Kneel before you read...
You weren’t just stepped on. You were rearranged.
You don’t suffer beneath her for pleasure. You do it to be erased. In the Trample Chamber, her steps don’t just land— they leave marks that rewrite you.
Trample is more than weight. It's dominance made physical— every step, every press, every grind a lesson in what you're for. Not admired. Not praised. Just flattened.
“Her heels don’t ask for space. They take it. And they leave none for you.”