The Wives Inner Thighs Crush Husbands Institute.
By barbunny3111@yahoo.com
The WITCH Institute teaches wives, squeeze by squeeze, how to crush husbands out of eating disorders. 

Part one. 

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

Barbara pointed her finger again to her thighs. "Dear
Richard, my sweet love, it's either you place your
hand on my broad thigh, feel the bulging outer-thigh
muscles, and relive our mutual thighs' ordeal, the
very same thighs that brought you here to begin with,
or I'll put your hand there myself, and we both know
it's not gonna be pleasant" Barbara said,
threateningly looking into her husband's eyes, knowing
better. Richard was hospitalized, lying in bed, his
docile head is severely fractured on both sides,
symmetrically. It happened two weeks ago, and it was
devastating. The ordeal was so vivid, it looked as if
the destroying, unruly thighs that caused all the
damage were still in front of him. Well, they were.

Barbara was proudly standing on her two giant thighs
beside his bed, her short skirt is deferentially
letting them speak for themselves. They were firm,
healthy thighs, the kind you forget about everything
else, when they present themselves in front of you.
All you can think of is what those admirable thighs
could do to you, if your head was between them in the
unfortunate moment, when their owner decides to bring
them together. You could fight tooth and nail, or, if
you will, thigh and thigh, there is no chance you
could prevent them from squeezing their way toward a
head-sovereignty. "You don't want to start a brawl
right here in the hospital, do you? the doctors still
don't know what brought you here. You better start
feeling those vast thighs of mine now, or I'll have to
introduce you again to your calling in life, the life
you'll have to share with me and with my hazardous
thighs, for as long as I  ...  and they  ...  want to."

Richard knew he had no choice. His wife, the one he
has loved for so long, was much stronger than he is.
It was amazing to him. The simple fact that his
spouse' thighs could simply threaten his life like
that. The simplicity was the hardest thing to him.
Other than the thighs themselves, that is. They were
so hard and so close now, himself lying in bed, his
wife is adorably standing next to him, her immense
thighs are bursting out with power, muscles standing
all over, you could certainly call them outstanding.
It was so simple, she was stronger than he was. Every
body part of her dwarfed his. Biceps, calves, pecs,
abs. Much stronger. But her thighs ... 
They were like warehouse of power. He liked to call
them powarehouse.  "I obviously don't stand a chance
against you, or your tenacious thighs, honey. Your
thighs are magnificent. I would do whatever you, or
they, say, but please don't make me put my exposed
head in there again when you flex them. I don't think
my irresponsible head could go through another burst
of choppy thighs like yours, and survive."

Barbara looked at her husband, satisfied. She was in
love with him head over heels, or, in other strong
words, head over thighs. She never thought it could
happen. The wife forces her naive husband to quote her
favorite mottoes. Whenever he wanted her thighs to
stop squeezing his head, he should shout 'it's the
thigh way or the highway', 'different squeezes for
different folks', and all the humiliating slogans she
has taught him to recite during those
spousal-preponderancy years. But it wasn't mental
supremacy. It was pure strength. Her thighs were at
her squeezposal. She recalled the way he was screaming
from within her thighs, shrieks flying in their living
room air, his facial colors were quickly changing, she
definitely controlled their relationship with flying
colors. But what was the most fascinating of it all,
was her generosity, to compassionately come daily to
the hospital to visit her poor husband, only to remind
him of the rule of thigh. Even when recuperating from
the you-are-lucky-you're-not-dead injuries, her
beloved hubby will have to face, or actually his face
will have to face those well-built thighs of her, to
put it bluntly. Well, his head was the first one that
was put bluntly somewhere.      

"You know our thighish marriage policy, don't you my
darling?" Barbara asked, starting to flex her mammoth
thighs, to her husband's chagrin. "It's called caveat
emptor, or, as we like to call it at home, let the
squeezee beware. Our most relevant directive, the one
the four of us, me, my thighs and you, love the best,
when your frightened head is between my splendid
thighs, takes on a whole new meaning here, doctors all
around us. You remember the directive, don't you, my
cherished Richard?" she mischievously asked,
understandably accepting the fact that he could not
look into her eyes. It was impossible. When such a
pair of awe inspiring thighs exhibit themselves in
front of you, all you can think of is how long. How
long would it take for them to take action, action
being your own insignificant head, and it's always the
same 'take'. in between.
He knew exactly what directive she was referring to.
"I don't understand what do you mean, my love" Richard
cowardly said. He remembered well. He remembered the
razor-sharp squeezes like it was yesterday. Or was it
really yesterday? 

"You know Richard, the lion's share of communication
is nonverbal. I don't think my good-looking thighs
have to talk in order to drive their persuasive point
home. You know I have a crush on you. For your own
health, don't make my immeasurable thighs have a crush
on your head. All I ask is that your underdeveloped
arm will feel again the unforgettable thighs that
molded your newly-reshaped cheeks." Barbara said,
slowly bringing both of her hands to the back of his
head, and leaving them there, in preparation for the
squeeze.

"We both know that every man, when he comes home,
wants to be blissfully accepted by his pretty wife.
Well, you are accepted, my strong man, only to a
particular, inviting, dangerous spot. We can't pretend
I'm not stronger than you are, my darling. It's a fact
of life now, honey. You have to accept it, or it's
gonna be a fact of death and life. It's not that I'm a
bad person or something, It's my thighs that have a
hunger to feed. You can't blame them for being so
atrociously demanding. They are so huge, look at them.
Well, obviously, you are. But if you don't mention our
motto, and feel them with your tiny hand, they will
feel your poor head, sweetie, from the inside out"
Barbara said, her hands are still on the back of his
head, waiting. 

She tensed her brilliant legs, the thigh meat was so
large as it flexed, it seemed like she was bringing
her glorious thighs closer together, no head is there
yet. Richard was fighting with himself now. If he says
it, she would respond accordingly, the way the thighic
motto demands. If he doesn't, it could be worse. Her
terribly harmful thighs could get mad with him, and
consequently, get his head. In between. What should he
do?  He was going to end up putty in her thighs no
matter what. But the ease with which those embracing
thighs controlled his head was the most traumatic
aspect. She was his wife after all, wasn't she? Well,
she was, but she had those gorgeous thighs at her
side, and sometimes, or rather usually, at his head's
sides. Was it a normal marriage? Probably not, but
there won't be any wife-battering incidents in this
family. The only spouse abuse that could occur here is
so obvious, one quick glance at her haunches and you
get the substance. And the substance is filled to the
brim with open-minded muscles, the moment they decide
to close themselves around your mind, it's the turning
point of whatever you were doing and thinking. All you
can concentrate on is the awesome pressure those
thighs can carry out, and when, or if, they are will
let go.  

"So what's it gonna be, Richard, my honeydew? Are you
saying that or not?" Barbara asked, sarcastically
grinning, looking straight to his cracked face,
starting to bring her hands, his skull is tightly
clutched in them, closer to her now expectant thighs.
"You know we like to call my radiantly powerful thighs
your headquarter. They are so forcefully eager to
envelop themselves around your head from all quarters.
Look at them. See how they expand, their massive
muscles protrude from all side, as if they know a male
head is on its way" she said, slowly but obstinately
guiding his scalp forward, to the
who-knows-how-it's-gonna-end chasm between the twins.
"It's like the offering the ancient people gave to
their goddesses as a sacrifice. They knew the
bestowal, your head for now, is going to suffer a
great deal by her superior thighs, she would crush him
between the gargantuan mountains of her huge thighs as
she wrapped her enormously powerful adductors around
his paralyzed head. But they gave her the victim
anyway. The alternative was much more threatening."

"Please Barbara, please, I'll do whatever you say"
Richard said, his head is not lying comfortably on the
pillow anymore, but magnetized to the awaiting
pressure of those muscles-clad thighs. He knew his
diminutive head is drawing now slowly toward the thigh
manipulation, a thighy sacrament in which his cheeks
will be trapped between the two abusive amazons as
they grind passionately against one another.

"I think you have just lost your last chance" Barbara
said, finally bringing his head to attentively rest
between the cavernous squeezers, a move that act as a
harbinger to the terrific grip, getting ready for the
kill. She was sure what the desperate response is
going to be, but she didn't care anymore. Richard was
struggling awkwardly now, his hands are clasping her
venerable thighs, like a drowning man, trying to hold
a floating straw. Problem was, her thighs were much
bigger and stronger than a timber, not to mention a
straw. 
"For best results shake well, for best results shake
well" Richard screamed the motto, knowing it was too
late, her impeccable thighs will shake him anyway.
"Please, don't do me, Barbara, please, I can't take it
no more, don't do me, for best results shake well...

*******************

Barbara woke up, sweating. It was 3:30 AM. Her
husband, Richard, was pleasantly sleeping beside her.
Suddenly, she noticed her hands were at her thighs,
holding an imaginary head in between them. She had a
pair of sexy, normal thighs. Well, they were athletic
and firm, you could even notice some strong muscles in
her inner thighs, but it was nothing close to the huge
thighs she has just dreamed of. And than she
remembered. It was the message she has read the
previous night, from some WITCH institute, without
paying too much attention to it.  She opened her
drawer, and read it again.  

We are glad to welcome you to The Wives Inner Thighs
Crush Husbands Institute. We promise our squeeze
paradise won't let you down. The only thing that will
be let down, literally, is your husband. The WITCH
institute offers more choices. More personal service.
Let the experts take you on to the wonders of the
squeezing world. Our graduates are a testament to the
greatness of the crush de la crush methods we teach.
You don't have to take your anger out on someone else,
other than your own husband. Your body, like any
other, needs tow things, sex and food. We have a
squeeplendid way of combining the two. It's a squeeze
pro quo. You squeeze your husband senseless, and in
return, you get your nether lands eaten, guaranteed.
His mouth will irrigate, fertilize, and take care of
your entire crotch's needs, or your thighs back,
around his head, that is. You won't believe what your
own husband is capable of. Maybe that's why they call
it husbandry. 
After you learn about our techniques, your husband
will revere your thighs, one at a time, respectively
and respectably. His mouth will make love to your
crotch, while your thighs make love to his head.
You'll have tremendous strength at your hands, or
rather at your thighs. When all is said and squeezed,
your husband will worship you from between them. We
call it down under. You will be able to squeeze your
way to obedience. And it's also good for the
environment. Squeezing environment, we mean. Your
thighs will officiate as a lie detector machine. Every
lie will be instantaneously and crushingly
reciprocated by your thighs. The deeper the lie, the
quicker and stronger the squeeze. Remember, to have
your bush eaten is just a squeeze away. The WITCH
Institute calls it amBUSH. From now on, the only way
the gender gap will be construed by your husband, is
the gap between your thighs. The only question your
husband will have to anticipate is which organ of his,
will be crushed there, if the thighs that create the
gap will decide to make it somewhat smaller. So have a
nice day, and remember, you can make it a squeezing
one.

Barbara looked at her husband and made the decision.
She brought her feminine but muscular leg right over
his ... 


End of part one.

Thanx for the support, Mr. Smith (biggest fan)

Thanx Mr. Le muscle (biggest inspiration)

The special-squeezing ideas are rare, so ,fans, feel
free to help at:
barbunny3111@yahoo.com