Loading scene details…
Loading scene details…
He was locked in the cockbox, his pathetic junk laid out flat and vulnerable, and I was standing over him with that look in my eyes. The one that says these are mine now. I stepped down slow at first. Just the ball of my foot pressing into his dick, feeling it crush beneath my weight while he whimpered. Then harder. My heel grinding into his balls while I talked him through it. These are my toys. Not yours. Never yours. I'll play with them however I want, whenever I want, for as I want. I shifted my weight and pressed down harder, hoping to feel something pop beneath my sole. I walked all over him. Literally. Stepping, stomping, shifting my full weight onto his most sensitive parts while I rambled casually about how little his comfort mattered. His dick flattened under my arch. His balls rolled under my toes. I didn't rush. I didn't care. I just kept stepping, pressing, reminding him over and over that his only purpose was to be my personal flooring. Think your junk could survive being flattened under my feet, or would you be begging me to stop before I even got started?