Chair hand-grab rail 7 min read

In high school I always made sure I sat in front of an attractive girl whenever I could. Our desks had wireframe bottoms and I would bring a coat to school every day, even in warm weather. Then I would drape the coat over the back of the seat. For some reason, most of the girls at my high school loved to prop their feet up in the rear bottom of the desks in front of them.

I would reach my left hand down beside my desk and onto the wireframe bottom. Then I would curl my fingers around the very back. When the young lady behind me put her feet in the back of my desk, she would crush my fingers under whatever shoes or boots she happened to be wearing that day. My fingers were pinned between the bottom of the girl’s shoe and the wire bar around which they were curled.

Periods in my school were 50 minutes long. Sometimes I would sit there the whole class with no relief. At the end of such a period, my fingers would be numb and colorless on their tips. They would also have a deep indentation just below the tips where the wire bar had pressed into them.

Most of the girls wore sneakers to class.  But when they wore  leather soled shoes – loafers, boots and even heels – those were the toughest to endure.

Some of the girls would slide their feet back and forth, producing extreme spikes of white hot pain from the tips of my fingers up my arm. I endured and even enjoyed it. The women had no idea how much discomfort they were causing me.

Every once and a while, one of the young ladies would slide her foot all the way forward, quickly and forcibly, crushing my pinned fingers under the heel of her shoe.  Since most of the time they were wearing sneakers, I felt all the pressure they could apply through their rubber soles.  And the beauty of it was, they never knew, because the whole experience was obscured from view by the coat draped over the back of the seat.

Molly was no different and I did the same with her as I did with the other girls. I always liked Molly the best because not only was she attractive, but she often wore some type of heels to class and dressed in body flattering attire.  Molly was one of those artsy girls who loved theater class and always wanted to be at the center of attention.

On days when she wore high heel pumps, she would slide her foot forward on my fingers quickly and forcibly.  My fingers would be thoroughly crushed.  The area on a high heel shoe where the sole curves down to become the heel was oh so effective at pinning my fingers completely into the wire frame. And she had playful feet which she moved around frequently, giving me as much pain and pleasure as my heart could desire.

One day, when she was wearing a gorgeous pair of black kitten heel pumps, her feet must have been particularly sensitive.  Maybe it was the thin leather soles.  For whatever reason she seemed to be unable to get her left foot comfortably situated on my fingers.  Or maybe I had curled them wrong that day.  Anyway she lifted my coat to see what the problem was.

I was mortified, because I hadn’t had time to move my fingers, so she saw them curled around the bar. I panicked and became flushed with fright, wondering what her reaction would be, wondering what the next few seconds would hold.  Would she out me and reveal my secret to the whole class?

Then I heard her familiar voice, calm but slightly annoyed, from behind me, “Could you please move your hand so I can rest my foot on your desk?” I didn’t know what to do. I panicked for a split second. Then my subconscious must have taken over, because I turned around to reply and heard words coming from my mouth as if they were spoken by someone else. “Hey, that’s my hand grab. I need my hand grab.” She looked at me for a moment with blank curiosity as she picked up her left shoe and said, “Fine, take your stupid hand grab.”

I thought to myself: You idiot… Now you have ruined your finger crush opportunity in this class for the rest of the year. I then retook my hand-grab. But, what happened next, was truly amazing.

We were still looking right at each other. Perhaps we were exchanging some subconscious body language signals. Perhaps she was just into power play or was a mistress at heart. In any case she looked down at my fingers, looked back straight into my eyes and smirked knowingly. Then she stepped on my fingers with the pointy toe of her sexy shoe deliberately and with a fair bit of weight. I was completely awestruck at that moment. With that same knowing smirk on her face, she eased herself back in her chair, looked down at her paper and went back to her classwork.

I turned around in total disbelief of what had just happened. I kept thinking: She knows my fingers are there, but she’s stepping on them anyway ! Then I began to feel her slide her foot all the way up on the bar and move it around the way she always did. She didn’t ease up on the pressure or anything. She just returned to business as usual.

I think, she may have even pressed harder and moved her pumps more violently after she knew my fingers were under her  — as if to say: Let’s see how much you can really take. Periodically she would even rear back slightly in the desk, lifting the front legs of her desk off the floor and putting more pressure on my hand. But I never once removed my fingers from beneath her beautiful kitten heel pumps.

After that day, she would always lift my coat and look down before she put her feet in the back of my desk. And, if my fingers weren’t curled around the bar yet, she would wait until I had put them there before she put her shoes or boots on them.

For me, it was Nirvana.

Molly and I never discussed the incident. When we passed each other in the hall or saw each other elsewhere, we never acknowledged anything strange between us. We would say hi and move on as always. But during world history class we would exchange brief, knowing glances as she came down the aisle to take her seat behind me each day. And we would assume our relative positions for the rest of the period.  Her cruel shoes would step on my fingers without mercy for the entire period.

She never said or did anything else, except once. One day after she had sat down, I heard her say, “Look, an ant on the floor.” She was wearing black leather flat heeled ankle boots that day. I turned around. She then lowered the sole of her left boot slowly onto the ant. She increased the pressure ever so slightly as if to draw out the experience. Then a loud crunch as the ant’s body collapsed under her leather sole. I couldn’t believe that an ant had made such a loud crunch. And she slowly ground the ant into the hard, tile floor with some force.

As if to put icing on the cake, she glanced up at me with a naughty grin on her face and said with malicious glee, “I could feel its tiny body crunch under my boot” as she touched her tongue to her front teeth.  Then she giggled wickedly and looked away. I turned around in my seat with a huge erection hidden in my pants.

A minute or two later I put my fingers in their usual spot and waited.  And soon enough I felt the pressure of her boot stepping on them.  So the ant’s crushed remains were now being knowingly ground down onto my fingers by her wicked boots. As she completely ignored me during the whole class, make the experience even that much more wonderful for me.