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You struggle. That’s OK, I like a man who resists



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Duration: 12 min.
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I come into the living room where you are snoozing peacefully on the sofa, the remote control on your chest, your head on the arm of the couch as you lay on your back. You look so relaxed, so comfortable. Pity you have to wake up the way you’re about to but I’m feeling playful, rather my legs and I are feeling playful. And when they’re feeling playful, my sweet pet, you must suffer for it… I look in the mirror before I approach you and think how good I look. I stand five foot nine inches tall and weigh a solid 155 pounds, my long, blonde hair cascading over my shoulders, my skin smooth and luminous. I pull up my already short black skirt a bit; my legs are long, lean, powerful, and tight-to-the-touch from my afternoon workout. Sleek, but well muscled from all the running and exercise I do every day. I smile and walk up to the couch, kneeling up on the arm, my bare knees on either side of your dozing head. Gently, so as not to waken you just yet, I slip down over you, my hands on either side of your waist on the couch, my legs spread. I slither them down, thighs opening and then hugging your face inside them. Now you awaken and realize where you are, where you’ve been before, where you always are when I – and my powerful legs – are feeling playful. “Relax, darling,” I hiss seductively as my thighs tighten on your cheeks and my ankles lock, my feet resting on the floor, your head and face a prisoner of my scissor hold. “It’s time to play.” You struggle. That’s OK, I like a man who resists a bit, futile as that might be. Laughing at your effort to push my thighs off you, I tighten them, the long inner muscles of my thighs firming up, tensing against your ears and cheeks. You groan as the pain slowly mounts. “I don’t want to hurt you, darling, but I will if I have to, and you know I have the legs that CAN hurt you!” I say forcefully. “Now enjoy it! Most men would love to be between my legs, wouldn’t you agree?” You groan something about this not being what you had in mind, but it matters little. It’s what I have in mind…and with me perched atop your face, my strong, muscular thighs squeezing your head, you have little choice but to go along. I arch my back now and pick my locked feet up from the floor, curling them toward my butt, my long, powerful calves crossed and pressing against the back of your scissored head, mashing your face deeper into the crushing juncture of my thighs. Your hands paw at my legs to no avail, pulling at the hamstrings that engulf your face, struggling to unlock my calves as they wrap around each other and press into your head. I squeeze harder now, letting the pressure of my reverse facescissors build until my thighs gently quiver from the mounting squeeze. Your hands now grip my hard glutes and finally slip away to your sides as you succumb to my scissors. “There, there,” I coo gently, unlocking my legs from you and kneeling by your side to stroke your reddened face as you regain your composure. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” You start to speak, but I press a finger to your mouth. “Shhhh, shhhh,” I hush, adding with a throaty growl, “Just take it, lover, take it like a man…” I gently pull you from the couch and lay you on the floor, on your back, snuggling up next to you and bidding you to lift up a bit. Warily you obey, and I slide my 32-inch long legs easily around your waist, my long, powerful thighs squeezing you in a tight bodyscissors. I lean up on my elbow as I face you, my right thigh creased along the side as it slices into your belly, the other thigh firm against your spine. My ankles lock. And I squeeze. You grimace in pain and push against the thigh on your belly to no avail. I smile and ever so slowly increase the pressure. “Feel my thighs on you, my darling, feel them crushing you in HALF!” I growl, running my hand down over my thigh, feeling my own muscle and reveling in it. “Feel it squeeeeeeeeeeeeeeze into you! Now as you breathe out, I squeeze in…breathe out….squeeze in….you can’t breathe now, can you lover? My bodyscissors seems to have cut off your air hasn’t it? Are you starting to panic yet?” You clearly are, unable to speak from lack of air, your head twisting side to side as a way of showing me your terror. But my playful thighs squeeze a bit harder, snapping down, crunching into your middle until your face turns a delightful shade of blue. “Don’t worry, darling,” I laugh, finally unlocking my scissors and letting you breathe, “I won’t kill you.” I stand up as you lay on the floor holding your pained belly and looking up at me plaintively. “But you know – I could!” I warn you with a sexy, dark smile. I sit on the couch now, and gently pull you up to sit between my legs. I rub your shoulders with my strong feminine hands, massaging your tender neck, and kiss your ear tenderly. “You’re such a good partner for me when my legs and I are feeling playful, lover,” I groan, biting your earlobe. “I think you should be rewarded with a massage.” You lean back and smile, thankful for the rubdown – until I sit back and snap-lock my muscular thighs around your ears, putting on a sudden and intense straight headscissors. You cry out. “Of course I didn’t say WHAT I was going to use to massage you now, did I?” I laugh. Now I roll my thighs on you, my tight hamstrings pinching the base of your neck, my hard quads rippling up around your ears and just under your chin, up and down, up and down I roll them, chewing you in my scissors, pulling at your head and making you feel as if I’ll just pop it off your shoulders. You moan in agony, tugging at my thighs, your hands curled around my quads and pulling them as if they could part these scissoring legs! You beg for mercy; I’m feeling evil AND playful, so I squeeze harder still. You scream your protest. I squeeze a bit more. You groan something about just wanting to go to bed. “Ah, sleep you want?” I laugh darkly, throbbing my thighs against you. “Then sleep you shall HAVE!!” I tense my ropy adductors fully now, the steely hardness of them pulsating against the sides of your neck and within seconds, you are out cold, a victim of my relentless, crushing headscissors. I stop squeezing now and relax my thighs around your neck, leaving them loosely locked in place as I lean over and rub your temples. “Good night, darling,” I sigh, finally taking my legs all the way off your head and pulling you up to the couch to lie on your back, putting the remote control in your hands as you sleep. “Come to bed later…if I’m awake, we can play some more…” I walk from the room and strip down, slipping into bed, waiting for you. I’m not feeling sleepy but as I hear you rouse in the other room, I know you soon will be. Over and over and over again….SLEEP MY DARLING, WHILE I TAKE YOU TO SCISSOR HEAVEN.