How many times did I say “Step on me, queen” out loud to a gif of Stephanie Beatriz or Olivia Wilde before realizing I might actually want someone to step on me? I don’t know. A lot.
My boyfriend, as ever, went into Intrepid Researcher mode when I made this proclamation. He searched on Google, KinkAcademy, and the various kink wikis, but there just wasn’t that much practical info on trampling safety or technique. Here are a few basic things we learned:
A carpeted surface – and/or pillows on the floor – makes the experience more comfortable for the “tramplee.” I’ll leave it to you to decide whether that’s a good thing.
The trampler should wear either shoes (ouch) or bare feet (less ouch) – not just socks or stockings, which are too slippery for this task.
As with any kink activity, care should be taken to avoid putting pressure on the kidneys, spine, and other bones. Large fleshy areas are best for stepping on: the upper thighs, the butt, and the non-bony parts of the back, for example.
Orient yourselves in an area where the trampler has lots of things to lean on, on all sides – banisters, cabinets, whatever – so they can keep their balance and moderate the amount of weight they’re distributing.
Why did I want to be stepped on? The typical narrative about this activity is one of humiliation and domination, being squished into the ground because you’re a lowly worm who only deserves to be under your tormentor’s feet. But I didn’t want a punitive or degrading experience; I wanted the slow, measured, meditative calm of someone gradually moving their weight from one part of my body to another. I wanted the peace of momentarily being not a very messy person but instead a very useful floor.
When you feel someone’s full weight sinking down onto you through their cleverly balancing feet, you have no choice but to trust. It’s like the breathless “what’s gonna happen?” wonderment of watching a tightrope walker wheedle through the air, except you’re the tightrope. It requires even more surrender than being choked or slapped or peed on, because you have to trust not only that your partner won’t hurt you with their deliberate actions but also that they won’t hurt you with their accidental ones, either. I’m aware every moment that my beloved could snap me like a twig with one misstep, and that’s ultimately what makes this ritual worth returning to. Risk-aware consensual kink, indeed.
The sounds that come out of my mouth while being stepped on are uncontrollable, pitiful, and dire. They are squeaks of protest and wails of anguish. They are the cries of a defeated creature. That defeat is powerful, in a way: in my real life I never get to give up; I always have to keep pushing. When someone is walking on my back, giving up – going limp, letting go – is the most adaptive response, the smartest way forward.
And then there’s the breathplay. Turns out that someone stepping on your lungs makes it rather hard to breathe. Much like when I get choked, I go through a fast procession of feelings as my body notices, fights against, and eventually gives in to the temporary oxygen deprivation. It always goes on a second or two longer than I think I want, which in fact is exactly what I want. And then the pressure is released and I can breathe again and I’m so euphoric I might cry. The relief is unlike anything else I’ve felt, better than canceling plans or peeing after a long car ride or swigging icewater in the hot sun. My whole body exalts: THANK YOU, YES.
Like so many new kink activities I’ve tried with my partner over the past year and a half, being trampled is something I didn’t know I needed until my body felt it and shouted YES, YES, YES.
The last time we partook of this perversion, I laid in bed afterward and slurred through the smog of subspace, “Am I a good floor?”
“Yes,” my partner said, smiling, holding me closer.
I mused, “I don’t think I’d make a very good ceiling, though.”
“I’m not going to make you be a ceiling, babygirl,” he assured me while ruffling my hair.