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 three. By barbunny3111@yahoo.com

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

And then, without notice, it happened. In a one swift,
unthinkable motion, Dr. Cory raised her
extraordinarily powerful thighs, his still-in-place
head is conveniently located in the middle of the
upward thigh-motion, the sides of his poor face
absorbing the full brutal smash. He could not believe
the power of those incredible thighs. His head was
positioned face-down, right above Dr. Cory's exposed
crotch, his arms encircle her head-smashing thighs,
the swift thighperactive movement somehow brought his
crumpled face thighbound straight into her awaiting
crotch, you could definitely say he had a bird's thigh
view of the incident. The way the slamming of the
thighs made the impression on his
insignificant-to-thighs head was magnificent, Dr. Cory
thought to herself. She called it the ketchup bottle
syndrome. You squeeze the bottle once, it gives way,
deforms to the strength of the thighs, but nothing
comes out. You squeeze his head again, it twists,
being disfigured, but still nothing comes out. You
squeeze it for the third time, and it lives up to its
expectations. Well, if her thighs wanted, expectations
are the only things he can live up to, or live per se,
for that matter. Then she eased the machine down. 

"So what do you say Barbara?" Dr. Cory asked
indifferently, as if it was so obvious to her, that
men should be squeezed like this at their spouse's
thighs' behest, as if she was smashing male heads for
breakfast everyday, like it was the thigh du jour, the
specialité de la squeezon. "Can you see the gap
between my ample thighs now? You have to open your
thighs after a smash, for him to realize what's
happening, and for you to savor the moment while your
thighs savor his pride. As far as his head is
concerned, it's better to be safe, than squeezed. To
death, that is. It's like the police' homithighde
department. He is standing trial while my thighs are
standing around his face. He'll be sentenced to death
by my admirable thighs, if they only wanted to. It's
like a loophole, and it's large enough to allow his
head to escape, but he won't. They never do. When
they've tasted the first course, they can't help
themselves but stay. They have to stick around, or
rather stick in between, to find out what kind of
cuisine is next. Or should I say squeesine. But you
have to be careful with your head snapping. I've
already lost two customers to my beautiful thighs. One
of them was very queasy. Well, my thighs got too
squeasy with his impoverished head. The other
desqueezed one used to tell me all the time that
nobody said two thighs don't make a right. They do, he
always said, make a right to squeeze. His plenthighful
head, that is. It was a once-in-a-lifetime adventure
for him, if you know what I squeeze".

Richard was devastated. It never occurred to him that
he would lie on a pretty female doctor's crotch,
between such a pair of mountainous thighs. They were
so huge, they could crush the life out of him in an
instant. He thought of them as two mount cRushmores,
his face is safely nestled in the Napa Valley
Thighneries that grow in between them. Male heads are
like an endangered species when deposited in between
those immense monsters, if they decide to vent some of
their frustration on what's in between them. Masculine
skulls are effortlessly chiseled between those mount
cRushmores. He just left his head there, recuperating
from the slamming, and waited.    

Barbara was amazed. She saw the huge thigh muscles on
this Dr. Cory, the way they accommodated her husband's
head so naturally, she couldn't resist, stood up and
came closer to where Richard's face and Dr. Cory's
expanded thighs were nuzzling. She brought her face
right next to those thighs, looked straight into her
husband's eyes, and smiled. "What for heaven's sake is
my husband's head doing in a stranger's thighs,
Richard? You didn't want to put it in mine, did you?
Please come home with me, Richard, you can show this
doctor who the strong man is, can't you? We are not at
the magic kingdom now."  

With that, Dr. Cory raised her state-of-the-art thighs
again, lifting the whole weight by her ostentatious
legs, and smashing her inner thighs again into
Richard's soft cheeks to the bewilderment of his own
wife. But this time, she raised the machine so
forcefully, that while a crackling sound was heard by
the touchdown of her thighs with his head, the machine
left her feet for a split second, allowing her to
cross her legs above his head, and catch the machine
back with her feet, abruptly scissoring Richard's head
with her thighs. "I offer you the world, Barbara." Dr.
Cory said, holding the machine up in the air with
crossed legs, squeezing Richard's head from all side,
hearing his screams, her magnanimous thighs are
feeling his futile efforts to disentangle his head
from the now growing thigh muscles. "I love hearing
men scream into my soon-to-be-satisthighed crotch. I
just can't get enough of it. They seem so infantile
when they're there, crying into my thighs, their heads
are up for grabs, literally. Like my thighs will help
them. Now I want to show you, Barbara, a great way to
mold his face, in addition to molding his reverence to
your crotch's needs. I keep my legs clamped to the
sides of his head, like that, and now I lift the
machine only by my toes. Can you see that? Now look at
the fine line between both of my thighs and each side
of his face, while I continue to raise the machine
with my toes. Can you see how all those muscle groups
converge right on his frightened face, reorganizing
his jawbones and earning the respect they deserve? My
feminine thighs know his lungs hurt from lack of
breathing, but it's a price he has to pay. It's the
only way he will learn to use that tongue obediently.
'Please stop', your husband would like to point out if
he could, but the only things pointing now are my
toes. Upwards."
 
"Are you serious, Richard?" Barbara asked, starting to
enjoy the helplessness of her own husband, his eyes
are trying to deliver the message that Dr. Cory's
thighs are much too strong for him. "Do you really
mean you can't get away? She's only a woman, Richard.
Your hands are free, all you have to do is simply open
her thighs apart, and pull your head out of there.
What are you waiting for, hubby?" Barbara smilingly
whispered, her eyes are so close to her husband's
squashed face, erotically knowing that he had no
chance to escape those giant thighs.  
   
"Are you crazy, Barbara?" Dr. Cory laughed, her thighs
keeping the pressure on all the while. "He couldn't
get away even if it was his life on the line. Well, it
is his life. My lovable thighs stand up, but they
don't stand still. Can you see the constant
thigh-movements your Richard's head has to suffer? Do
you like to see your hubby that way, my thighs move
his head to their whim? My thighs give the expression
'move ahead' a whole new meaning, don't you think? Now
I want you to watch closely while I'm doing what I
call the bounce-squeeze. I bounce the machine up and
down with my crossed feet like this, his head is still
tightly fastened face-down between my gracious thighs,
and now look at the impression my thighs make on his
face the second the machine comes down to my feet, his
head can do nothing but absorb the full potentiality
of the momentum, the machine, and my thighs. What do
you say, Barbara? How long will he be able to survive
this bounce-squeeze? See how my inner thigh muscles
concentrate on his fragile head from the outside in.
it's so orgasqueezic, I don't think I'll need his
tongue anymore".

"Enough is enough, Richard" Barbara angrily said.
"Can't you pull yourself together? I want you to make
her stop what she's doing. You are eating her without
even knowing. Look how adamantly your nose penetrates
her wet spot with every thigh-bounce. Eating me was an
idea that was hard for you to swallow, wasn't it? We
both know I earn my living with haircuts. Don't let
her thighs headcut you, please Richard. You are not at
your workplace now, at Solomon Squeeze Barney. The
stock exchange index stopped fluctuating months ago,
but look how your poor head is being fluctuated by her
immense thighs' pressure index. Alan has put an end to
the inflation, but can you feel how her concrete
thighs are inflating around your inferior cranium,
Richard? You used to tell me there are two positions
of shares' rates, buy and sell. I can see there's a
third one, squeeze. It's like your head and her thighs
are forming a joint adventure. Watch it, in her
colossal thighs' case, there are no anticrushed
regulations." They both knew she was being sarcastic.
His thighs-clampness situation went from bad to worse.
There was no way on earth for him to uncalmp her
extravagant thighs from around his substandard head.
For Barbara, it was a squeeze come true. Deep down in
her crotch, she knew that as a female, you ARE what
you squeeze. She just didn't have the guts to squeeze
Richard's guts before. But not anymore. From now on,
she'll make her thighs work for her, or in other
thighs, for her crotch.

"Look at him" Dr. Cory said, as she continued to
bounce the machine with her legs. "I want you to look
intimately in your husband's face, Barbara. He's just
like everybody else. Their facial expression when they
are in there is the most erotic part of it all, his
eyes beg my thighs to stop crushing him into oblivion,
the cheekbones are fighting with each other for the
dwindling space between my constricting thighs. When
times are peaceful, those bones calmly rest there on
the male face, without any confrontation. But when a
pair of enormous thighs like mine engulf them, it's
like they never knew each other before. The battle of
the bones for room in the narrowing crater formed by
my onerous thighs, the gradually diminishing territory
for them to exist, when my inclusive thighs pressurize
the space that was meant for them, is so erotic, that
my thighs get even more excthighted. But the best part
is to feel how they are trying fruitlessly to break
the ruling my thighs issue, before the thighs break
them. There was even a news reporter once, who wanted
to sample this squeeze first-thigh. It was on the CBS
evening news. They called it a 'Thigh on America'
piece. It was on 8 PM eastern thigh, 5 PM pasqueezic.
Well, this medical correspondent was lucky enough. He
needed only minor medical treatment for about three
months after testsqueezing my thighs". 
 
Richard was acrimonious to his bones now. Her grip
became excruciatingly painful. He was beside himself,
but absolutely not beside her tremendous thighs. He
was between them. He could not believe the acoustical
effect that was created as she muffled his screams
between her thigh muscles. He had to have a break from
those convincing thighs, before the same imposing
thighs will break his bones. He felt how the
blood-expanding thighs turning her muscles into two
barbunnian beasts, causing his prostrate head to go
dizzy. He was astonished that at such a crucial
moment, when his future is held literally in Dr.
Cory's thighs, his squashed mind recalled the zebra
paradox. The male tiger runs after the female zebra,
chasing her, getting closer to close his jaw around
her throat. She runs away from him, trying to escape
the inevitable conclusion of her life. Is it really
inevitable? Imagine her thighs for a moment. They are
at least double the size of the tiger's whole body. If
the zebra only stopped for a second, think about it,
pushing her rear legs slightly on the galloping
tiger's head, she would have broken his neck in an
instant. It's so obvious. So why doesn't she? Well
this zebra, Dr. Cory, surely won't be slaughtered so
easily. Her brutal brutes have become his head's
slaughterhouse. He gave it his last shot, trying to
open up her ostentatious femme thighs, which were
shooting his insignificant head now from all sides,
when suddenly everything turned blue and foggy^Å


"You can curl your legs now, Dr. Cory" Barbara said
when he came to. Richard found himself on his knees
next to the legs-curl-machine, his face is securely
pressed against the backs of Dr. Cory's thighs, and
his head is held there by his wife's hands. He looked
sideways and saw Dr. Cory lying facedown on the
machine, her ankles are holding the huge machine
weight, waiting to be given an order to raise the full
heft of the weights. And then it hit him. Not the
stupendous thighs yet, but the awful idea. His face
was stuck right above the imaginary fine line created
by the convergence of Dr. Cory's attached thighs, his
head is held there by his own beloved wife in a way
that will make the back of his head to take the
massive thrust of Dr. Cory's calves, slamming his face
straight into the most impenetrable spot on this
doctor's body, namely the back of her impressive
thighs. And to make things worse, Barbara made the
side of his head touch the bottom-line. The prominent
line where her muscular glutes abut the huge thighs,
in a way that will prevent his head from escaping the
tremendous slamming of the calves on his head. 

He tried to stand up, but his wife's arms were too
strong for him to overcome. He was afraid for his life
now. It's one squeeze, when the sides of your head are
crushed, while the front of your face is relatively
safe. But it's a totally another squeeze, when you
face the nation, where your daily functioning organs
are in thighs' danger. Your mouth and nose are
touching what will become their beheaders. He could
only imagine what those already-tensed thigh muscles
could do to him when the not-diamondly-shaped, but
huge-all-around calves will lift the machine and
sternly confront the back of his head, introducing
themselves as his decapitators.

"You can curl your legs now, Dr. Cory" Barbara said
again, beginning to enjoy the newly found female
strength of legs. But this time, it was her own arms
that clasped Richard's head to the thighcoons. She
started to realize your thighs gotta go hunt where the
heads are. "he has no chance against your smashing
calves, Dr. Cory. Please do him. Show me what your
Calfeteria might do to my husband's poor face. All you
have to do is just raise your calves and slam them on
the back of his head, sending his defunct face right
into the backs of your friendly thighs and your
superior glutes, finishing him off. Suffocalf him into
your thighs. please...

And then, without notice, it happened. In a one swift,
unthinkable motion, Dr. Cory raised her
extraordinarily powerful calves, his still-in-place
head is conveniently located in the middle of the
upward...


End of part three.
Part four will not be published on this site, sorry.
It's much too graphic for Diana. Unless...
Thanx Mr. Roppom.
Insult forgotten, Mr. Smith, I love you.
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