Miami Beach Sand Trample 7 min read

written by Unknown author
original source of the story was Unknown source


Miami Beach can be pretty uninhibited at times.

When I was 11-years-old I was with my family on the beach and happened to glance over at the “kids” about ten yards from us. The beach wasn’t too crowded and I could hear their conversation quite clearly. Two girls, about fourteen or fifteen, were burying a boy about my age in the sand.

From the talk, I soon gathered that the boy was the brother of the slender redhead. The other girl was a very petite brunette with hair down to her waist. They were burying the boy with moist sand, taking time out occasionally to fill a bucket with water from the surf and pour it over him. Then they would “sculpt” his sand coffin.

The sister kept commenting on how firm this wet-sand idea of hers would make her brothers prison, and how helpless he would be when they finished. She kept talking “down” to him in such a way that I can now realize she was showing off to her brunette friend: revealing the power she had over her brother.

The brunette giggled constantly and obediently packed the sand however the redhead instructed. I remember clearly that the brother, completely entombed by sand, merely looked up at them with a wide, silly grin, his head resting on a coconut they had placed under him for a pillow.

Then the brunette said something like, “The sand isn’t packing hard enough!”

“Press harder,” the redhead told her.

“I’m trying.”

“Hmmm,” the sister said “I’ve got an idea.”

And with a whole beach of witnesses, the redhead put her bare foot on where her brother’s stomach approximately lay, she smiled down on him, and slowly lifted her other foot until she was standing on him. The boy groaned the entire time, pausing occasionally to giggle-laugh. It was that mirthful sound punctuating every groan that told me he was in a lot more pleasure than pain.

“This should pack the sand much better,” said his sister, and then she began to walk slowly up to his chest. The brunette giggled in perfect time to the boy’s groans. She leaned back and started to slap the sand on the boy’s legs, slap it with her feet. I got a great view of the brunette’s soles, grimy with sand with very high arches. Her toes wiggled playfully like little batons conducting the orchestral groaning. I could tell she was getting into the guy’s torture, but was still holding back.

Meanwhile, when the sister reached her brother’s chest, she reached out with her last step and pinched his nose between her big and index toes. I looked around the beach and was astounded that nobody else seemed to be paying any attention to them! I guess it’s true that nobody notices kids at play. And what play!

The redhead stepped off her brother and asked him how that felt. All he could do was giggle in answer.

“It didn’t hurt?”


“Well, then, let me try a bit harder.”

And she stepped up on his chest this time and began walking slowly back toward his stomach. Both girls took obvious delight in the boy’s helpless groans. To my own delight and surprise, the redhead didn’t stop at her brother’s stomach. She paused there for two nice long groans, then
stepped innocently on a spot somewhere in the immediate vicinity of his groin.

The groaning stopped. I looked at the kid’s face and recognized ecstasy for the first time.

If the redhead wasn’t standing directly on her brother’s groin then, she surely hit home with her next step. She brought her other foot up slowly and placed about a half inch further than her first step, and balanced herself there for a while, feet side-by-side with toes wriggling cruelly over her very silent brother.

By the time she stepped off, the brunette had stopped giggling, too.

“See?” said the redhead. “That packs the sand really well.”

The brunette stood up and walked over the boy’s legs a couple times.

“Ooh, yeah,” she said. “This is much better.”

“I’ll go get more water. You pack him some more.”

Red stepped on her brother’s stomach and proceeded down to the water’s edge.

The brunette got a strange look in her eyes when the other girl left. She went up and straddled the boy’s face with her feet, staring down and smiling at him. He started to giggle first, then she copied. After a couple seconds of giggling, she reached down and removed his coconut pillow. His head plopped flat on the sand.

“I think I should bury your face, too.”

Then she lifted one of her perfect, delicate feet and put it right on his face. She made a couple test-shifts, looking for balance, then planted both feet squarely on his head. She kept her balance for only a second or so, then fell to the sand beside him, laughing. He laughed, too.

The sister came back then, and poured some of the sea water over her brother’s face while the girls continued to laugh.

Then his sister began to walk again. Stomach to chest. Chest to groin. And then legs to groin to chest to face and quick-hop off. “Now I’ve walked all over you!”

“Let me try” said the brunette enthusiastically.

She stepped up on the boy’s legs, and slowly stepped up to about his calves, then more slowly up to his groin with both feet. The redhead walked beside her, steadying her by holding her hand. They didn’t stop laughing once, nor did the kid stop groaning with pleasure.

The brunette continued to step up to his chest, again planting the second foot parallel to the first and enjoying her “stand.” Then, with more firm help from the redhead, she stepped with both feet on the kid’s face again. This time she stayed there for almost a full minute.

When she stepped off the kid was pleading “no more!” As young teenagers, the pair were almost full-grown women at over 100 lbs (45 kg) each. So the trampling discomfort for the little brother was finally mounting up.

The brunette relented, apparently satisfied. She then slipped back into her Dr. Scholls sandals, her work now done. The sandals had a 1 inch (2.5 cm) sole and a 2 inch (5 cm) heel, all hardwood. The sandal was held on by a single wide leather strap at the toe.  They were a very popular style for women at the beach.

But while the friend gave the boy a pass, sisters often have little mercy.

“Too much for you?” she smiled down at him.

“Yes.” He almost hissed it.

“Awww.” She then reached out for a steadying hand from the brunette, who looked a little startled, but complied with an evil smile. “Okay,” said Red. “Just one more time.”

She stepped up on his face, balancing almost instantly, and walked in place for a few seconds with her bare feet. Then did a slow dance for a few seconds.

Then stepped back on his chest and continued to walk backward on him, stomping her feet down hard while also pulling her friend along.

The brunette followed, stepping on his chest just as Red vacated a spot. Both girls trampled him! His sister walked backwards — stomach-groin-legs — while the brunette stepped in every one of Red’s deep footprints as the trail was laid. In her hard soled sandals!

They both stepped off, laughing. The brunette kicked off her sandals again and the pair headed for the water.

After a while, the parents came along and shouted at the kid to get out of the sand because it was time to go. I couldn’t believe they didn’t see the dozens of footprints all over him!

After a little struggling, the kid managed to get up and walked toward the water to clean up.

He was still grinning.

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