I’m too good. I’d never stand full on my boy’s face in my heavy custom Wescos, I always allow soft skin, but whenever my friend Dawn comes over after working a double shift as an RN, I allow her to tie her feet tightly onto his face, as it seems to help her work out the tension and stress while we shoot the breeze. She says it makes her feel “grounded.” My boy just gets mushed, mashed, and feetified.
That’s Kyle D on the right, who was captain of the girl’s tennis team in our high school in South Bend, and my older sister Viv on the left. Probably the most formative occurrence in my youth was when Sis staged her, “Do You Have the Heart” contest in our basement, inviting Kyle after a 6 match tournament to place her fuming feet full in my teenage face while Sis tape recorded the play by play of my growing asphyxiation until i passed out, and then she revived me with the “smelling salts” of her own disgusting toes and played the whole humiliating episode over and over for her friends, who taunted me until graduation. Kyle definitely had the heart, and I come by my perversions naturally.
My shusband drank too much at my company party and practically passed out, so I took his car keys and applied smelling salt equivalents. The humiliation alone sobered him up right quick.
Due to a series of mishaps, he has to wait out 27 more of my orgasms before his next one, but he’s damn fortunate because at my rate, that won’t take more than three weeks. Between his leaking and whimpering, I’ve been feeling kinda sorry for my little cucker, so I’ve been giving him more underfoot time to help calm his nerves. It seems to help his head, but his poor little locked thing just won’t go down. Pity.