Drunk trampled by a drunken model 5 min read

The post by the man who wanted to be trampled by six women at the same time all wearing high heels and all drinking very heavily brought to mind a trampling experience I had that got way out of hand because we were both drinking. I’ll warn him again because this was only one woman and he’s talking about six.

My company sent me to New York to work a trade show and while there I hired a model from an agency to work in the booth with me, there is no doubt that buyers would rather talk to a beautiful woman than a salesman anytime. She was in her early 20s and had short blonde hair. Her name was Crystal. She came to the show in a short white mini-dress and White Cowboy boots. During lunch, I bought her two glasses of wine and I had a seven and seven. She got a little giddy and back at the show I did my usual dropping of pens and business cards by her feet hoping she’d accidentally step on my hand. She stepped on my hand and when she noticed, she said, “Watch out for my shit-kickers I just might stomp you.” She was only kidding it was the wine talking but my interest was certainly peaked. After the show, we went out for several more drinks and she got pretty drunk, I was feeling pretty good myself. She told me that modelling didn’t pay all of the bills so she entertained clients at home for extra money. I asked her what kind of services she supplied and she said whatever they want. I agreed to hire her for the night and we went back to her apartment stopping by for wine and beer on the way.

When we got there she was very loose and I was as well. “What do you want?” she asked me and I figured what the hell so I told her, I wanted her to walk on me. “Like on your back?”, she asked. “No, like all over me,” I said, “and leave your shoes on.” “Okay, she said it’s your funeral”, so I got undressed and laid down. She stepped onto my chest gingerly at first and began to walk around. “I thought you said those were your stompers, well stomp.” She began to march up and down on my chest and stomach lightly then harder and harder until she was practically stomping me. “How does that feel? Am I doing it hard enough now?” I told her, it was fine but that I really preferred spikes. “I’ll be right back,” she said and returned in a pair of 4-inch pink spike heel pumps with the rubber on the heel tips completely worn off. The steel tips were exposed at least 1/2 inch. “How about these?” she asked. “Great!” I said, “go ahead.” She stepped onto my stomach and began to stamp up and down hard. It hurt like hell but I said: “Now you’ve got the hang of it.” She got a little mad and began to really try to stomp me. Chest, stomach, groin she stood fully on my face in her spikes something I never allow as I can’t have any marks. She was smashing those spikes into every part of my body over and over again. “How’s that?” she asked after each stomp. I was too drunk to know how much damage she was doing so I said to keep it up. “Ok,” she said. I held my arms up and she used them to brace herself and began to jump up and down hard after some minutes of that she again went to stomping first standing with one foot on my chest and slamming her heel into my stomach then with one foot on my stomach and stomping hard onto my chest. She finally finished and asked me if I had enough. I could take this all night but if you’re too tired it was great. She came over and stamped the sole of her pump on my face and asked how that was. I finally got up and got dressed and paid her I gave her twice what she asked for and thanked her. “Are you sure you’re all right?” she asked me. “Sure,” I said.

I went downstairs and took a cab home. The cab driver took one look at me and asked me, “What the fuck happened to you? Do you want me to take you to the hospital?” I gave him the name of my hotel and went to my room and crashed. In the morning I looked in the mirrors. Her heels had drawn blood in hundreds of places and the shirt I had on was covered with blood, as was the sheet. My lip had been split and I had a black eye. My penis had numerous red marks all over it and my stomach and chest literally looked like hamburger meat. I took a shower, checked out and drove home. I told my wife and my boss on Monday that I’d been mugged. I never would have been so foolish as to have my face stamped on or stood on by spike heels or ask to be stomped that hard if I wasn’t drinking, nor could I have stood the pain without drinking. Crystal only weighed 110 or so but she did more damage to me that night than anybody before or since. Don’t mix trampling with drink, certainly not multiple trampling or I truly believe the results will be a disaster.