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?Look at me? she said several times. I tried to concentrate on her face, but I was fighting through a haze of pain. She was standing almost straight up, with one hand on the chair, and the other holding the cigarette.

?Do you understand that you are here to suffer for my pleasure? This is payback. You are mine, and that I?m going to do damn well whatever I want with you??

I looked at her in shock and awe.

?I didn?t do anything to you?, I managed to barely squeak out.

?No, but other men did. And you?re just like them, so you?re probably done shitty things to other women. So today, you?re going to pay for it.? She stomped her foot on me. ?Now don?t talk back anymore?.

I suffered painfully while she just stood there calmly puffing on the cigarette.

?Pringles. Please, I need air?, I wheezed.

?You?ll get air when I want you to have air.? Stomp, stomp. ?No talking?.
She looked off into space and hummed along with the Enya tune.

After what seemed like an eternity, she got off to stub out the cigarette. She took a drink from the water bottle.

The cool air rushed into my lungs with a whoosh, and the blood flowed painfully back through my body. My head swan with the blood rush. I concentrated all the energy I had left and yelled ?help? as loud as I could.

That pissed her off. She came quickly back into the room. I struggled to sit up, but she kicked me painfully in the chest and I fell back on the floor. She stood on my chest and started stomping. Not just one stomp, but an endless barrage, every one meant to hurt me. I fought for breath. I tried to ask her to stop but I couldn?t speak. Again my brain started to go fuzzy. I couldn?t go much longer without a breath. She never said a word, just turned in a circle delivering the punishing blows all over my chest.

Finally she got off and I lay there panting and dazed in great agony.

She had another slug of water from the bottle.

When she stood over me again I gasped in fear because I thought she was going to start again and I was afraid I wouldn?t be able to survive the next onslaught. She stood with one foot on either side of my head, and smiled down at me. She was obviously enjoying my fear.

?You may look up my skirt, if you like?, she smiled sweetly. I locked my gaze tightly on hers. I wasn?t going to do anything to piss her off more, and I was afraid that taking such a liberty would do just that.

She pulled her bare heels together, sandwiching my cheeks between her ankles.
?Look up my skirt or I?ll step on your face?, she said with mock sweetness. I didn?t have to shift my gaze much.

?What do you see??

Although it was dark under her full skirt, I could make out the outline of her mammoth thighs, and the front and back of a dark, frilly thong.

?Actually, at some point tonight, that wonderful big ass is going to be the last thing that you will ever see. What?s it like to know that you are going to be sat upon to death?? She squatted down over me. That huge ass was inches from my face. I could smell her crotch, and although there was a hint of perfume, there was a definite muskiness, too.

?What?s it like to know that you are going to be smothered and crushed by a woman?s ass? That your nose is going to get shoved right up inside me, that every one of your last breaths will be inhaling my shit? Won?t that be a lovely way to go? And when they find your body, they?ll wonder why you smell so bad; they?ll wonder why your face stinks of cum and of shit. And they?ll wonder how your ribs got broken and your guts got crushed.

She dropped her butt onto my chest. That hurt. I ?Oh?d? loudly. ?Pringles?, I said weakly.

She straightened out her legs. Then I heard the duct tape again. She tore off three strips each about a foot long.

?You?re making too much noise?, she said.

?No, wait! Please don?t. I?ll be quiet. Please don?t do that. I?m a mouth breather. I?ll be quiet, I promise?

?Aw, Sweetie, I?m sorry but it?s the only way this is going to work. I know you mean well, but in my experience, most people have great difficulty suppressing their screams. So we?ll just put this gag on, and then you can yell and scream all you want.?

I tried to turn my head away but she was way too strong for me. She put all three pieces over my mouth, overlapping so that I couldn?t work them off.

I was pretty well beside myself now. Although I have always enjoyed being squashed by a BBW, I?ve never really given up control to a woman before. We?ve always done what I wanted to do, but this woman was something else. She had me completely under her control.

She squirmed forward a little, lifted up her skirt, and put her hands behind my head. She pulled my face into her underwear and sat there, crushing my chest and abusing my face. Slowly at first, but then harder and harder. I moaned, I tried to yell, and she just laughed and kept rubbing me against her. Her underwear was wet, and it got a lot wetter.

She shuddered, and pressed down upon me painfully as the orgasm took over her being.

Finally she let go of my head and rolled off me. I was having a lot of trouble breathing; my chest was burning not just from the crushing under her ass, but also from the fact that I couldn?t suck any air though my mouth.

She tugged on the leash and pulled me into a sitting position. She told me to lie on my back in the big armchair with my legs on the ottoman. It wasn?t easy to maneuver myself over there, and I guess I was taking too long about it, because she kicked me in the stomach. I fell in my face and she stood on my back, bouncing, telling me that when she gave an order, it must be obeyed immediately.

I can?t begin to describe that pain. I wasn?t ready for the kick or the trampling, and I was already having trouble breathing and in a weakened state. She seemed to get heavier each time she got on top of me.

I wiggled my way into the arm chair with her alternately tugging the leash and kicking my stomach or ribs or legs. Finally I was on my back on the chair, with my legs on the ottoman.

She stood straddling me, facing my feet, pulled my underwear down to my knees and then dropped her butt onto my chest. I was amazed that nothing broke: me or the chair. She settled herself in, and then, using baby oil, started to jerk me off. This was not a gentle jerk off. She squeezed my dick until I let out a muffled scream. She raked her nails along the tube at the bottom of my dick. She yanked like she was trying to pull it off. I prayed I would come soon so that the pain would stop, but with all that weight on my chest, the blood was not getting to the penis. I started to go soft. She didn?t like that.

She dug her nails in and squeezed very hard, and very long. I tried to scream. Several times. The power in her right hand was amazing. I just made muffled noises and she laughed.

She resumed the tortuous jerking once I was hard again. Finally, thankfully, I spurted. She got up right away. Unfortunately, I had spurted on her and it landed on her sweater.

She kicked me off the chair and back onto the floor. I tried to curl up into a ball, but she kicked and stomped me onto my back, and dragged the chair over. With both hands on the chair she started jumping up and down on my chest. For some strange, delirious reason, I started counting the jumps. I lost track at 63.

When I regained consciousness, I was lying face down over the back of the arm chair. The leash ran under the chair and was tied to something behind me. I couldn?t move. She was standing behind me, rubbing a jelly against my naked butt. I had never been penetrated before, and it hurt like hell. After she had played for a while, reefing on it, and ramming it in deeper and deeper, she just left it there.

?If it comes out, I?m gonna stomp all over you again?, she threatened.

The pressure on my neck eased and I slid face down to the floor. She grabbed the leash and commanded me to lie on my back, with my feet still up on the chair. She stood over me and pulled off her underwear, then she squatted on my face, and started to jerk me off again.

I wasn?t really ready to get yanked again, and so this one hurt even more than the first. And no matter how clean a woman?s ass is, it still smells. I was completely engulfed, and the intense pressure on my eyes and nose was excruciating. The duct tape was effective at muffling my screams.

After an eternity I came. I spurted on the upholstery. She hauled on the leash and dragged me flat on the floor, and started kicking me and stomping my chest. After about a dozen kicks and stomps, she stopped.

?I see some bruises are starting to come up already? she said. She dropped the leash and disappeared for a second. I lay gasping, in pain and really, really scared. I heard her return. Heavy footsteps. Booted footsteps. Calf length, leather boots with 2 inch thick soles and high, chunky heels. Her eyes were wild.

There is an incredible difference between a barefoot trample and a booted trample. Bare feet are soft and the weight is spread out pretty evenly across the area of the sole. But a booted foot has hard edges which pinch and bruise right away. The soft pressure of a warm bare foot is a subtle crush, but a booted foot is demanding, immediate, sharp, cutting and overwhelming.

She mounted me. She rocked from her heels to the balls of her feet. She walked all over my chest and stomach, watching for bruises, commenting as she started to see them forming. I passed out. She was talking the whole time, but I really can?t remember what she said. I was quite beyond comprehension.

When I regained consciousness she was sitting in the chair drinking water. She got up, stood over me, and did a full-weight butt drop onto my chest. Then she slid forward and rubbed her bare ass all over my face. She got up before the relief of unconsciousness rescued me. She circled me like a wrestler as I lay there panting and in great pain. She butt-dropped me again. And again. And again. And again. At some point, I peed on her carpet.

That really irritated her.

She yelled. She kicked me. She put one of those terrifying boot heels on my face and ground my cheek. I could taste the blood. With the tape over my mouth I couldn?t even apologize. I just moaned in pain and occasionally tried to scream in terror.

She calmed down but only a little. She dragged me by the leash along the floor into the bathroom. I was afraid she was going to break my neck so I struggled to move along with her. She had a large tiled shower stall and she hauled me into there. She pushed me onto my back, and stomped my chest a few times. Then she squatted over my chest and ripped the duct tape off my mouth.

?Make one sound and I?ll kill you?, she said. I believed her. Besides, I was exhausted and pretty well screamed out by now.

She grabbed me by the hair, and tilted my head back. She inched forward until my face with right up against her pussy.

?Swallow it?, she said. ?Every drop. Or else?

The hot jet of piss burned the inside of my mouth and came in faster than I could swallow. It dribbled down my face and into my eyes and nose. It tasted of her insides. I began to cough and sputter. She grabbed my hair tighter and pulled me deeper into her. She shook my head. I was choking. My god, there was a lot of pee.

Mercifully, it finally stopped. A couple of last dribbles. Then she used my face to rub herself dry.

I lay there on her bathroom floor, gasping for breath, exhausted, humiliated beyond belief, with a sore, badly bruised chest, a sore face, a sore penis, sore ankles, sore arms and wrists, and in complete terror of this nutcase. And I smelled pretty bad.

She returned with a knife in her hand. I was too terrified to scream.

Twenty seconds later, she kicked me in the ass and I stumbled into the apartment building hallway, naked, clutching my clothes, with my ankles still tightly bound, but the tape binding my wrists had been severed. I fell onto the floor. The door slammed shut with a terrific bang. It seemed to take forever to find the end of the duct tape and peel it off my ankles; it had folded over on itself. Thankfully, none of the neighbours came to investigate. I tugged on my jeans, whipped my shirt on, skipped the socks, got my shoes on, and made for the elevator.

I still have her phone number.