The aerobics lesson

"That's it for tonight, ladies," Helen said, walking over to the stereo to shut off the music.  "Nice job, everyone.  Don't forget, morning and evening classes tomorrow, and morning only on Friday. Come whenever you can make it."  She handed out towels so that everyone could wipe the sweat from their bodies.  It was a cold January evening; not a night one would want to go outside wet with perspiration.

Helen exchanged pleasantries with her aerobics students as they put on sweats and packed up to leave for home. As she surveyed her class, she felt a proud sense of accomplishment, as she always did after a good workout.  Her students were in various conditions of health -- some older, some younger; a few slightly overweight, most in average to good physical condition.  They all looked forward to aerobics classes, she knew, and they all benefited from them, including herself. Her classes were tough and strenuous, but the atmosphere was always positive and energy-filled. She enjoyed spending time with these women, and knew they enjoyed the time they spent with her, too. 

Helen locked the door as the last student left.  She turned and looked around the empty studio, her studio.  She had spent years working days as a secretary, working nights as an aerobics instructor in one of those big gyms in the suburbs.  Saving money.  Working towards the day when she could own her own studio, and teach classes the way she wanted.  

That goal had come to fruition nearly one year ago, and things were going very well, thank you.  She had opened her studio along a storefront which faced out onto the street within a bustling part of the city.  No more suburban primadonas for her -- she found them tiresome. Within about six months she had built up a clientele which was plenty large enough for her to pay the rent and overhead on the studio, and her apartment upstairs -- and she was continuing to gain students and add classes every month.  She was even considering hiring a second instructor, as she did not wish to teach more than two or three classes a day herself.  She loved living above the studio, having only to walk downstairs each day for work.  At age 31, she had done the rat-race thing for several years, and was happy to no longer have to deal with things like traffic jams.

As she surveyed the empty gym, her eyes settled on her reflection in the mirrors which ran all along the wall.  Helen was aware of her good looks -- not vain, but aware.  She was thankful for them, and hoped that her lovely, strong body inspired her students to work hard at their classes.  She was not bulky or overly muscular, but instead lean and well-toned -- not an ounce of fat.  At 5' 8" and 130 pounds, she had an extremely good figure.  As one would expect from a person in Helen's vocation, she had shapely legs, a firm tummy, and toned arms and shoulders.  For her size, she had full, firm breasts.  As she let her hair out, it fell past her shoulders, just to the upper part of her back, brown and just slightly wavy.  Her eyes were shiny and greenish, her skin a pale milky-white.  Her complexion was clear, her face taut, with dimples which appeared when she smiled or smirked.

Finding men to date had never been a problem for Ann; finding men she could tolerate for any period of time had been much more difficult, however.  Her first marriage had not gone well;  her husband had been a shallow moron.  She had been single since she sent him packing -- to their mutual satisfaction -- at age 25.  She had dated fairly consistently since then, but had not ever been with anyone for very long.  Her looks were partly to blame, she was convinced.  The men who were confident enough to ask her out seemed to be almost exclusively arrogant assholes with nothing interesting to say and no affection to give anyone but themselves.  And because she was not as assertive in her love life as she was in her professional one, Helen never sought out more appropriate counterparts.  It was a viscous cycle, she knew, but she felt strange making the first move; she felt certain such behavior would only scare men away.  They would be turned off by an aggressive woman; she felt certain that the nice ones didn't like that.

A knock at the door which led out front to the street forced her to emerge from these thoughts, and she turned her head to see a youngish (late twenties, early thirties) man looking in at her, smiling. He was about 6', with brown hair, and well-built at around 200 pounds.  She motioned "closed" with her lips.  He smiled and lifted one hand near his head, signaling that he need to use the telephone.  She walked closer to the door, and he spoke loudly through the glass, "My car broke down.  Everything is closed, and I need to call for help. Please."  Helen knew that he was probably right about everything being closed, there in the middle of what was really a business district, which bustled during the day and fell silent at night.

He was handsome, and he looked honest.  Helen reached out to the keys, still in the lock from earlier, and turned them to unlock the door.  She smiled as she did so, saying "You ought to get a cell phone. Everyone should ha ..."

As she finished unlocking the door, the man pushed it, powerfully, and it swung inward, hitting Helen in the forehead and forcing her to fall backward.  The blow to her head and the fall to the floor caught her completely off guard, and she looked up, attempting to shake the cobwebs from her head.  The man had come in, shut the door, and was using her keys to lock it.  When he had finished, he removed the keys from the door and put them in the pocket of his blue jeans.  

"I've been watching you," he said to her.

"I ... I have a class starting in just a few minutes.  My students will be arriving any time now," Helen said, hoping this might scare the big man away.

"No, you don't," he said, smiling, and standing over her.  "I told you, I've been watching you, and you don't have another class until 7:30 tomorrow morning.  That should be plenty of time for what I have in mind.  We've got a long night ahead of us, honey," he said, and took a step towards her.

Still on her back, Helen kicked him sharply in the right shin. Lame, she knew, but that was as high as she could reach from the floor. As the man swore, and lifted his leg into his hands, Helen got up, and ran across the studio to the telephone to call for help.  He saw what she was doing, though, and chased her, pulling the cord from the wall. He was locking Helen's route to the front door, and besides, it was locked from the inside and he had the keys in his pocket.  The only other phone (and exit, as well) was upstairs, in her apartment.  As he came towards her, Helen swung the phone receiver upwards, into his jaw.

"YOU BITCH," he screamed, and fell to one knee, holding the side of his face.  Helen did not stay to watch, opting instead to run across the studio, up the stairs to her apartment, and to the phone or out the door, depending on how much time she had.  She made a mental note, as she ran for the stairs, to get a dog tomorrow.  A big, mean one.

The man saw where Helen was headed, and quickly rose to his feet and made chase.  She reached the stairs, but was slowed down running up them.  When she was about halfway up, the man caught up to her, catching the back of her tee-shirt in one hand, and roughly pulling her backwards.  She flew through the air, all the way back down the stairs, and landed on her back on the studio floor.  The fall knocked the wind out of her completely, and she lay there, looking up the stairs as the man came back down.  As his first foot stepped off of the stairs, onto the floor, Helen entangled it with her two feet, causing the big man to fall to the ground next to her.

From the floor, she turned and landed a kick to his stomach. He grunted, and she rose to her feet, landing two more quick kicks to his mid-section, each forcing another grunt from him.  Before she could land another kick, though, the man was on his feet again.  "Damn," she thought, "I'm going to have to let him get closer, or I'm never going to do any damage.  He's too big."

"Thanks for the struggle," the man said, moving towards her. 

"Now I'm really going to enjoy this."  As he reached her, the man took Helen by the shoulders, pulled her forward slightly to force her off balance, and then threw her backwards into the wall.  She hit the wall with a "thud" and fell to the floor, again on her back, like a sack of potatoes.  She was dizzy, and she trembled as the man stood over her.  He quickly removed his clothes, stripping down to a tee-shirt and boxer shorts.  As Helen looked up at him, she realized just how big and strong he was.  "They shouldn't let them lift weights in prison," she thought.  

As the man approached her, she tried to back away, still facing upward, but using her arms and legs to move back.  "Where are you going," he laughed, and brought his full weight down on her, as he straddled her stomach.  She gasped, and he quickly ripped her tee-shirt off of her, leaving her nude but for her tight, gray, high-legged leotard and her socks and tennis shoes.  He stared down at her breasts, and cupped one in each hand.  The man lifted himself off of Helen's stomach so that he could lean downward toward her breasts with his face.  

Sensing perhaps a brief window of opportunity, Helen sharply lifted her right calf into the man's balls, and connected.  The man screamed in pain, and reacted by trying to get up and move away from her, the object of his discomfort.  As he rose, however, Helen was able to use more leverage and gain even more momentum, as she kicked him a second time in the balls, and a third.  She got up quickly, as the big man was doubled over, howling in pain.  She took him by the shoulders, and kneed him in the chest, forcing a loud grunt from him.  She kneed him quickly, three more times in the chest, and then let go of his shoulders.  The man sank now, to his knees, still screaming in pain, with his hands between his legs.  Helen took him by the head, now, and drove her knee into his face.  Holding his head, she struck him in the face again with her knee, and let his head go.

He fell backward to the ground, and Helen wasted no time.  She kicked him in the side, and in the head, repeatedly, using the hard front part of her tennis shoes.  Every time he tried to get up, he had to use his hands for leverage on the ground.  Each time, she took advantage of his defenseless face and landed another hard kick.  When he fell again to the ground, she kicked him several times in the head, chest, or stomach.  She did not want this guy back on his feet again, towering over her.  

With each kick, he weakened, and was less able to attempt to get up.  As he lay on his back, trying to regain his senses, she picked up his leg, and stepped over it, wrapping it with one of hers, and put the man into a painful figure-four leg lock.  Her brothers were both wrestlers in high school, and the moves she had learned from them came back quickly to her now.  As she laid on her back to complete the move, applying unbelievable pressure to his legs, the man regained his senses in a hurry, as intense pain shot through his legs and thighs.  Helen continued to work the hold, as the man began struggling and bucking, in an attempt to break free.  Helen had executed the hold well, however, and her legs were extremely strong, so he could not get away.  

Helen kept him the leg lock for a long time, probably too long, she knew.  He continued to scream and to struggle with his legs for a while, but was eventually moving only his arms and body.  She kept him in the hold for several minutes after this, wanting to make sure that he would not be standing up and walking around for a while.  He contorted his body, trying to reach her legs with his hands, but he could not release himself from the hold.  She lay propped on her hands, looking at him, watching him try to break free.  When Helen was comfortable that he would be unable to use his legs for quite a while, she released him from the hold.

She got to her feet, and stood over him with her hands on her hips, looking down at him.  He tried to get up, and realized quickly that he would be unable to do so.  He propped himself up on his hands, and tried to scoot away from her.  She ran towards him and, leaping high into the air, delivered a devastating knee-drop to his stomach.  He had not prepared himself, and her knee sank into his soft stomach, knocking the wind out of the man, and also forcing him back down, flat on his back.  She quickly jumped up and landed with both feet on his stomach.  Now the man curled up on his side in an effort to prevent future blows to his midsection.  

Helen stood next to him, looking down, waiting patiently for his breath to come back to him.  When she saw that it had, and that he was again on his back trying to scoot away from her, she jumped up again, this time landing hard, standing up, with both feet on his mid-section, then bouncing back up and landing again and again on his stomach.  The wind again knocked from him, the man writhed in pain on the floor, turning on his side and doubling over in an effort to protect himself.

Helen felt incredibly aroused, as she looked down at this tremendous man writhing in pain which she had inflicted.  He had come here to hurt her, but it was he who lay on the floor, damaged and vulnerable.  Feeling confident that he would be helpless at least for a few moments, Helen walked over to the man's jeans, and removed his wallet.  "John Walker," she read aloud from his driver's license.  She laughed "Guess you won't be much of a 'Walker' this evening, will you Johnny?"  She dropped the wallet, and moved back over to him.  He tried to prop himself up and scoot away again, but she bent down and grabbed his left foot, lifting his leg off the ground and giving it a hard yank.  He screamed in pain, and fell flat on his back again.

She stood over him, hands on her hips.  Helen was still wearing nothing but the tight exercise leotard, and she saw that her nipples were erect under thin lycra.  She wondered if he saw, too.  She hoped so.  She wanted him to know how much she was enjoying this.  "This is turning into a humiliating evening for you, Johnny," she said, smiling.  

"Fuck you, bitch," he said, teeth clenched.

"Good," Helen said, smirking at him.  "I haven't even gotten started on you yet.  I was going to call the cops, but what they would do is nothing compared to what I have in store for you, my dear.  You are going to be crying like a child."  She continued to wonder at her state of arousal, as she listened to what she was saying.  She sat down on him, straddling his chest.  He tried to beat at her with his arms, but Helen caught them by the wrists and held them tight.  He tried to sit up, and this allowed Helen to lean back slightly, and wrap her legs around his mid-section, hooking her ankles behind him, as she sat on his lap.

Helen began to squeeze him between her legs, and the man struggled to break free.  She squeezed harder, and he screamed in pain.  She continued to hold his arms, though, and she straightened her legs, increasing the pressure to his mid-section.  She was incredibly aroused, as this man thrashed and struggled between her legs.  She had moved down on his body, slightly, so that she was sitting firmly on his lap, with his stomach between her legs.  She could feel that he was aroused, too.  His organ was hard and erect beneath her butt.  She could feel it though her leotard, and that made her smile.  She continued to hold his wrists as she squeezed him, but she held them more lightly now, as a mother might hold a naughty child's wrists.  She wanted him to feel her dominating him, to feel that she was not even giving him her best effort.  She wanted to destroy him.She looked right into his face, into his eyes, as she spoke.  

"Does this hurt?" she said gently, increasing the pressure slightly, and forcing a grunt and then a scream from him.  "Oh," she smiled sadly "I guess it does.  Humiliating, isn't it?  I'm not even squeezing that hard.  I own you, darling."  She felt his stomach muscles weakening between her legs, as she sat on his lap an squeezed.  He was still aroused.  Though he was trying to flex his stomach muscles, to stop her from squeezing the air from him, she was able to feel, with her thighs, when he tried to rest his muscles.  Whenever he did, she clamped down on him, forcing more air from him, looking directly into his face each time she did so.

As she continued to constrict the space in his stomach and mid-section, he screamed in pain, which only dispensed more of his oxygen.  She was weakening this huge man between her legs, teasing and humiliating him.  She continued to loosen her hold on his wrists, thinking that his weakened state would make future struggles impossible.  This proved to be a mistake, though, as the man broke one of his hands free and landed a surprisingly good punch to Helen's face.  The shock made her let go of his other hand, and he quickly landed two more good punches to her face, the last of which drew a little blood on her lip.

The man had remained between her legs as he hit her, but she had loosened her grip on him from the shock of being hit.  She quickly regained her senses now, though, and applied as much pressure as she could muster to her hold.  This forced him to stop hitting her, as he thrashed in pain and struggled to break free.  She again squeezed the air from him, and he struggled with his hands to wrench her thighs open, but her ankles were still locked behind him.  

As she continued to squeeze him between her legs, Helen said "We're going to have to do something about those arms of yours, Johnny."  This time, she squeezed him until his flow of oxygen was severely deprived.  He struggled desperately for breath, but she squeezed him mightily and held him there until she was satisfied that he was extremely weakened.

Helen got up off of the man, now, and stood up next to him.  He tried, weakly to move away from her, but she quickly landed another jump to his mid-section, knocking the wind out of him again.  As he struggled to breathe, Helen leant over and rolled him onto his stomach.  He again tried to use his arms to crawl away.  She backed up a step or two, and landed a very forceful jump onto his back, and then stood on him.  "You bitch," he screamed.  "I'm going to kill you!"

Helen laughed, and said "Oh yes, you are doing such a good job of it, too.  What with you on the ground unable to walk, your internal organs all squishy from being squeezed between my legs, and me standing on top of you."  She laughed again, really wanting to humiliate this big man.  Still standing on his back, Helen reached down and caught hold of his arms by the wrists.  She stood up straight again, forcing his upper body off the ground, while his lower body was still pinned down as she stood on it.  She leaned back, bending his body in a way it wasn't meant to bend.  He screamed from the intense pain.  "You haven't felt anything yet," Helen said as the man continued to scream and struggle beneath her feet.  

She began, now, to twist his arms, by the wrists, as she continued to pull back on them.  The man screamed in pain again, and tried to break free, but he could not -- his legs were of no use, Helen was standing on the small of his back with his upper body lifted off the ground, and she held his arms firmly.  Each time his screaming began to subside, Helen twisted his arms further, and stretched his body a little more.  When she could feel that twisting his arms any more might break them, Helen simply maintained the hold, feeling his arms weaken and his struggles subside as his body was defeated by her.  

After about 10 minutes in this position, she let his arms go, and as she had hoped, they fell limply to his sides.  She smiled, feeling incredible power and arousal surge through her body.  She kicked off her shoes and socks, and jumped up and down on his back several times, using him as a trampoline.  Each time as she landed, he groaned in pain, but he could do nothing else.  She walked on his back, feeling him beneath her feet, squeezing his body between her toes.  She stood on his buttocks, and jumped up and down on them, rudely crushing his testicles against the floor with the force of her jumps.  The sexual excitement was the most intense she had ever felt.

She stepped off of the man, and leaned over to turn him onto his back again.  He was conscious, but he appeared to be very weak.  Helen straddled him again, sitting on his chest, and looking into his face.  He made no struggle, as he could not, and she thrilled at feeling the big, helpless man between her legs.  She lay down on her stomach, now, pushing his lifeless legs apart and putting hers between them.  She allowed her breasts to press against his chest, and she moved her face directly above his, only inches away from him.  Helen looked down into his eyes, and saw his fear and humiliation in them.  She felt, however, that he was still very aroused, and she smiled.  His arousal, and his complete lack of ability to do anything about it only magnified his helplessness and shame.  She continued to look into his eyes, and she ran her fingers seductively through his hair.  "Now the fun really begins," she said.  "You think you feel humiliated now?  Just wait."

"No, please," he said.  "I'll do anything you want.  Call the cops ... whatever.  Just please don't hurt me anymore."  

Helen laughed then, and continued to run her fingers through his hair and look down into his eyes.  "I wonder, Johnny.  If I had made the same request of you, while you were raping me, if you would have granted it?"  

He averted his eyes, and she said "No, I didn't think so, and neither shall I."  Then, she moved up across his body, moving her pelvis along his chest, and settled her breasts over his face.  She lowered them onto his face, and held herself down over him.  He began to struggle, but Helen wrapped her arms around his head and hugged his face lightly into her breasts.  She used the sides of her arms to hold her lycra clad breasts together, flush against his face.  

"How do you like them now, Johnny?" she said.  His response could not be discerned from between her breasts, and she lay there, feeling him struggle for air beneath her.  She released him when she sensed he would soon pass out.  "Let's have some real fun, now, big man, what do you say?"

With that, Helen got back up into a sitting position, and straddled him once again.  She turned her body around, so that she was facing his legs, and he could see her back.  Helen scooted up across his body, then, and settled her ass on his face.  She could feel his face against her butt, through her workout leotard.  He struggled again, but to no avail.  Helen leaned forward and playfully dug her nails into his chest, and he responded "Mmmpphhhh," beneath her ass.  He was still erect, she could see.

Helen stood up on his chest, then sat down on his face again, this time facing forward, so that she could see the top of his head between her legs.  He thrashed his head about a bit, but she ground herself down on his face, and leaned back slightly, planting her hands on the floor for added leverage.  He continued to grunt and try to speak.  She squeezed his head between her knees, and sealed her crotch tightly over his face.  

Feeling him struggle between her legs, under her ass, was the most arousing thing she had ever felt.  "Want me to get off your face, Johnny?" she asked, and ground down on him again.  "I can't hear you, dear.  Oh, I'm sorry," she said.  "Perhaps your having trouble speaking with your face trapped so deep in my ass."  She lifted herself a few inches off his face.  

"Please," he said.  "I can't breathe.  Please get off."

"All right, you weak, pathetic man.  I'll get off your face," she said.  Helen scooted back, off the man's face, but settled then on his neck with all of her weight.  She lifted his head by the hair, and pulled it up between her thighs, closing them rudely on either side of his face.  As she straddled the man's neck, she noted the look of surprise on his face, and said "I told you I would get off your face.  I have."  Then she laughed at him, his humiliation continuing to turn her on.  

As Helen felt the man choke and gasp for air between her legs, she knew that she would soon orgasm -- she had never felt anything this good.  She was afraid, however, that the man might pass out or die from lack of air before she came.  She certainly did not care if he passed out, except that his motionless body would not be enough to finish getting her off.

Helen got off of him, and he gulped in air.  She took him by the shoulders, and turned him back onto his stomach.  She slid herself under him, so that his chin was on her tummy.  She then wrapped her legs back around him, forcing his throat tight against her crotch, and digging her heels into his back.  She squeezed him there, again, allowing his choking and gasping to get her off.  Now, when he needed to breathe to avoid passing out, she relaxed her grip on him, allowing him to breathe very briefly, and then squeezed back down on him.  She loosened her legs only slightly when he needed to breathe, simply holding him against her crotch more loosely, forcing him to gasp in some air.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

His struggles to breathe against her crotch, between her legs, brought her to a crashing orgasm.  As she came, she tightened her grip around his neck, cutting off his air supply once again.  She rested her feet casually on his back, making certain that he could feel her dominate him all over his body.

She loosened him, slightly, once she was finished, and he choked and begged her to let him go.  She grabbed his head with both hands, taking handfuls of his hair.  She looked down into his face, saying "That's it.  Beg me.  Kiss me.  Lick me."  She forced his face against her tummy.  He complied, kissing and licking her tummy, begging her for mercy, as she held him firmly between her legs.

She smirked as she lay on her back, and she released her legs, as if to let the man out of her hold.  As she lay on her back, Helen propped herself up on her elbows, so she could see him as he pulled his neck from between her thighs.  He did not get far, though, for as he pulled away from her, Helen closed her legs again, this time catching his head between them.  She immediately began squeezing him -- hard.  He screamed in pain, and tried to pull his head out from between Helen's legs, but to no avail.

Helen reached down, and caught the man's head by his hair again. She relaxed her legs momentarily, and firmly forced the man's face tightly against her sex.  She then held him there simply by re-applying the unbelievable pressure from her legs.  Though he tried desperately to escape, she barely felt his struggles.  She lay back again, and rested her head on her hands, looking up at the ceiling.  

"Darling?" she asked.  The man made no response.  Increasing the pressure to his head, Helen said "Sweetie, you had better let me know that you can hear me."  She felt certain that she could crush his head like a grape between her legs if he continued to disobey her.  

He apparently felt the same way, for he quickly responded with an "Mmpphh!"

"Good boy," she said.  "I want you to lick me clean.  If you do a good job, I'll let you go."  She squeezed his head again, to remind him of his position.  He apparently understood, because Helen immediately felt his tongue against her sex.  She slowly increased the pressure to his head, as he continued to lick her, forcing him more and more firmly against her crotch.  She felt unbelievable arousal as she continued to squeeze his head harder and harder, and he continued to lap at her, desperately, obediently.  As she felt herself begin to orgasm, she clamped down on his head with all her might, and thrashed his entire upper body around like a rag doll.  Helen came to a rousing orgasm in the man's face, and she squeezed him unconscious between her legs.

She lay on her back recovering for several minutes, afterward, with the unconscious man's face propped between her legs.  Then she slid back, allowing his chin to fall off of her tummy and strike the floor.  She laughed at this, and then leaned down to roll him over onto his back.  She laughed again, as she saw that his tongue was still hanging outside of his mouth, and that the blow of his chin hitting the floor had drawn blood to his tongue.  The blow had also apparently roused him from unconsciousness, as the man seemed to be coming to.  Helen sat down beside him on the floor, and softly ran her fingers through his hair.  She could see that he still had an erection.

"Waking up, are we?" she said stroking his hair seductively.  She stood up, then, and looked down at him, with her hands on her hips.  Her orgasm was all over his face.  

She placed a foot on his neck, and pressed down lightly, cutting off his air supply again.  She held her hands on her hips, looking down at him.  She continued to play with him like a toy for several minutes, lightly pressing her foot into his neck until he nearly passed out, then allowing him a small breath.  His position could not be more clear.  Finally, she held her foot on his neck, as he gasped and begged her to let him go, lifting his head off of the floor to kiss and lick the ankle of the foot with which she denied him breath.  Soon, he fell silent, passing out again from lack of air.

Helen laughed deliciously, an idea coming to her as she removed her foot from his neck.  She went upstairs, to her apartment, and found her hairbrush.  She took it, and went back down to her studio.  The man was still unconscious in the middle of the floor.

She walked over to him, stepping lightly on his testicles, and increasing the pressure slowly until he jolted awake with a yelp of pain, a look of fear coming over his face.  She could feel his still-erect penis with her foot.

Helen sat down next to him, and rolled him, with some effort, onto her lap.  She pulled his boxers down around his ankles.  He lay face down over her, his bare bottom facing up, his erection firmly pressed against her lap.  He struggled to move, but his arms were still useless, and he could move his legs only slightly.  She withdrew one leg from beneath him, hooking it over his legs, holding him still.

She positioned him so that his erection was pressed against her leg which was still beneath him.  She began beating him, viscously, with her hairbrush.  She hit him as hard as she could, quickly learning the best angle with which to hold the brush to inflict the most pain against his ass.  He screamed in pain, struggling as much as he could.  She held him firm, with one of her legs wrapped around both of his.  She used her free hand to press his face into the floor, pulling his head off the floor by his hair occasionally, and smashing it back against the ground.

She held him there, tight, beating him relentlessly.  He came, eventually, against her leg, as she beat him, forcing his face rudely against the floor.  She smiled slightly, but continued to beat him.  His butt became red, with welts in the shape of the brush appearing all over his ass, upper legs, and lower back.  He began sobbing from the pain and humiliation, and Helen orgasmed again, just sitting on the floor, beating this man with her brush as he sobbed and begged.

She stopped, eventually, and stood up.  She took off her shoes and socks, and pulled her foot off of the ground.  She wiped his come off of her leg with the foot she had lifted from the floor, allowing it to get all over her foot.  She placed it back on the ground, walking over to where the big man lay, face down.

"Lick my foot, darling.  Lick it clean, or I'll beat you some more."  She smiled as he quickly obeyed, lifting his head to lick her foot.  She placed her other foot on his upper back, standing on him with all of her weight as he licked her foot.  "Do a good job, dear.  Take each toe into your mouth, and suck it well." He obeyed without delay, licking her foot for perhaps fifteen minutes.

She took her foot away from his mouth, and put it on the back of his head, using her toes to turn his head, so that one side of his head and face lay flat on the floor.  Helen still stood on his back with her other foot.  She pressed his face firmly against the floor with her foot, looking down at him, her hands authoritatively on her hips. 

"Can you hear me sufficiently?"  He did not answer.  "Have I damaged you so greatly that you cannot hear me?  Have I beaten and broken you so badly that you cannot answer?"  She placed the ball of her foot on the pressure point at his temple, and shifted her weight slowly from the foot on his back to the ball of her other foot on his temple.  "Now, can you hear me or not?"

"Yes," he said quickly, pain shooting through his head from the pressure. 

"Good," she said, without decreasing the pressure on his head.  

"If I hear or read of you so much as speaking crossly or disrespectfully to a woman ever again, I will find you and break every bone in your body between my legs.  I'll squish you into pulp, and I'll do your head last, so you can feel everything that comes before it.  Do you understand?"

He did not respond quickly enough for Ann, and she lifted her foot completely off of his back, using her skills as a dancer to balance on the ball of her foot, driving all of her weight into his temple.

"I understand!  I understand, lady!"  he shouted.

She maintained her stance, saying "Don't shout at me, pathetic little darling.  Now, is that how you think you should address me?"  When he didn't answer, she began bouncing slightly on the ball of her foot, driving more pressure against his head.  "I think you had better address me as 'mistress.'"

The man screamed in pain from the pressure, and said quickly, in as controlled a tone of voice as he could muster "I understand, Mistress."

"Prove your obedience," she said, still standing on one foot, on his head.  She moved her other foot next to his face on the floor.  "Tell me that you understand, and then lick my foot."

Still in extreme pain, the man again said, "I understand, Mistress."  He licked her foot obediently, as she pressed it against his face.

Helen was enjoying this position a great deal.  "No, dear.  Open your mouth wide.  Take my foot into your mouth, as far as it will go, and suck it.  And if I hear you gag, I pop your head like a grape.  Go on.  Do it."  She bounced on the ball of her foot again, just slightly, sending incredible pain through him.

He opened his mouth wider, and she rudely shoved her foot into his mouth.  He took in all five toes, and she pushed her foot into him roughly, as far as he could take it.  She felt around his mouth with her toes.  He struggled to lick and suck her foot, trying desperately not to gag, as she pressed her toes towards the back of his mouth and into his throat.  She held her foot in his mouth for a good five minutes, making him suffer this last great indignity, as she continued to stand on the side of his head with all of her weight.  Finally, she withdrew her foot from his mouth, again holding it back up in the air.

"Thank me for allowing you to express your obedience to my foot," she said quietly. "Thank you, Mistress" he said steadily, completely broken.

"I mean it, little slave.  I had better not ever hear anything about you."

"Yes, Mistress," he said earnestly.

"Good," she said, placing the ball of her free foot, wet with saliva from his own mouth, on his head next to her other foot.  "I'm through with you, then," she said.  She crouched down slightly, and jumped up in the air, landing with both feet firmly on her would-be attacker's head.  She stood there for a second, and then stepped off of him onto the floor.  He was out cold, and would be for quite some time.She went to his jeans, still on the floor, and took out the keys to her front door.  She picked up his wallet, and walked back over to him.  Leaning down, she put one hand under each of his arms, and lifted his upper body off of the ground.  He was heavy!  She dragged him across the floor this way, towards the door.  At the doorway, she dropped him rudely to the ground and unlocked the door.  She picked him up again, and pushed him out the door, allowing his body to fall hard on the sidewalk outside.  Helen threw his wallet on top of him, and then locked the door to her studio.  She watched him through the glass for a moment;  he was naked, and it was extremely cold outside.  Helen laughed quietly, thinking how useful this experience could be for her, and then she went upstairs and made herself some tea and drew a warm bath.