The deadly squeeze swim
By Barbunny
How a male swimmer finds out a pair of female thighs can be very dangerous


comments, feedback and criticism will be gladly
appreciated: barbunny3111@yahoo.com

all rights reserved.


Donna was sitting on the edge of the swimming pool. It
was a hot, steamy day, and there were only few people
in the pool. It was Tom's fifth time, swimming back
and forth, trying to impress her.  She was so lovely,
almost pretty, sitting there, her legs wide open.
Nothing about her seemed out of the ordinary, or so he
thought ... 
Then, when he swam next to her, he saw a spider on the
lower part of her swimsuit. Tom wasn't sure if it was
real or not, but he decided to ask her. "Guess where
you've got a crawling spider?" Tom shouted. "Why don't
you come and show me, my little friend?" it was a bit
funny that she called him little, but he didn't really
care why she invited him to be there, he just knew he
was about to discover something he wanted so much,
something that was hidden inside his soul for so long.
He swam towards her, and came up from the water right
in between her wide-open, seemingly-normal legs. He
knew he could impress her, him being a professional
swimmer.
 He looked straight in front of him, seeing her
covered crotch, not thinking about the spider anymore,
knowing it's gonna be great. He knew he was supposed
to look up, but he couldn't. He was mesmerized. And
then suddenly it happened. She tensed her legs, and he
could see from the angle of his eyes the huge mass of
her expanding thighs. Like thunders in a sunny day, he
saw those walls moving toward his skull, but only she
knew they didn't move inward yet. They were just
expanding. Both ways. Gaining circumference, as they
always did when she flexed them. She knew they were
her secret weapons. Relaxed, they looked normal, a bit
on the wider range, but still normal. But when tensed,
poor is the head that happens to be between them. She
might decide to bring them together. Lives are
terminated there and then. "I always let guys get away
before I start closing, it's your last chance" he
heard her telling him. He lingers, contemplating his
options, and decides he is staying. It's now or never.
She slowly starts to bring them closer, his head can
still escape from the looming grip, but he foolishly
decides to take the
almost-for-sure-resulting-deadly-consequences risk,
and stays there, till he starts to feel the mounting
pressure, light at first, getting stronger, and then
it hit him. He shouldn't be there. It could be the
end. He has to be smart enough and go home. He pushes
with his legs on the bottom of the pool, but nothing
moves. He tries again, and realizes it's too late to
escape now. The walls are closed, the doors are
locked, and all is left is to beg. He looks up and see
a knowing, smiling face. He begs with his eyes, no
need for words here, but she shakes her head, like
saying 'you already entered the dead-end street'. Two
meanings applied.' and I hadn't even started squeezing
yet...' then, all of a sudden, she lowers her legs
into the water, holding the bars of the pool's steps.
His head is in the water, herself afloat by holding
the bars, she starts to squeeze... he wonder why. Why
has she waited for his head to be submerged in the
water, before she began squeezing? He is so curious.
Nothing matters more now. Not his wife and kids
waiting at home, not the fact that his own life is
about to reach a critical end, nothing. Only the
answer. Why. Why waiting... 
After 10 squeezing seconds, when she pulls his head
out of the water, remembering him bragging to her
before, that he is a professional swimmer, she
declares, smiling "if you thought that it's either
thigh's pressure, or water suffocation, and not both,
think again" drowning her legs again, his head
unfortunately being trapped between them.
She continues to squeeze, her thighs are glued to the
sides of his head, crushing his soft cheekbones,
himself floundering in the water, unsuccessfully
trying to move those walls apart with his arms.  
He is felling dizzy now, everything turns red and
blurry, when he feels his torso is pressed to the
pool's wall by her feet pulling on his butt, an off
they go. She starts swimming, butterflies style, with
his head, facing upward, clamped between her
oh-so-muscular thighs. He retrieved a piece of
information from deep within his brain, which had now
much less room, due to the constricting thighs around
it. He read an awful joke in the New York Times, a
prestigious newspaper, about a new style of swimming,
to be introduced in the Sydney Olympics, called
synchronized swimming. It involved two partners, a
female swimming butterfly style, and a male, whose
head is trapped between her legs. The article said
something about 400 meters, have-to-be-covered
crotches, and a medal winning on the condition that
the male is still alive ... 
Tom remembered wondering why it appeared on the front
page, and not on the comics page. He understood why it
was called synchronized swimming, his squashed
breathing apparatus had to watch the timing carefully.
He even realized the trick with the inviting spider.
He wished his face would have been pressed into her
seemingly gentler ass, rather than her supercilious,
demanding thighs, but all that wasn't important now,
his body is lead by his head, which in turn was
seesawing above and below the water, in compliance
with the concrete thighs that were devouring him. The
most difficult aspect of it all was the turns. She
turned around after touching the wall, himself flipped
over high in the air, her deadly legs hugging his
cheeks even tighter, not allowing the slightest chance
to escape. 
Finally Donna perched herself on the edge of the pool,
looking sadly into Tom's eyes. "I had the feeling it
wasn't going to be you," she said to him, her legs
still encompassing his cranium. She crossed her ankles
behind his head, making herself comfortable in front
of his exhausted eyes, slapping him on his face before
he passes out. 
"I have a rule of thigh, when a man is not suitable
for my Olympics training" she chuckled.
"We have three alternatives right now, my little boy"
she said, tightening her thighs around the still
living object
in front of her. "Squeezing, strangling, or snapping,
you choose" she smiled to his face, letting the words
slowly permeate into the still functioning brain. 
"Squeezing means I crush the sides of your head with
my inner thighs where your cheekbones are located.
Problem with this option is that I gradually increase
the pressure on your head, slowly at first, without
stopping, until I feel the distance between my thighs
is so small, that my thighs are touching one another,
except for where your head used to be".
"Strangling means I put your neck inside those iron
bars of mine, fastening your throat to my crotch with
my calves in the back of your head, and then starts
playing with all the muscles that surround you.
Evidently, you'll last longer this way, prolonging the
pain, but it's gonna be much more fun for the both of
us."
"Thirdly there's the snapping, of which I strongly
recommend. It is like a compromise between the first
two. I place one thigh at your left cheekbone, the
other at the right side of your neck, and then I do a
regular squeeze, only that my thighs are not at the
same level, a simple fact which consequently cause the
snapping."
She looked down into his eyes, smiling right at him,
enjoying those last moments as she always did, when
they realized it was all over. Their very existence
was now at her hands, or rather at her legs. The only
thing they were capable of deciding was how it's gonna
happen.
"Well, how is it gonna be?" she finally asked.
"Snapping ... " Tom answered getting ready to go.
"Snapping it will be ... " Donna calmly said.
The end.