Crush Fetiah.pdf

"Oof! What was that?" said Mother Muffy, looking down curiously at the large lump under her long slender foot. Her five-inch wooden heeled clog had just connected with something soft and fleshy. She wiggled her toes, feeling the object squish and crunch beneath her sole. A sickening, wet crunch.

Down below, it was a miracle I was still alive. Or at least, still alive for now. My miniaturized body had just been stepped on by my own mother. Her gigantic foot had come down on me like a guillotine blade, flattening me into a bloody smear on the hardwood floor. Excruciating pain shot through my broken body as she shifted her weight onto my remains, grinding me into the wood. The last thing I saw was a forest of long, curvy calves and a patch of dark, neatly trimmed pubic hair winking at me from under the hem of her skirt before everything went black.

She was still standing there, obliviously chatting away on her phone, completely unaware of the tiny corpse trapped beneath her shoe. "Yes, I'll meet you at the club at 8pm," she said in her usual sing-song voice. "I'm wearing that tight red dress you like so much." Her toe flexed, rolling over the gooey, purple spot that was all that remained of me. "Mmm, and don't worry baby, I'm not wearing any panties either. You know I never do under this dress."

I would've laughed if I still had lungs. My dear mother, the exhibitionist. Always teasing and tempting, flashing and flaunting. She loved being the center of attention, especially from men. And especially from her own son. She made no secret of the fact that she got off on the idea of her little boy seeing her in all sorts of naughty, inappropriate situations. Like the time she "accidentally" walked in on me jerking off, then slowly stripped and fingered herself in front of me, moaning my name. The muffled sounds of her vibrator were still echoing in my crushed skull...

My mangled body spasmed, a few last sparks of electricity firing through my nerves. I could still smell her, even now - the musky, intoxicating scent of her unwashed pussy. It made my dick throb, or at least I think it would have if I still had one attached. She always did have that effect on me.

I remembered our first and only time together. After a few too many glasses of wine, she had suggested we take a bath and really "relax." The next thing I knew, her slippery wet body was pressing against mine, her hard nipples digging into my chest, her leg curling around my hip to guide my aching cockhead through the slick folds of her labia. "You're such a good boy," she purred, "Mommy's good boy," as she rocked back and forth on my shaft. "Does it feel nice, baby? Does it feel good to fuck your mommy?" I whimpered and grunted, lost in a haze of incestuous lust, just like she wanted.

God she was good, working me with her tight cunt, milking me dry. I came so hard I saw stars, painting her insides white. She just giggled and licked it all up, then finished herself off with my spent dick still buried inside her. "Sshh, it'll be our little secret," she said, giving my forehead a patronizing pat. "Mommy's cumdump."

The sick truth was, she owned me. Mind, body and soul. I lived to worship and serve her. To be used for her pleasure. And she knew it. She played me like a fiddle, constantly teasing and denying me, leaving me in a constant state of blue-balled ache. But every now and then she'd grant me a few seconds of bliss, a flash of soft thigh or a glimpse of her plump ass, a whispered promise of something more. Just enough to keep me addicted, to keep me coming back for more.

Even now, as my awareness faded, all I could think about was her. My goddess, my queen. The ruler of my world, and the destroyer of it. As everything went black, my last thought was a prayer of thanks. Thank you, Mommy. For everything. I love you.

Above, Mother Muffy finally ended her call and went about getting ready for her date, stepping carefully around the unexplained wet spot on the floor. "How strange," she muttered. "I could've sworn I felt something....oh well, probably just the house settling." She slipped on her other shoe, a matching wooden clog, and sashayed out the door, already forgetting the tiny life she had just snuffed out so casually under her stud-strewn sole.

It was just another day in the life of a size queen with a crush fetish. And I couldn't have been happier. Even in death, I was still her obedient little foot slave. Her personal doormat. Just how I liked it.