written by andsonpoa
original source of the story was Submitted by the author
I had never seen anything so alluring and beautiful, but at the same time so destructive as the beauties that stood terrifying next to me. I didn’t know if I even dared to study them, or if it was the last thing I would experience in this valley of woe that was our world. My nerves trembled with desire to touch them and perhaps feel the slight saltiness of them against my tongue. I wanted to get even closer to these masterpieces, at the same time as I was terrified that this illusion would disappear for me as I lay flat on my back. With each breath, I felt a slight aroma of something like honey with a dull undertone of something sharper and more menacing. The one of them closest to me was only millimeters from me, while the other was firmly placed on the other side of my stomach where I lay curled up and tried to fix the broken sewing machine that didn’t respond to the pedal when the woman pressed it. To my happiness, the pedal was stuck to the floor, so the woman who needed it repaired stood straddling me. From time to time, she reached down or received a tool I needed to fix the pedal’s troublesome electricity. The woman was wearing a pair of shorts that ran out right at her knees. I couldn’t stop staring at her lower body parts, and I almost fainted at the sight of the sole of her foot as it passed over me. I thought she was going to mash me under her in the same way she was standing on a large piece of fabric that was stuck in the troublesome sewing machine. The fabric wrinkled and was marked full of imprints of the God-given body parts that were so enticing. The fabric was some kind of silk or similar fluffy material, and she left clear footprints on it when she moved. I had to unscrew the pedal to find the fault.
“Can you press the pedal down, because I have to measure the resistance of the signal that indicates the speed of the needle,” I said.
The woman lifted the wonderful foot that was placed closest to the pedal, and I could admire her delicious toes, which were some of the most amazing I had ever come close to. The silky sole of the foot landed on the pedal and pressed it down, while I measured the electrical signal that would control the sewing machine. Even though the very beautiful foot pressed the pedal to the bottom, the signal did not change at all.
“I have to change the potentiometer,” I said and asked to get the hot soldering pen down.
The woman’s sexy foot accidentally rubbed against me as the woman reached for the requested soldering pen. She just wrapped her foot over my stomach in a soft caress, which made my sex react. I only heard a low giggle, so I assumed that the woman had seen what was going on in my tight pants that didn’t hide a bit of my growing erection. The woman reached down for the soldering pen, and I saw her glittering gaze down at me where I lay. She teasingly swept me with her delicious foot as she positioned herself over me. I somehow pulled myself together and got loose the troublesome potentiometer. With a gentle grip on it, I stretched up the partially warm part.
“Receive, but be careful, because it’s hot,” I said to the woman who reached down.
She lifted up the burnt potentiometer.
“There’s a new one like this in the spare parts box,” I said.
To my overwhelmed gaze, she lifted her foot, which showed the entire beautifully shaped sole of the foot. There was not the slightest hint of pimples or dead skin around her gorgeous paw pads or toes. Without seeing that I was shaping my lips into a sucking motion, her foot disappeared for a moment before it came dancing down on my stomach in a divinely pleasurable caress. It quickly disappeared again, and I hardly knew if she had deliberately placed her sexy foot against me for a far too brief moment.
“Here,” she said without commenting on the touch of my stomach.
I quickly soldered the new part.
“So now you can try,” I said, half-chocked by the uncomfortable position I was in.
Her foot teasingly swept over my stomach with a few grams of weight, whereupon it landed and pressed the pedal down a little. The machine responded while the woman howled with relief. Carefully she placed her foot on my stomach and drove her toes into the gap between the waistband of my trousers and my T-shirt with a few kilos of print. It was absolutely wonderful to feel the silky skin on the rather flat foot against my bare stomach skin. My sex was tightened against my pants by the heavenly beautiful and light touch of her divine foot. The woman giggled half-choked, when she saw the rapidly growing lump in my crotch.
“Good boy,” she said, giggling.
I wished with all my heart that she would put her foot down on my cock, but it never happened.
“I have to calibrate it,” I said ambiguously.
“Okay,” the woman replied, chirping.
“Turn off the second step on the machine,” I said in a thick voice over what I was experiencing.
“Of course,” the woman replied.
“Press the pedal down at full speed and hold it there for half a minute,” I said.
Unfortunately, the foot disappeared from my stomach and only left a slightly warmer imprint behind. Her foot was way too clean, so it didn’t leave the slightest dirt particle on my white t-shirt. Her foot hovered teasingly over me for a moment, before it landed on the pedal. She pressed the pedal down at the bottom.
“Okay, let go now,” I said.
As I hoped, the wonderful foot gently thumped back into place on my body with a few grams of weight. I had a hard time concentrating on screwing the pedal back together. The woman immediately removed the sexy foot that rested so comfortably against my stomach as I started to crawl backwards. I stood up stiffly and got a warm hug from her.
“You like the caress of my feet,” the woman giggled happily.
“Yes, they are absolutely wonderful,” I replied with flushed cheeks.
“I saw it,” she said as she glanced down at my sex.
I got paid by her before I gathered all my tools. I got another hug and retreated two hundred meters to my workshop. I had seen the woman many times, but never her sexy and gorgeous feet she always hid in clumsy, obscuring shoes. Guess twice what I dreamed about that night. I couldn’t stop dreaming about the sewing machine woman’s sexy feet that were incredible to look at. I wished with all my soul to have them caressed against me again, but I couldn’t storm into her and throw myself under her velvety soft soles. As mentioned, I had never seen her in open shoes, but she always wore covered, clumsy shoes. I wasn’t sure if she had understood my fetish worship over her sex-dripping feet. Her whole body was fine, but not in parity with her lower body parts. She was too tall and heavy to be a pure trampling girl, but to be under her sitting feet would be absolutely wonderful. I thought and turned in every way to end up under them, even though it didn’t seem possible to get it to happen.
I hadn’t seen my best female friend’s daughter for a couple of days. She was about to graduate and was probably busy studying the last things before she went out into working life. Before she ran away from town, she used to come in to me and watch what I was doing. One time was extra memorable when I was working on a heavy machine part and lay on the floor to find a screw I had lost. The entrance door opened, and Liennea came swooping in on a brand-new pair of flip-flops of a thin and soft kind.
“Where are you?” she asked in a loud voice.
At the moment, I was lying on an old carpet. To tease the cute girl, I pry myself down and pulled the rug over me. I heard Liennea getting closer. Entirely what it was, I felt my body being pushed down by an absolutely wonderful flat, soft, and flexible plate, I assumed was the sole of one of her flip-flops. A moment later, a second similar thing thumped down on me. I managed to keep myself from making a sound, and I got rewarded for that. Liennea started to investigate the machine part I was working on. She tripped around on my body, enjoying lying under the moderately heavy girl who, without realizing that it was my body moving under her flip-flops. Liennea began to step around on the carpet, which she thought was behaving strangely under her. When she came down to my cock and loaded it with her whole-body weight, I couldn’t stop myself from moaning in pain. I experienced one wave of pain after another when Liennea turned around and bent down. She pulled the rug’s overweight part off from me with a big smile. I thought she was going to jump off me, but oh how wrong I was. Instead, Liennea began to take a series of short, small steps over me. She didn’t move more than half a sole length and half a sole width at a time when she made her way over my stomach and up onto my chest.
“Hey there, is it nice under my new flip-flops?” she asked with a big smile when she came up to my collarbones.
“Yes, if,” I replied with a little strain in my voice.
“What are you doing down there?” she smiled.
“Enjoying under your moderately heavy body on soft flip-flops,” I replied happily.
“So, I’m not going to change to my stiletto heels then?” she asked.
“No, besides, you don’t have any shoes like that,” I said.
“I haven’t?” Liennea smiled.
“No, you haven’t,” I said, slightly worried.
“Well, I’ve bought a pair for the prom,” Liennea said with a grin.
“How lucky that you have flip-flops on your nicely trampling feet,” I replied with a glance at the cute girl who had just turned twenty-one.
“Are they comfortable to lie underfoot?” Liennea thought with a thoughtful look at me.
– Yes, they are soft and supple and distribute your already low weight in a comfortable way.
“I can stand on you for a while, then?” Liennea asked with a scornful smile.
“No, but you can help me look for the screw I dropped just before you came in here.
As I asked, Liennea slowly and laboriously stepped off me. Amused, she looked at my T-shirt, and what she had done with it sparked an idea in me. I didn’t have time to think about it but looked for the screw that Liennea found.
“I wonder how many times you’ve been under my feet throughout your life?” she asked happily.
“I have no idea, but I remember a few times in particular when it was extra nice for me, so that it burned itself into my memory,” I said in a lingering voice.
“Tell me,” Liennea begged.
“The strongest memory is when you had a pair of sandals with soft soles and three elastic straps, two over your foot and one that went all the way behind your heel,” I said nostalgically.
“I remember these, yes,” Liennea replied.
“You had been out, and I made you step on me with them, and they left traces of sand and dust on my white T-shirt. A closer moment is when we were out practicing driving, and you stepped all over me with flip-flops, I said nostalgically.
“I remember feeling for the first time that I was really weighing you down. Before that, I just thought you were a weirdo who wanted me to stand on your body every opportunity that was given. You’re the only one I’ve ever been on top of and stepped down under me.
“I hope that from time to time you satisfy my trampling fetish in the future as well,” I prayed.
“Maybe, maybe not,” Liennea replied.
I was half asleep when the entrance door opened. In came the six-dripping feet walking, yes, the whole body of the seamstress, of course. That even though I only had eyes for the wonderful feet. It was the first time she visited my workshop, and also in simple slippers that generously showed off her amazing feet.
“Hello,” I said, trying to stifle a yawn.
“Hey, am I bothering you in the slumber?” asked the woman with a barely concealed smile.
“No, I’ve just finished a strenuous repair that took a toll on my back, and it is stiff and hurts,” I said.
“And then you want me to trample the crap out of it, I understand,” the woman said with a big smile.
“No, not not,” I replied with a glance at her feet in the plastic slippers she was wearing at the time.
“I thought so. What I’ve heard from some people who have been up and walked on you,” she said happily.
“Admittedly, but no thanks,” I said.
“But you like my feet,” she said, looking down.
“Yes, I have to admit that I do,” I replied with flushed cheeks.
“Now it wasn’t my feet I came here for, but I wonder if it’s possible to get spare parts for old Singer tramp sewing machines?” the seamstress asked me.
I turned around, turned on the computer, and went to a supplier. Typed in the name and pressed search. It came up with some, but it wasn’t much. A couple of parts for the needle mechanism and straps were available. There was also something that looked like bearings for the bar between the pedal plate and the drive on top of the machine.
“What do you need?” I asked.
The seamstress crept closer to the computer and looked at the parts that were on display.
“I don’t know, can you come over and look at the machine.
“Okay, I’ll follow you in your tracks,” I said, hinting at her six-dripping feet.
I loved that the woman kicked off her plastic slippers inside the door and walked up to an ancient sewing machine.
“The first problem is that the latch that keeps the machine open and closed is broken, so you have to crawl down and push part of the latch in a bit. Then someone has to hold the machine up.
I obediently crawled down and got a double pointed needle to poke at the latch with. I managed to find the hole, and the seamstress pulled up the machine. At the same time, she pulled out a chair and sat down while holding the machine upright. I got her wonderful feet close to me and had difficulty concentrating on the broken parts.
“Can you wiggle the machine a little?” I asked her.
The seamstress pulled one foot forward, so it swept over my face before it was put down on the floor, and she started wiggling the machine.
“So that’s good, I saw the error,” I said.
The seamstress sat down again. Whether it was intentional or not, I don’t know, but her foot made a short stopover on my chest before she straightened the chair and placed her feet on either side of me.
“Can you write down some numbers?” I said.
“Of course, I just have to get a pad and pen,” she replied.
The feet disappeared for a moment before they came back again.
“So, what kind of numbers?” she asked.
The seamstress placed a foot near my head. I saw the entire sexy sole of her foot pass tightly over my nose. My thoughts on that foot were interrupted by the other foot landing on my chest and staying there for half a minute. I read out the numbers, hoping that her bare foot would be left on my chest, which unfortunately did not happen. It disappeared far too quickly and did not return. She only looked down at me in the seamstress’s playful gaze.
“What, no reaction in your pants to my foot’s caress against you today?” the seamstress asked with a teasing tone in her voice.
“No, I managed to control myself,” I replied with bright red cheeks.
I had to get away from the embarrassing incident and withdraw and order the parts needed to get the machine in order.
I longed so I could long to death to be trampled under Liennea and her flip-flops again but couldn’t get hold of her. It was her eighteen-year-old sister who answered the mobile phone that belonged to Liennea.
“Hey, you’re talking to Lola on Liennea’s forgotten phone,” I heard Lola’s voice.
“Hi Lola, has your careless sister forgotten her mobile phone again?” I said.
“Yes, and besides, it was at my charging station,” Lola said in a sour voice. I happened to find a blurry picture in it that seems to be you under my sister’s new flip-flops,” Lola continued.
“Oh, maybe she got to the button,” I said cautiously.
“Has she been up and stepped on you again?” Lola asked amusedly.
“Yes, and I can’t wait to lie under your little nicely trampling feet again.”
“You can help me with my new mobile,” Lola said.
“Okay, bring your flip-flops and come down to the workshop,” I said, hoping to be able to lie under Lola’s feet.
It didn’t take many minutes before Lola came wearing a pair of flip-flops. She had her mobile phone in her hands, and I saw that it was an advanced model. I was already lying on my yoga mat, and Lola stepped right up on my chest with a pair of old, worn flip-flops. Although she had reached the age of eighteen, she was no longer than 156 centimeters tall and weighed no more than 48 kilograms. She had no more than 35 shoe sizes. We had to work with the phone for quite a while before Lola got it the way she wanted. I finished by taking a picture of us with me lying and enjoying myself under her flip-flops. Lola then took a picture from the other side down on her feet that so devilishly nicely stepped on me. Lola then disappeared back to herself while I lay and daydreamed about how nice the sweet girl had used my body as a Walking mat.
It took three days to get the ordered spare parts home to the seamstress. I was impatient to crawl down and hopefully have her divine feet rubbed against me again. My imagination had run wild during those days with my fetish for women’s feet. I probably thought that my brain had distorted everything about them for the better and that I risked being disappointed with how they looked in real life. I took the shipment and went over to her. With some nervousness, I watched the seamstress sewing on what looked like a dress.
“Does the machine work well?” I asked.
“Yes, but it reacts a little too violently to my pedal movements,” the seamstress replied with a mischievous expression.
“It can be adjusted, but the screw is down on the pedal,” I said with a glimmer of longing to crawl down by her wonderfully sex-dripping feet that were as wonderful as I had dreamed of.
“I can’t stop sewing, so can you do it while I keep sewing?” the seamstress asked, chirping with a restrained giggle.
Obediently, like a well-behaved boy, I crouched down and crawled down between the seamstress’s legs, who, in honor of the day, wore trouser legs that hid most of them. Luckily, her feet were bare, and I loved it when one of them swept across my face, so close that the sole of her foot touched the tip of my nose. The foot disappeared from my field of vision while I found the adjustment screw, which was located where the control cable went into the pedal. I didn’t know which way to screw and turned it one turn clockwise.
“Was it better?” I asked.
“No, much worse,” I heard the seamstress’s voice above me.
I turned the screw twice in the other direction.
“What now?” I asked.
“Yes, that’s better,” replied the seamstress.
Then I got to experience something devilishly nice. The seamstress lifted both of her velvety feet and placed them on my face with a gentle movement. She was very gentle with me while she gently let her arches touch my nose from both sides. Even though I got my nostrils against the skin of her feet, it only smelled very vaguely of sweaty feet and a little moisturizer.
“I could get used to having that kind of foot pillow,” I heard the seamstress mumble to herself.
It took a minute or so before those gorgeous feet were lifted from my face. I was so overwhelmed by what I had experienced that I just lay there. The seamstress just kept sewing until I gathered myself again and crawled backwards. I was still stiff and rock hard in the crotch, which the seamstress probably saw. She didn’t comment on it, but I just thanked her for today and dragged myself to my workshop where I sat and daydreamed about the wonderfully velvety feet I’d had against my face. I just left the spare parts to come back when the seamstress was done with what she was doing.
Liennea came storming into my workshop with a speed that would have gone a long way in a running competition.
“Did I forget my phone here?” she shouted in an almost desperate voice.
“You’ll get it back if you stand up and step on my stomach for ten minutes,” I said while keeping my fingers crossed behind my back.
I barely made it down to the yoga mat before Liennea’s flip-flops landed hard and firmly on my stomach.
“I don’t have time for this kind of fetish play,” Liennea screamed desperately to get hold of her phone.
“In nine and a half minutes,” I said, choked as Liennea stood with her toes heavily on my diaphragm, so it was hard to breathe in air.
“Ohhh,” Liennea shouted loudly.
I just grinned at the sweet, but desperate girl.
“I’ll jump on your cock until you give me my phone,” Liennea said in a dark, threatening voice.
“The only problem is that it’s with your little sister,” I said with a big smile.
Liennea looked at me angrily before she turned around on top of me. As she had threatened, she took a firm step right over my cock, which hurt like hell. Liennea then ran out, not caring a shit about how much pain I got from her stepping on my cock.
Three hours later, the seamstress called and said that she could have time with the repair. I went over to her, and before she had time to react, I was lying on my back with my head on the tramp that was driving the sewing machine. The seamstress pulled out a chair and gave me the stick that loosened the broken latch that held the machine down. I pushed the latch away, and to my luck, one of her divine feet passed close to my face as she pulled to get the sewing machine up in the upper position. To my fascination, I saw that her foot was not clinically clean this time. She had apparently worked barefoot, so her foot was slightly marked by what she had stepped on. There was just so much so I could see where the soles of her feet were pressed against what she was stepping on. She must have been somewhere else than in the sewing studio, because there the floor was just as clinically clean as usual. I had to fiddle a bit before I got rid of the brace that held the sewing machine in position. I handed the broken part to the seamstress, who received it. Then I got to experience something devilishly nice. The seamstress reached down the new rod to me, then both feet landed softly on my chest. I felt how she relaxed, so the weight of her legs was weighing on me. I had a very hard time concentrating on getting the new rod in.
“So, try folding down the sewing machine now,” I said.
Unfortunately, the wonderfully caressing feet disappeared from me. The seamstress had to push a little when she folded down and up the sewing machine.
“Okay, it works,” she said.
I switched to trying to disassemble the rod that drives the sewing machine when the sewer steps on the pedal in a wiggling motion. I started by trying to see how it was put together.
“Can you show me the picture that was in the package?” I spoke.
The seamstress stood up. After a while, she sat down, and to my great happiness, she placed a foot on my stomach when she bent down and showed me the picture. It seemed to be only a sliding bearing that held the bar in the sewing machine, and I managed to get the bar apart with mild force, but then it was a lie in hell to remove the slide bearing. The seamstress felt through the sole of my foot that I was getting more and more frustrated and caressed me calmly with her foot. However, I had to give up and go over to my workshop to squeeze out the sliding bearing. When I pressed out the old slide bearing, the rest went quite easily, and I was able to put together the old sewing machine that was not of this year’s model. No, it was from the last, yes, maybe from the end of the nineteenth century even. I wondered what the seamstress would have such an old sewing machine for when she had modern sewing machines that could even make their own embroidery without the seamstress having to do more than put them into a control program. When she tried to step around the machine, she took out two thin pieces of leather and tested whether the machine could manage to sew them together. She did have to push her legs to get the machine around, but it worked. I got a big hug from her and a hefty payment for the work and parts, but the fact that she had her divine feet against me was worth more than the payment gave me.
Lola came in to me, amused, and sat down at my workbench.
“What did you do to my sister? She was angry like an irritated swarm of bees when she came rushing and grabbed her mobile phone?” Lola asked amusedly.
“No, I just lay down under her flip-flops and told her to get it back after ten minutes,” I said, smiling.
“But it was with me,” Lola said.
“Exactly,” I replied.
“So that’s why she was so angry,” Lola grinned with a teasing look at me.
“Exactly, was she angry, you said?” I asked with an innocent look at Lola-
“Yes, if,” she grinned broadly.
As a foot enthusiast, I’d like to have some prints of the seamstress’s soles to do one thing. I simply asked her to sew me some pillows of sizes and materials that were not available. I don’t know how she did it, but I bought a pillow with two perfect footprints. You can see every detail on the sole of the feet, so they’re not painted or printed there. As curious as I was about how she behaved, I didn’t want to get too curious and ask her. When I put my head on my pillow in the evening, I realized a clue, it had a vague smell of woven paint. Maybe she had dyed the soles of her feet and stood on the cloth? I don’t know, I just know that I slept as well that night as the first person in line when I slept and woke up with my head on her footprints.