A marriage under squeeze
by barbunny
A beautiful young bride show her groom the awesome power in her legs


He knelt apprehensively in front of them. Those were the thighs that ruled his
life since the day of their wedding. And the most ironic part was that he
still loved his wife. He still loved her powerfully built thighs. Dearly. He
ran his hands frantically over his wife's hugely muscled legs, searching
desperately for a weak spot, seeking a soft refuge in his own wife's legs, but
found none. They were sculpted like marble, amazingly muscled, but most
importantly they were strong. VERY strong.

Tom could not escape the irony. Why?

It was years ago, when he fell in love with her while they were classmates in
high school. Martha was the sweetest, most beautiful girl in their school, and
he was the lucky one to have her forever. He had always admired strong,
powerful girls. Since the day sexual thoughts came into his mind, they always
involved a mixture of softness, femininity and gentleness, together with brute
force and pure strength. And Martha embodied all of the above. Especially in
her lower limbs.

Tom could not understand why Martha was so adamant, but she had never let them
be intimate in bed. All he was allowed to do was to feel and fondle her huge,
protruding chest while they were kissing, but once he started to lower his
hands toward her awesome legs, she would forcefully stop him. It was so
frustrating, but Tom knew he could do absolutely nothing about it. He realized
that for all their glory, it was important to recognize that those legs can,
like it or not, squeeze the life out of him in an instant if they only wanted
to. It was on their first date when he made a mental note of the fact that
Martha's legs can, when put into motion, show him who the boss really is.
Painfully.

As time went by, he used to steal many admiring glances at the two massive
poles that supported Martha's feminine body, harboring several fantasies about
what they can do to him, once she decides to clamp down those legs around his
male body. It would probably be a claustrophobic steel chamber, from which it
is absolutely impossible to break free unless she decides to allow it. Many
times, as he used to feel her impertinent nipples between his thumb and
forefinger, he paused to allow himself to absorb the unwritten, but firmly
established rule of the jungle: The stronger spouse will dominate the weaker
one in this matrimony. And one furtive look at those gigantic thighs told you
there was no question as to who is the stronger one in this relationship. He
felt a privileged guy to have her, yes, but deep down he knew that with that
privilege goes a responsibility to satisfy her every whim. Her mandate would
be far more inclusive than simply squeezing his delicate head senseless
between her dazzling legs once in a while. She would in effect govern each and
every aspect of his life with the twist of her legs, with the turn of her
thighs. Sitting in the passenger's seat while she was driving, he had always
told her she makes wrong turns. Now he realized it took just one tiny turn of
thighs, while his neck is securely fastened in between them, to render him
miserable for the rest of his life.

He felt he should end their relationship. Something deep inside told him he
will be forever dominated by his own woman by means of sheer power and
superiority. As mystifying as her body was, as stunning as her breasts were,
it was always the incredible strength in her legs that drew his total focus.

"Why did you say you didn't like my outfit, honey?" Martha had told him once,
as they were facing each other in front of her house late one night. "Can't
you see you made me feel bad? I bought that short skirt especially for you to
enjoy," she whispered as she placed her hands over his shoulders.

"Because I won't lie to you, Marthie. It is the worst outfit you could pick,"
he answered, hoping to make her angry somehow, hoping to finally get to feel
what those awesome, overpowering legs are capable of.

He could not wait any longer. He had to feel them for himself. A tingle of
excitement rippled through him, his determination intensified with the
sensation that it was about to happen. He was going to place his hands on
those fascinating legs, feeling for himself just how real they were. How
STRONG they were. His imagination could conjure no other set of circumstances
that would allow him that golden opportunity again. There's only so much he
could do in the face of such feminine power, such powerful legs. They stood
there before him magnificently, like a ribbon on a gift, waiting to be gently
budged apart, so that he would be able to smoothly place his poor neck right
in between them, and let them do the rest.

"oh darling, can't you see I'm hurt?" she countered, slowly bending her right
leg upward, displaying a huge, massive calf, which was no less intimidating
than her thighs. It was every bit as impressive and menacing as the whole
structure of her legs, particularly with that bulging muscle, generously
sticking out from her leg and pointing toward his throat. "Don't you
understand I am just a little, delicate girl?"

Tom could not believe his own eyes. He tried to focus on the figure standing
before him. A calf, it was finally determined. A female calf, to be sure, but
one that could exclusively decide whether his throat would stay in its current
mode. He could offer little resistance but to stare right down into the
enormous entity, instinctively reaching with his hands to hold his familiar,
favorite safe haven, Martha's oversized chest. He knew how strong she was, but
it never occurred to him just how big and muscular her calves were. She
presented it like a magician flashing a face card from a trick deck. If only
he could make her crush his face in between those mammoth calves. If only she
got angry enough to push his head in the right direction. He wanted so much to
reach down and give it a feel. He wanted so much to grasp that chunk of female
muscle and decide for himself whether it felt as hard as it looked. But he
knew better. He knew that if he reached out to satisfy his curiosity without
permission, it would be the last thing he satisfied for the rest of his life.
He gasped, unable to breathe, the sight in front of him evoking a feeling of
terror at the thought of the possibilities.

"but I am really hurt, sweetie," Martha murmured, tilting his body downward
just a little bit, as if he didn't notice yet her titanic calf. "Why can't you
understand I have feelings just like any other girl? Why can't you be just a
little more gentle with me?" she mumbled.

And then it happened. All of a sudden, without warning, it stunningly took
place. She flexed her calf. It was a movement so simple to her, yet so
complicated and full of suggestion to him. Cutting short his reverie, that
simple calf flex indicated to him how horrible his life will be, once he
marries this woman and her impossibly large muscles in her legs. How terrible
his days will be, once he lives in the same house with those powerful thighs,
which, freely translated, means possible broken bones for life. A fearful
amazement sweeping across his ashen face, he did a double take. Yes, it was
indeed Martha's calf. His shock over the size and potency of his sweetheart's
strong legs was matched only by his embarrassment at wanting to place his own
pathetic head in between them, and let her do the magic.

"in fact, even randomly picking cloths would be far better that what you
choose to buy," Tom declared loudly, feeling his own upper body bending just
an additional inch or two, as she brought him closer to that bursting calf.
"How can you be so stupid, Marthush? Why can't you just once choose something
elegant?"

He was getting closer to the Promised Land, but he could not make a move
without her permission, without her authorization. His heart noisily pounding,
a line of cold perspiration broke out on his forehead, as she lowered his body
just a little bit further toward the waiting, knowing calf, strangely
positioning his head just below her jutting tits, about two feet from where
her enormous calf was resting, waiting. As bizarre as his position was,
diagonally standing there in front of her, his hands still not letting go of
her breasts, her hands keeping him in place by his shoulders, he knew he will
stop at nothing to be squeezed by that calf, even if it were his own life on
the line. Heroes were in short supply when encountering such palpable force,
when meeting such obvious superiority. He remembered it was Napoleon that said
it better, 'give me enough strong, female legs to be squeezed in, and I'll win
you any war'. He wondered what would Napoleon do in the face of that flexed
calf.

"Tommy, how could you say something like that?" Martha moaned, lowering his
shoulders even further, placing his head so close to her waiting calf, so that
he could feel the heat coming from its enormous muscles. "My love, Tom, my
sweetheart, don't you see how vulnerable I am? Can't you see how sensitive I
am?"

Tom was helpless. He had no single bargaining chip to trade away. Given the
proximity to those legs of steel, those calves of concrete, he had more
important priorities than the survival of an individual. Being an inch away
from that considerable female power, he knew he has to feel that power for
himself, no matter what the price will be. He knew he might not live long
enough to regret his indiscretion, but at that moment he couldn't care less.
He will be squeezed in those legs, regardless of the consequences.

He hoped no passerby would witness that absurdity. Here was a young man,
bowing in front of his own girlfriend in a strange posture, his face so close
to her calf, as she stood on her left foot, allowing her right calf to be
shoved at his face shamelessly. He wanted to simply take that calf and thrust
it directly onto his face, elevate it straight to his throat, where it
naturally belonged, but he knew better. Weird as it seemed to him, eerie as it
appeared to anyone looking, his hands hadn't leaved her huge chest high above.
He just didn't have the guts to do so. His breath came shorter and turned into
pain-filled gasps, as he wondered just how long it would take for her to make
the final move. Sweat poured down his face and the pounding in his chest
became intolerable as he saw nothing but a female calf proudly presenting
itself in front of his frightened eyes. He decided he has to deliver the line
that will be the final nail in his coffin. "Now you listen to me, Martha," he
started, his hands still reaching high above his head, clinging to her immense
boobs. "Next time, I suggest you try to select the worst outfit you can find,
the absolute last option on your list, and I am sure that will be good enough.
Why do you always have such a bad taste?"

And then it happened. Martha took her hands off his shoulders, grabbing his
head on both sides, and shoved it all the way in between her waiting thighs,
his throat carefully half an inch over her calf. He smiled down there for a
moment, knowing he was about to fulfill a lifelong dream, but then realized
his smile was a privilege that thighs like hers could not tolerate. Would not
tolerate. The sheer power of her thighs to both sides of his head was the
proof that the concept of female superiority was undeniable, its supremacy
unquestioned.

"How could you be so inconsiderate?" Martha whispered with her soft voice,
still holding his head down there between her knowing thighs. "Why are you
doing this to me? Can't you see I am just a little girl? Can't you see I need
your protection, being my boyfriend?"

And then it dawned on him. It was for real. She did not pretend anything, nor
played a part she didn't mean to. She really thought she needed his
protection. But how could that be?

"Oh, Martha, oh, my love, please, please do me!" he shouted, at last taking
his hands off her breasts and placing them on both her thighs. "Martha, you
have to show me what those weapons of yours are capable of! I will not take
that denial anymore. Please, show me how potent your legs are. Show me how
muscular, how STRONG they are. Now do it!"

"But, but, what are you talking about Tommy? How do you mean?"

"Just squeeze, Martha, just squeeze. You have to do nothing more than
squeeze," and with that, he tried to pull those thighs and close them around
his head. "It is not to anyone's advantage, my dear love, least of all my own.
But I have to be honest with you. I have always secretly admired your so
powerful legs, Martha. Always. Your muscular legs are strong enough to render
any poor trespasser unconscious, are dangerous enough to supply a healthy
squeeze whenever one is called for. Now all you have to do is just squeeze.
Crush that male head of mine that is placed in between them. Show me what
these concrete bars can do. Just squeeze."

"But, but, but why, Tommy, why?"

He realized no answer would be good enough in that stage. So he simply began
to beat her outer thighs with his fists, trying desperately to budge them
inward, in the direction of his waiting head. He knew he'd pounded as strongly
as he was ever going to pound, which was not a hell of a lot in the face of
such awesome female force. Against his better judgment, he attempted to raise
her globular calve to his throat, he struggled to bring that ball of womanly
muscle onto the place it deserves to be at, a man's larynx, knowing he was
about to join the endangered species list.

"just do as I say, Martha," Tom shouted at the top of his lungs, lungs that
still had some air in them, as he continued trying to somehow bring her mighty
legs just a tad closer, trying to seal the small space left between his head
and those items of marvel that were her legs. But to no avail. Her thighs
would not move. Granite, nothing less. "Just do as I say, Marthie, please, I
beg you my dear, just squeeze!"

And then, all of a sudden, it happened. In a swift, brutal motion, Martha...

End of part one.

Comments and special requests are welcomed at

Barbunny3111@yahoo.com