After crushing their way through the sandwiches, the ladies would walk up two steps to a long walkway covered-- and I mean COVERED with rubber toy snakes and frogs. I’d crazy-glued them down to the planking. And I had 3 speakers suspended along either side of the walkway, floor level, playing sounds of about 50 frogs and 100 snakes, croaking, hissing, slithering, rattling, along with the sounds of swamp. (I had a friend who worked at a recording studio and I bribed him with promised trinkets from Vegas.) I also had a friend in theatre who’d gotten hold of a Cold-Blo machine that would shoot a two-foot stream of cold wind. That would blow along the floor, adding an icky, reptilian feel, I hoped. When my wife experienced this stretch during her walk-thru, with the lights on full, no blindfold, sounds playing only at half-volume, she dance-leaped across it very fast. She said her eyes told her it was all ‘fake,’ her other senses made it terrifyingly real. Oh-- but the best part-- midway along this plank there was dinner plate-sized clearing with a ¾” hole drilled in the flooring. This was where my cock and balls would receive possibly life-threatening (for them, at least) crushing abuse. I had three video cameras trained on this area. One camera to shoot from the ‘balls’ side of the walkway-- trained on the lads, one shooting from waist-high about 4 feet away-- filming the ladies knees down and including my cock, and one from shin-level-- and slightly to the side, catching the women (toes to camera) as they stepped, stomped, and danced across my naked, helpless, terrified privates.
Past that stretch, the ladies would walk across a 7-foot suspended bridge, with river sounds-- laced with hungry alligator cries playing on the speakers beneath it.
Turning a corner, the ladies would walk back up some steps, which led to a higher plane. Midway up those 10 steps, on step #5, is where my ten, nervous fingers would be splayed out flat and helpless (palms down) against the flattening, heel-spiking, and full-weight mutilation of half a dozen out-for-a-thrill ladies. (Their crossing the suspended bridge would buy me enough time to slide out-- if I still had the strength-- from beneath the walkway, slide on some shorts, and hurry over to the stairs and get my hands in place.) I had two cameras here, too. One camera would be shooting from the side, in profile across the step, and the other one would be slightly to the side, filming from inside the stairway outward, so their crushing feet would have their toes facing me and the camera lens. I had a stand-alone speaker here with a foot-control pause/play cd player attached, and it would play some of the most unearthly screams you’ve ever heard. So if, say, one of the high-heeled ladies nailed my hand on the knuckle where my fingers attached to my hand, and the pain was so great I couldn’t keep quiet, I could trigger the cd player with my foot so the pre-recorded ‘unearthly scream’ would cover the sound of my own girlish shrieking.
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