Leaf Man Part 8 8 min read

I quickly turn my head to the right side, away from the curb towards the wall and park trees to see Cynthia’s heavy foot is still mashing solidly on my fingers.

She shifts her body again and resumes her normal stance. Cynthia nails my right upper arm with her black high heels full foot profile crushing my fingers and spearing my arm. I then try and move my other arm that Maria and Donna Ann had played tree root with.

I turn my head again slowly to the left. I can’t feel my fingers! I now quickly see I can’t feel anything on my left side! It’s like my arm’s asleep, it’s all numb and dead.

This is bad! My left side is just laying there useless to me. That snap of lightning, with Maria’s last bounces, must have dislocated my shoulder, or worse.

The women then see their friend Brenda jogging in the street.
I’m their now familiar friendly foot companion, Cynthia’s “heel” lifts up off my arm, and leaves a narrow hole with a quick pivot of her soles on my mashed-down hand. The sides of her shoes crinkle up as my hand’s skin is twisted, white, then red under her shoe’s firm sole.

I now feel cheated since I did not get a chance to get another hard-on from Cynthia’s sensational shoe’s leather sole, which was for a moment standing beautifully still on my feeling hand. Maria and Cynthia now call to Brenda jogging along in the street. They then quickly walk over to Brenda, as they go ahead of my groveling body, grating the concrete under their not-so-sure-footed, wobbling high heel shafts.

I hear through the leaf pile their thin heels making heavy robust scraping sounds as their uneven fast steps cause their, metal-tipped heels to drag along the concrete sidewalk.

I can see the dropping of some sand off the bottom of their dark gray dirt-covered soles.

Brenda, who quickly trots over to meet them, is now standing at the curb, dressed in a dark blue sweatsuit. She is also black high-top Reebok sneakers, with large floppy black laces. She’s got her white sweat socks bunched nicely up between her sneakers and her blue sweatsuit.

She’s so trim and slender, weighing just what looks like about 125 pounds.

Her brownish golden hair and a pink ribbon holding her ponytail together make her look so sweet. You wonder why she’s working so hard at it, but it seems to be working.

Then suddenly someone calls out: “The R7 bus is coming ladies”

I brace myself for what I see as the impending passionate army of stiff women’s wide legs striding down to this end of the path.

I can’t move my left side, I can’t protect myself, in case some strong footed lovely lady is determined to step on my head with her powerful foot.

I quickly poke a small hole with my other mashed-up fingers to peer out from the leaf pile. I then try to cover my head again with my now freed right hand. I do it just in time!

I see ten or twelve pairs of women’s wide and firmly striding marching boots and shoes approaching me. A while ago they seemed to be a distance away, but now they march a great deal faster toward me. I now see the women’s shoe bottoms are strutting along at a straight line for my defenseless body.

I see the women coming toward me. I’m still laying on the ground alongside their direct line of march to me. I won’t get them all tramping on me at the same time, but I will get a few of them hopefully to pass by.

I see some of their spike heel shoes swallowing up the ground under their fast, strong stepping march.

I look at the women tramping the ground, they’re quickly coming at me!

I see their heels and soles pivot, up and down, up and down, again and again.

They’re getting larger in my view with each forceful skirt flipping legged stride. A few of the women are almost upon me now.

Their walking is coming very near, almost right alongside me. I hear their thin heels grating on the cement, getting louder and louder. Still, they keep on coming nearer to me. I feel their legs pounding through the solid earth.

A few seconds more, I hold my breath and wait for the first encounter.

I see one women’s quick-stepping foot. It’s almost too close for comfort. She lands her sneaker-style walking shoe’s leading heel quickly down. It lands almost in my face!

Her heel lands just in front of my face. I smell her sharp scented rubber sole, just before she zips her other foot up in a white blur just past my eyes.

I close my eyes and hope for another woman to safely pass by since most of the women are wearing heeled shoes. As the crowd surges very close to me, I feel the warmth of many naked stockings and pants-covered legs!

Suddenly, they’re here. I’m now being trampled down hard under many feet!

Oh!…. The pain! Four or more unstoppable knife-like ladies heels, looking for a place to fully support their mistresses’ bodies.

An unseen woman’s worn to the metal, white high heel, lands directly on my back.

I hold in my scream. I see stars as I grit my teeth, as I hold in my deep throbbing pain from this woman’s downward stomp. My left side awakens to knife-like searing pain.

My dislocated shoulder is now under her lively stepping nasty heel.

She’s making me dread waking up today!

I then think this is wonderful as their essence on me gets me hard.
In the next step the tormentor whose foot is now attached to my back, this woman’s brutal heeled shoe, will most likely get off of me just as fast she has landed.

I think this as the pain from the ladies standing atop my back, with their heels wedged against at the small of my back.

One woman is standing with her two feet on my dead left-side arm.

Oh, she will most defiantly walk on from this unbalanced stance.

“But they don’t move!” They just stand still with their shoes parked on me!

It looks like these women are comfortable where they are. They’re standing on me now, they have no desire to move on but are just looking for other women to talk to.

They just want to anchor their unmerciful brutal footwear down on me. The women are now just standing still on what they think is the empty pile of leaves. I again hold on as the gut-wrenching pain increases over me, as I struggle not to scream.

The women above me continue to twist and dig their shapely heels and sculptured sloping perfumed soles down on me.

I see their beautiful ladylike and stunning tan-colored pants legs thrust down on me from overhead.

The women above me don’t even know I’m here for them to even show some pity to me.

They think how wonderful it is to go stomping with their feet, through the pile as it was on a summer’s day. As if they were just kids again. I feel the closeness of their warmth as their body heat radiates downward on this cold morning as if it was shafts of sunlight.

Then more women come and stand next to the other women who have parked one or more of their shoes and heels on me. The air in my lungs is all but crushed out of me.

The pressure of their immovable feet is sending punishing blows from their stringent and strong legs. I smell the many scents from their foot-filled assemblage, but I can’t even see their faces since their hidden above the sea of tall disembodied legs, and pantsuits.

The alluring silhouettes of fashionable women’s high sharp spiky heels. The other flat-heeled shoes, dirty work shoes, and white dingy sneaker soles all in concert, make me feel so hot, even as my left side, throbs like an open wound.

They continue to press down on me in one massive blanket of perfumed undulating feet and of cold arched heels and worn-down white sneaker treads.

Then some women’s gray half bootie foot tramples on the side of my face. Her foot then slides off, scraping my face. She then re-steps her boot, tipping it up on her low heel.

She’s just standing with her foot just propped up on my face as if my face was the curbstone, her other boot is nailed to my dead right hand.

This is too much. My guts are being squished out, I feel like a rag doll run over by a truck.