No High Heels law enforced. A short fiction.

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001
Posts: 128
Joined: Mon Oct 18, 2010 3:29 am

No High Heels law enforced. A short fiction.

Post by 001 »

Here is a short story I wrote. The premis is for the health of women across the country a law has been brought into being making it illegal to own or wear high heel shoes. The shoe police have been going around the country collecting up high heels and rendering them to pulp to prevent wear. This had lead to mass demonstrations from ladies all over the land beingvtold what they can and cannot do. Anyway, I put it here as it has some girl-girl-shoe bits. It is entirely made up obviously so I hope that you like it.

She sobbed as did many other girls in the store, her heels taken and placed in a the large barrel like
receptacle in one corner near the exit. They had all been lured into a false sense of security, it had
been 6 months since the law had been passed but no-one in this area had really enforced it and life
had gone on pretty much as before.
Surveying the container she could see it was filled with a mixture and heels, tall thin party stilettoes,
the type worn by local sluts to the towns many nightclubs, those low heeled more rounded casual
types preferred by older women, but most were of the office variety which given it was five thirty on
a Tuesday was perhaps not surprising.
They all knew what would happen, they had seen it before on the news in other towns and large
cities once the enforcers came to town, no-one would be safe and having been caught they would
be prime targets now, any day expecting that knock on the door to search their closets for any other
transgressions and potential deviations from the flats only rule.
The new law introduced to ‘help improve women’s health’ had been seen as a personal attack by
many and the resulting protests saw feminists who had never worn a pair of heels in their lives
donning them to march against a law which said they could not. It was not that they wanted to wear
them, it was that they were being told they couldn’t and hat would just not do!
The ‘Thought Police’ were out in force and at the end of the marches the women had been herded
into dead end alley ways or prepared holding pens, the shoes confiscated like now, cast into large
barrels to await their fate. Some more timid women had carefully placed their pretty shoes side by
side on the concrete base of the container, whilst others had to be forcibly removed by the officers
of the law and were unceremoniously cast in haphazardly. In the end it mattered not, they were
ground to a pulp just the same.
Julie remembered the march she had been on, one of the more militant women had been dragged
to the ground by a group of officers still thrashing and kicking as her slender black patent pumps
were pulled from her feet, her skirt rucking up revealing to officers another pair, one impaled toe
box first deep in her vagina, its sister up her pert little bottom. It mattered not an officer man
handled her ripping the soft leather pump out of her love hole, the distinct sound of its toe sucking
at her pussy lips as she was disgorged stuck in Julies mind as did the spray of cum which
accompanied her forced withdrawal as it splattered across the concourse its end trails smattering
Julie’s cheek. She instinctively flicked her tongue out tasting the woman’s inner sweetness.
‘Delicious.’ She remembered thinking.
Her thoughts were drawn back to the present by a cry from the gathered crowd and the whirling of
machine as a crushing slab was introduced to the barrel. Girls cried for mercy, begged to let there
little pumps live. The cold stone of grinding head turned slowly, purposefully as it struck the top
layer of heeled shoes driving into the soft materials that made them up, tender leather, soft man -
made fibres, it did not matter, the grinding action would rip them all to pieces in the end. Already
they could hear the squeezing and oozing as the shoes were pulled against one another, their heels
forced into the flesh of their neighbours and sisters, irrecoverably damaging the uppers and soles
alike. At the barrel sides girls reeled seeing this, one girl on watching her helpless shoe get spiked, a
heel pushed through where her delicate foot had been but a minute previously destroying the
intricate lacework on her pure slut clubbing shoe, she cried out, fainted almost her heart racing, her
pretty pump twisted before her eyes its previous fleshy upper wrapped about the hard spike heel
that had torn into it not moments before, then, it was terrible! Unable to stand the intense pressure
her poor pathetic shoe succumbed the tearing undeniable as its soft body ripped, a tiny bit at first
breaking the lace work fabric and lining. Julie felt a dampness between her thighs, she shuddered,
the girl’s pump seemed to cry out as it died, the uppers torn asunder as she came, climaxing over
and overo Julie felt her hand go to her snatch, she could not help it, she wanted to feel a precious
heeled pump right inside her slut cunt, it was so wet!
Looking about she was not alone, all around women from teenagers to pensioners were cumming at
the spectacle of the machine grinding, pulping, tearing their terrified little pumps into a mushy shoe
paste, or so it seemed to them! The Thought Police, that fucking bitch operating the machine, stood
there in her bitchy flat black calf boots, she could see that even that fucking cow of a heartless
fucker was getting wet between the thighs. Julie considered it, the woman had probably initially had
to surrender her own heels and watch as they were reduced to little more than a smear in some
other terrible torture device; she was not far wrong, but it did not matter now! All that mattered
was pay back!
"Grab the filthy fuck whore!" She found herself rushing headlong at the woman who had pressed the
knob sending their pretty pump to shoe heaven! "Fucking put her in the bloody machine, see how
she likes being spiked and torn apart?"
Before she knew what was happening a cry went up from around her, the other women who had
lost their pumps to the machine surged in on a wave of sexual pent up stress. The woman operator
let go of the machines control box and turned looking for an exit. Julie bundled into her arms waving
wildly, the woman's knee made contact with Julie’s sopping wet vagina and the leather of the
woman’s boot slid over her lips caressing her already swollen clit.
"Agh!" Julie exhaled, cream squirted from her pussy soaking her panties and covering the top of the
woman's boots in female ejaculation juice! "Oh my, gosh no!" She sank quivering to the floor
cumming again and again the woman under her could feel the tension as she ground her pulsating
fanny into her boot.
"You filthy little slut stop fucking my boot you bitch!" Was what the guard wanted to say, but all that
came out was "Oh yes, ride my fucking whore boot!" As she remembered the sensation of doing her
own her own heels before the machines ate them provocatively in front of her.
"Yes you fucking like that, don't you whore?" Julie grabbed at the woman's breasts through her black
uniform, "My vagina may make your boots wet but it is aching for pump and to see you twisted and
ripped apart in a flurry of heels and sexual tension.
The crowd surged in and grabbed at them as they for the first time made eye contact, hands
grabbing for them, both women were lifted.
"In the crusher, in the crusher!" Came the chant. Julie gasped, she tried to free herself but her legs
were slippery, her juice was spread in vast quantities all over the guards whoring boots and it made
it very hard to get a grip, what was more the woman was actively rubbing her boots all over her
hard. She could not help it, her frustration burst out, her aching vagina wanted the slut boot deep
and together as one they were hefted aloft.
Up the steps they were carried as one, all six of them. Julie, her tiny black ballerinas, the guard and
her flat black calf boots. The top of the container was covered by the revolving grinder mechanism
but for a central feed hole into which fresh victims could be fed by way of a shoot. Into this the two
women and their helpless footwear were deposited and slithering over each other and the slippery
seemingly purposefully oiled metal of the slide they tumbled to their fate.
It was tight, roiling and hot. A mass of churning, screeching leather, synthetic fibres and machinery
now added to by the lubricating juice of the two ladies about to be burst asunder, their liquids freely
mingling with the rest of the waste that up to a few moments ago had been a selection of pretty
high heeled shoes.
Julie fought for air it was hot, difficult to breathe. The guard screamed out loud as a stiletto heel
mercilessly pressed against her right breast, the black patent shaft was almost gently inserted into
her like a needle as Julie watched transfixed. The blade of the heel depressed the guard’s tender tit
meat forming a crater in what seamed slow motion, then the pressure was too much, her soft breast
popped and the pumps heel sank in suddenly springing back to normal linier time. She screamed. It
was the first of many. Julie felt one graze across her back drawing a line of what she was sure was
blood, yet more inserted themselves mercilessly into her calves and other more intimate places.
Julie knew she was dying, that soon she would die, ripped apart, liquidised by the barbaric
mechanism. All her life she had loved her shoes, the higher the sexier the better. Now she had
become like one, suffering the same fate due to this ridiculous law. Her vagina ached, releasing girl
juice by the gallon over the suffering pumps. Julie pushed her minge against them, rubbing over
their grinding bodies even as her own was pulped. Then yes, she felt it go into her, she could not see
the colour or the brand but it felt good. A terrified dying pump sought refuge diving toe first into her
sex. One of the last things she recalled doing before another pumps heel ripped through her skull
destroying Julie’s brain was to squeeze her pussy muscles tight around the little shoe inside her,
riding it to oblivion as she came again and again. Then blackness.
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