Sitting in my study, the doors shut, mulling all this over in my mind, I pulled up some of my wife’s video clips on my computer. My wife’s big, beautiful, tanned feet, with those long sexy toenails, stepping around on my face barefoot and in flip flops, mashing my features like a rubber mask, oblivious to my discomfort…. Lisa, blindfolded, stepping all over my cock and balls in her cruel red high heels as I trembled beneath the cock block I’d built her…. Every time her heel spike landed in the soft, fleshy tissue of my manroot, planted, mashed down, and then stepped away leaving a little crescent heel mark in my flesh and sometimes a red droplet of blood, my heart caught in my throat…. My wife in wedges at the Memorial Day concession booth, laughing with customers and (unseen by them) mashing to unrecognizable pulp all those hotdogs I’d ‘accidentally dropped’ on the floor behind the counter where she was working.
So there I am in the privacy of my study, watching all this sizzling foot action on my computer screen, ready to cream my shorts looking at all this incredible footage my wife had let me film. Lisa, on film (and in person) is completely mesmerizing to the eye, and she had me in a full-bore state of arousal. So I nearly leaped out of my skin and knocked over a desk lamp when the study door was loudly yanked open and Lisa bounded into the room. She knew I watched her in here, but with everything that was going through my mind, I felt like I was 13 year-old caught by the nun with the lit cigarette still in my hand. Before I could reach the computer’s mouse to minimize my all-powerful audio-visual drug, Lisa had crossed the room, straddled my lap, stuck her (very talented) tongue down my throat, and was playfully spinning us in the chair. When she came up for air she commented on the feel of that tent stake in my pants, quickly clued in as to why, and glanced at my computer screen just as the sexiest feet in the universe (hers, in yellow flip flops) leaped high in the air and landed full weight, feet together, on my naked trembling penis, mashing it flat on the cock block, and forcing a little bit of red ‘life essence’ out the tip. (She loved our ‘block parties,’ as she called them. She got to get out her aggressions toward her coworkers by marching, stomping, and jumping around blind-folded on my ‘flesh sacrifices to her beauty’ while at the same time making my fantasies come true.)
She giggled and said “I should have known.” Then she grew serious. “Listen, Baby, the reason I pushed so hard for that silly haunted house thing isn’t because of the Vegas trip. No, that’s not it at all.” She paused, looked at me, bit her lip, and then shot me a sheepish smile before saying “Well, okay, yes, you KNOW I’ve been dying to go to Vegas. But… and I know you might not understand this… but… your birthday’s coming up. And you’ve been so loyal to me. And I know sometimes it’s hard.”
“Like when I come home to find your girlfriends all sitting around barefoot.” I kidded.
“But you never look.” Then she burst out laughing, “Well, actually you, do, but no longer than for a couple of seconds.”
I was too embarrassed to speak.
“And I’m proud of you for that, Baby.” She grew serious again. “The reason I pushed for the haunted house thing wasn’t because of Vegas. It was because of you.”
“Me?” I was dumbfounded. “Sweetie, you KNOW the reason I always wanted to design those damned things was because--“
“Yes, I know,” she jumped in, covering my lips with her very pretty fingers. They felt so soft I found myself gently kissing them. She let me. “As I was saying, the haunted house is for you. It’s a birthday present from me to you. I may never do this again,” she paused, laughed, rolled her eyes and sighed dramatically. “I may never do this again, but… Baby, design the thing however you wish. And I mean HOWEVER you wish.”
I just stared at her dumbly. I was completely in the dark about her meaning.
She didn’t let me wait like that for long. “I’m telling you, Sweet, that if you want to… you know… get a few things stepped on, I don’t mind. In fact, I expect you to.”
What the f-ck?!! Was this my (jealous) wife speaking?!! I pinched myself, which set her to laughing.
“No, you’re not imagining this, Billyboo.” (One of her pet name’s for me.) “I’m telling you to design a mini-haunted house-- it doesn’t have to be extravagant, it doesn’t have to be involved and complicated, but I want, I expect, I DEMAND--“ Here she leveled at me her most stern, but tongue-in-cheek glare-- “you get something crushed, and that you film it! It’s my early, once-in-a-lifetime birthday gift to you. And if don’t get something crushed, bruised, and/or bleeding, I will tell the girls about your fetish and we will have a ‘Stomp Billy Flat’ night!”
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