audience of about four hundred young men and women. I walked down to the ring, the linoleum cold on the soles of my feet. The ring apron would be warm. Steve’s chest would be even warmer. Steve was waiting in the ring for me and his wife Erin was stepping through the ring ropes taking her place in his corner.

I took my time climbing the steps to the ring and entered like royalty and promptly gave the fans the finger. Half cheered me for doing it, half booed and cussed me out. Steve looked like the quintessential jobber, face impassive until he’d start screaming in pain once I started to torture him.

Steve had a baby face, and he looked wary as he came to the centre of the ring. I strode up to him casually as the referee, a cute young brunette with hair dyed green who also wrestled named Courtney waited for us to lock up. I locked arms and shoulders with Steve, who tried to duck under me and put me in a hammer lock. I elbowed him in the face and sent him into the ropes. He came running back at me, right into my foot, which I planted right in his gut.

He bent over and I pulled his head between my thighs and took him to the mat. After squeezing his head between my quads for a while, fans started yelling: “Boring!” Funny, how if I laid on the mat with Steve between my thighs for half a minute wearing him down, they’d complain. But if I were standing on his face for just as long, that was entertainment.

I took their cue, and took Steve’s wrists in my hands and put my feet into his shoulder, holding him face down on the mat. He was on his knees, face down, and I was sitting, my legs stretched out, feet on his shoulder. The fans were a little more interested, but I knew I’d better get a little more erotic or they’d start up again. I took one foot off Steve’s shoulder and snuck my big toe into the corner of his mouth, pushing it as far back into his cheek as I could. Then I followed up with my other foot, fishhooking him in the mouth with my big toes. Then I gave a big yell and pulled hard on his wrist and pointed my toes, pulling his face forward as I drove my toes against him.

“Wrah!” Steve moaned. The referee did her duty and started a count. I had to the count of four to shift to a legal wrestling hold or Courtney would disqualify me, or threaten to. I pulled a little harder for a couple of second and enjoyed the snug, wet warmth of Steve’s cheeks, then slipped them both out and rolled backwards and got to my feet. Steve hold his cheeks and shook his head. Before He could get to his feet, I was coming off the ropes with a front kick to his forehead. Steve dropped onto his back, stunned. Before he could recover, I got onto his chest with both feet and did a little dance on his pectorals, laying quick rapid little stomps on them. Steve gave a staccato series of grunts until I left off his chest.

“Come on, Steve. Get on him!” Erin yelled.

“I want to see some face standing!” a shrill female fan yelled!

“Foot gag!” cried a mall fan.

I obliged them. I peeled his lips apart with my toes and put my foot in his mouth, buried it to my heel, which sat on his bottom teeth. I felt my toes touch his soft palate, then slide to the back of his throat. Steve gargled loudly and reached for my foot, and for a moment, it was a contest as I stepped down into his mouth as hard as I could as he grasped my ankle and tried to lift it out and way. I let him power me out and a long strand of his spit drooled across his chest as he pushed my foot away.

I raised my hands in victory and marched away from him as he sat up and choked. I left Steve to recover as best he could and ran to the ring ropes and reached down at Erin, who cried out in terror as she realized she was a target. I grabbed a fistful of her hair, and pulled her up. She screamed in fear and anger at being handled, but climbed obligingly up the steps and entered the ring. I slapped her across the face, and she looked at me, well, like I’d slapped her in the face. Then, I took her by the hair, ran her across the ring, and into the opposite turnbuckle, winding her.

Then I kneed her in the stomach twice, dropping her to sitting position in the corner.

Steve was getting to his feet by the time I got my foot onto Erin’s throat and began to choke her. It wasn’t often I wrestled women as big and strong as Erin, and I pushed on her hard. Her hands around my foot were warm, strong, and firm. I just pushed on her throat and hands even harder. Harder than I would have with Steve, and really made her choke. Steve came running at me. I put a back kick into his gut that doubled him over. Then kneed him in the head to drop him. To make sure Erin wasn’t going anywhere, I put my toes on her forehead and raked them down across her eyes and nose. She cried out in pain, and held her face.

That gave me time to go back to Steve. The fans were thrilled. Half the room were shouting “Foot gag her! Foot gag her!” once Erin went down in the corner.

I stood on Steve’s face, my bare heels on his forehead, toes smothering his lips. Usually I stood on him other way around, with my toes on his scalp, balls of my feet on his forehead. Steve was so tough he didn’t even hold my weight with his hands, like he was supposed to sell the fans that he was struggling under my weight. I even felt his tongue snake out between my toes, his way of telling me he was doing fine and ready to take more punishment.

I stood on his face until Courtney hassled me, then got off gingerly, in my own time. I picked Steve up by the hair, then threw him out of the ring to cement floor. No need to worry about him for a minute. I went back to the corner, where Erin was crawling out of the ring. I grabbed her hair again, slapped her twice, then body slammed her to the mat.

I felt her big warm breast under the ball of my foot, the aureole and the big nipple. Then stepped on her, first one foot then the other, and I was full weight on her breasts. She screamed. Loud, and long. The fans were silent. They’d never seen anyone stand on a woman’s rack before, boots or bare feet. Her hands seized my ankles, but she didn’t use much strength to lift me off her tits. I have to give her credit: she just let my feet bore into her breasts and press them flat to her ribs. Courtney was so shocked at the act that she didn’t think to apply a four-count, which gave me more time. I rocked my weight back on forth from one foot to another, rocking her chest like a little boat under me, shifting her breasts and grinding them under my soles. I dug my toes into her, feeling her warm skin even between my toes.

I was standing on her. Full weight, both feet, right on her breasts. A first. The fans were pleased. Many of them cheered. For an encore. I left her breasts and moved one foot, then the other, onto her face. And for a moment, the fans had another first. A man standing barefoot on a woman’s grill. I stood erect, like a statue, poised on Erin, like a bird on a its perch, my toes hugging her scalp, my heels pressing her lips hard against her teeth. Her warm hands gripped my ankles, but barely pushed my weight up of her face. She was very tough, like her husband. When I stepped off her, her lips and face were white from having the blood flow cut off. Her face looked well and truly stepped on!

By the time, I left the ring to collect her husband, she rolled over onto her stomach and held her face in her hands, as if she were making sure her nose were still there.

I was getting a boner from just thinking about what I’d done to her.

I picked up Steve where I dumped him, grabbed him by the hair, and asked him, “Ready to bleed?”

He nodded. I walked Steve over to the ringpost and rammed his forehead into it three times. It was brutal enough to hurt and bruise him, but not cut him. That last detail I left to him and Courtney. She smoothly and discreetly passed him a razor blade wrapped in tape. Steve went to the floor holding his face after I’d bashed it into the ring post and went to work opening his head up with a nice little slice I could widen as the match went on. Steve came up with a trickle of blood running in two rivulets down his nose and cheek. I smiled wolfishly at the sight.

The fans loved it. I pulled Steve into the ring and threw him into the corner. Then I ran my foot into his face to drop him to the ground. I put the ball of my foot right onto his cut and twisted it on the wound, opening it further. Steve gave a cry of pain that was only half real, and I felt warm, sticky blood underfoot. After I wiped my foot down his cut a few times, he was bleeding freely, all over his chest and legs. I walked over to the other side of the ring in triumph and raised my hands in victory.

It was a pretty pathetic sight. Me with my hands raised, Erin holding her face after I’d stood on it for half a minute as the fans cheered me, and her husband bleeding steadily on his chest and stomach from a cut I’d widened with the ball of my foot.

They didn’t look like a winning couple at my hands and feet.

I casually walked over to Erin, who was only just sitting up to behold her husband bleeding all over himself in the corner. I stepped down on her throat to put her flat on the mat again. Then, smiling down at her, I curled my toes over her bottom lip and pried her mouth open. I pushed my toes into her pie hole, forcing my little toe in past the corner of her little mouth, and sunk it all the way in, burying my foot in up to my heel. My toes went to the back of her throat and rammed the soft tissue. Her eyes wept and tears flowed down her cheeks as I crammed my foot in harder. She grabbed by foot around the ankle with both hands and made a show of trying to force my foot out and away from her, but it was all show. She was letting me drive my foot into her throat as hard as I pleased. Her nipples were hard.

The crowd began a chant: “Eat his foot! Eat his foot!”