Scott lay on the mat by the ring ropes where I'd put him, wearing his black trunks and boots. We were having a good match, giving the fans a good show. Scott's wife and manager Sara urged him to get up off the matt. He reached up for the second rope to pull himself up. "Come on, Scott," she coaxed.
She was beautiful, with long curly blonde hair, pretty features, very kissable mouth, with a good figure. She was full-figured, curvaceous, and worked out like a demon to keep herself in top shape and looking trim despite her body type. She was wrestling later in the same event. She was a very physical person: big hugs, jabs in the shoulder when she chided you, pinching your cheek in affection. She started to serve me up all of this physicality and more almost as soon as I met her and Scott a few months ago.
I stomped down on Scott's stomach to keep him down on the matt--a good, hard slap on his abs with the ball of my bare foot. Then I stepped right onto him, twisting my foot in his gut as I did. Scott let out a big "Ugh! as my foot landed, and grimaced as I put all my weight on his stomach with one foot. The fans booed and some laughed at my choice to just step on my opponent instead of picking him up off the matt or going to the ground to grapple him. I was a heel, and I loved it. That meant kicking my opponent when he was down. Or stepping on him.
I stayed standing on his stomach with one foot, my other leg kicked out like a ballerina doing a pirouette, making a show of humiliating Scott by pinning him to the mat.
Sara yelled at him, "Come on, Scott. Don't let this jackass step on you. Let's go!" She slapped the mat with both hands in mock frustration just next to where he lay. She wasn't frustrated. She was loving every aspect of my performance. My footwork.
I love to wrestle barefoot. I love ever part of it. Feeling the floor, dirty or clean, under my soles as I walk to the ring. Feeling the soft canvass of the ring underfoot. Most of all I love to feel people under me, pectoral muscles and thighs, nipples and breasts. The persona I've cultivated sees me wrestle women as often as I do men, always playing the rule-breaking, cheating, sadistic villain. I love to see lipstick smears on my feet when I use them on women, or the few men who wear lipstick. There are a few who dress in drag and I'm always just as happy to get their lipstick all over my feet when I step on their faces.
I felt Scott's corded abs under my toes and dug them into him with pleasure. Rather than step off Scott's stomach, I doubled down on my show of villainy. I made an even more embarrassing show of domination. I put my other foot down on his face. I pressed the ball of my foot onto his cheek, my toes curling over his lips. Scott wasn't hurting under my modest weight of 200 lbs. He was very strong and tough and most of my weight was still on his powerful abs. Besides, this was far from the first time I'd stood on him full weight. He loved it when I did it to him.
"Oh, come on ref! Get him off of him!" Sara complained to the referee. Trina, a referee who also wrestled on some cards under the name of "Gothica" was a friend of mine. She helped me come up with half of my most humiliating moves. She also had a massive crush on me that I'd let myself take advantage of once or twice.
I pressed down a little, playfully, on Scott's cheek and jaw with the ball of my foot and curled my toes into his lips. My toes are medium length, and Trina and Sara have both told me they're meaty despite my having a leaner build, with rounded ends at the tips. As I dug the tips of my toes into Scott's lips (Scott's Jamaican, and has very full, sensuous lips) I felt his tongue slip between my big toe and second toe, leaving a dollop of his spit between them.
It was quick, just a second of his tongue, but it felt just as good as a woman doing it. Scott was playing with me. No one in the audience could see it; though his face was turned to the audience, he just nudged his tongue between my toes without poking it through. I don't even think Sara saw it. Scott loved to watch me fuck Sarah, his wife, but he'd never mentioned he was at all interested in touching me himself. He was submissive as they come, and I knew he'd gotten some kinky satisfaction out of letting me bulldoze him in front of an audience, but I'd never thought he wanted to go as far as anything besides letting me bully him. I'd never done anything to him like I'd done to some of the gay wrestlers; I'd kept my feet out of his mouth and squarely on his face and body.
Sara slapped the mats with her palms again and yelled, "That's not a legal move, Ref. He can't just stand on him like that! Get on him!"
I was careful with my exit from Scott's body. I moved my right foot from his jaw and cheek to the side of his head, so that I could put all my weight on his skull and not his jaw. Then I picked my left foot up off his abs, standing for a full second right on his head, one-footed. The audience was speechless until I relented and took my other foot off his noggin. Scott performed the expected dance of pain, hugging his head in his hands as Trina gave me a warning not to repeat the act. Trina, of course, had worked with me and Scott to ensure I could step right on his head full-weight safely without risking breaking his jaw.
Scott crawled to the corner of the ring to recover as Trina held me back from moving on him. She was a big girl at two-fifty and six feet. It was believable that she could push me off. That gave me and Scott time to get set for the next act in the play. I dipped past Trina and pulled Scott by his boots until he lay flat on the mat, his head almost touching the corner post. Then I stepped on his chest, left foot on his right peck, right foot on his left. I loved the feeling of all that hard muscle under my heels, felt the resistant flesh under my toes as I dug them into Scott. He was a lion. Standing on his chest was turning me on, and doing it in front of an audience was an absolute thill. Scott's hands clasped my ankles as he made a show of struggling to lift me off his chest.
"Scott, don't just let him walk on you!" Sara cried out. For a moment, I let the fans wait to see what besides humiliating Scott I intended to do. Then I did as Scott and I had practiced the previous weekend. With a rapid cadence, not lifting my feet very high off each peck, I jogged on his chest, both feet slapping on him loud enough for the front rows of fans to hear. Slap, smack, slap. Scott and I weren't sweating much; this had been a squash match from the start, with a slow pace involving me doing little more than punish Scott as he lay prone on the matt. Scott was mostly dry, so I didn't have to worry about slipping on his chest.
I enjoyed dancing on my opponent for all to see, my feet working the flesh beneath me like a masseuse might work a client. Scott sold the audience on his pain. Trina soon put a warning on me and began to count to five, I had up to a four count to enjoy dancing all over the younger man's chest. I looked at Sara. She made a good show of outrage at my tactics, but I saw the pleasure in her eyes at what she was seeing.