THE MOTH AND THE FLAME
By John Castle - Written For DTM / Amy's Conquest
When a man has the chance to realize his darkest sexual fantasy, he does whatever he can to make that fantasy a reality, even if it means he has to pay the Ultimate Price!


"Dear Mistress Lisa,

I've seen the profile you have posted on Pythonthighs.com. I'm curious how
hard you can squeeze someone in your scissor grip. Actually, I'm wondering if
you're able and willing to actually injure a guy with that hold. No extreme is
too extreme. I'm 5 foot 6 and weigh 130 pounds with a very slim build.

Sincerely,

James"

"Dear James,

My stats weren't posted in the profile I sent to the web site. I was afraid I
would scare away some business if I posted them. But since your question
intrigues Me, let Me share some information about My legs with you. I am
extremely tall. My inseam measures 48". My thighs each measure 36" around in
competition season. In the off-season, which I'm in now, they're 40" around
and still extremely defined. I can squat 500 pounds ten times, and do that for
three sets. I leg press 1,000 pounds 15 times - with each leg. I do 25 reps on
the adductor machine using 200 pounds of weight, and hold each rep for a full
minute. As you can imagine, just 10 percent of My full squeeze power is far,
far more than any man can take. Be very, very careful what you ask Me to do.
I'm not going to say any more than that until you are standing in front of Me.
I think you can understand why.

Regards,

Mistress Lisa Tremayne"

I stared for what must have been the hundredth time at that reply. I hadn't
been able to do anything about it when she'd sent it. I hadn't been expecting
an answer like that one, and wasn't prepared, financially or psychologically,
to make anything of any answer that would have come back to me. But that
answer... that answer had left me sitting there in front of the computer for
an hour.

Just sitting and staring open-mouthed at the screen. Those measurements and
statistics - they had to have been typos, because they just couldn't be real.
The biggest session wrestler I had ever read about up to that point wasn't
anywhere near that big, or that strong. I read and re-read the leg press part
and felt a hollow ache in my chest that I was sure would turn into a heart
attack. This woman was physically capable of literally crushing a man to death
in her thighs - and without even breaking a sweat in the process, from the
sound of it. Then there were the reviews to back that up:

06/23/2010: I had a session with Mistress Lisa a month ago, and my ribs, jaw,
neck and arms are still sore. It was so bad a few days after that I went in to
the E.R. and had my chest X-rayed. Nothing was broken, but the Doctor wanted
to know what kind of accident I had been in. I told him I was drunk and tried
to move a refrigerator by myself. It'll be awhile before I session again, but
when I do, I know it will be with Mistress Lisa - she's the absolute BEST!

04/11/2011: I had heard through the grapevine that Lisa Tremayne is the best
session wrestler out there. Well, let me tell you, that isn't true. She's not
the best - she's the ULTIMATE. She can go as soft or as hardcore as you want,
and she does it with a sexy smile the whole time. I'm 6'4" and weigh over 250,
and she handled me like a newborn baby. Her scissor holds are without a doubt
the most exquisitely lethal out there, bar none. Once she has those thighs
wrapped around your head or body, you'd better be right with your maker.

05/03/2011: There's no way to say it but to just plain say it - Mistress L. is
your hottest wet dream and your worst nightmare all at once. She'll seduce
you, trap you and crush you, and it don't matter how big and tough you are.
Once you tell her how far she can go, there's no changing your mind. She kept
me in a straight front headscissor with my face buried in her "area" for a
solid hour, coz that's what I told her I wanted. She didn't let me out. I
begged and cried and squirmed, but it only made her squeeze harder. She likes
crushing men even more than her clients like getting crushed. Don't think that
can happen? Spend an hour with her and you'll see.

My entire body was chilled to the bone reading this. I wondered if, finally, I
had found the one who would take my fantasy to a conclusion that I knew full
well was far too extreme for any other woman to go to. The second review,
especially - that was one big dude, and he had made it sound like she was even
bigger than he was. She would wrap me up and my entire body would disappear in
her limbs and breasts.

The problem was, she was all the way across the country from me. The other
problem was... she was the living embodiment of my darkest fantasy. The one
that even my closest friends had never heard about and never would hear about.
They knew I liked athletic women. They didn't know, and never would know, the
most twisted reason why I liked muscular women.

It had started when I was seventeen and my parents had gone out of town for a
three day weekend in Las Vegas. Their fifteenth anniversary. They'd hired a
neighborhood girl to "check up on me from time to time", as they put it - they
were careful to call it anything other than babysitting, but that's
essentially what it was.

The girl's name was Sasha. She was 19, about five foot nine to my five foot
six, and outweighed me by about fifty pounds. Most of that five foot nine was
legs, and every one of those fifty pounds was solid muscle.

I have no idea what could possibly have possessed them to leave a 19 year old
girl alone with a 17 year old boy. Actually, I guess I can. I was, to put it
bluntly, a scrawny little nerd. I'm sure they thought that the girl would be
perfectly safe around me. Yeah. She was perfectly safe...

I should tell you, in case you hadn't figured it out already, that I was - I
am - pretty small for my age. Not, you know, midget small or anything, I just
stopped growing around age 14, I guess. As a consequence of that, I've always
been the shy, quiet type. It's been easy to handle, mostly. I work from home,
do my socializing online, and generally it just isn't really a big deal. But
back to that night...

I can still remember every detail of that night, especially the girl. Her hair
was light brown with blonde highlights, and she wore it in a long ponytail
that reached all the way to her ass. Her eyes were a shade of blue so light
they looked almost white in the fluorescent lighting of the kitchen. Her lips
were what they call, "D.S.L." For the two or three of you who don't know,
that's short for "Dick Sucking Lips."

Her cheeks had dimples when she smiled, and her teeth were absolutely perfect.
Straight, white, strong looking. She had a slight widow's-peak hairline that
showed with her hair pulled back. But it was her body - holy God, I had never
seen a body like that in my entire life.

Her tits were enormous. They had to have been, although I wasn't up on
measurements at the time, 38DDs or maybe a little bigger. I could tell that
even with her wearing a denim vest over a white cotton "wifebeater" t-shirt.
The t-shirt was stretched so taut over her chest that a ridge ran across her
chest between her nipples. The sight of that alone made it extremely fortunate
for me that I was sitting on the couch in front of the television. She caught
me staring and waved with a little smile that showed me the dimples in her
cheeks.

It wasn't until after my parents had given her a key to the pool and shut the
front door behind them that she came around the breakfast counter set into the
wall between the kitchen and the living room, and I finally saw what else she
was wearing. What else turned out to be not much else - just a pair of white
sneakers, calf length white socks rolled down around her ankles and a pair of
shorts. Not indecently short shorts, but they showed off her calves.

She had the biggest calves I had ever seen - almost as big as my uncle Todd's,
and he was an amateur bodybuilder. And the shorts, which were designed to be
baggy and loose, were stretched so tight on her thighs that it hurt just
looking at them. My eyes wandered back to her calves as she plunked down on
the couch next to me - making the whole couch actually bounce under her weight
- and crossed her legs.

Her top calf flared out against the top of her thigh, and my eyes must have
widened to about the size of dinner plates - her calf was the size of my
thigh. "So what'cha wanna do tonight, cutie?" she smiled down at me. "Your
parents didn't tell me, did you have dinner yet?"

All I could do was nod. Her tits were right there, practically in my face. She
caught me staring at them and grinned. I felt my cheeks flush bright red. "You
act like you've never seen a girl before." She giggled, and then leaned
forward to shrug out of the denim vest. She wasn't wearing a bra under the
t-shirt. The cotton was so thin across her chest that I could see the dark
shapes of her areolae under the fabric, could see her nipples straining hard
against the thin barrier.

"Uh..." I croaked. "Uh..." my cock was so hard now that it hurt to sit back,
so I leaned forward. I couldn't believe this was happening. This girl was
going to give me the biggest case of blue balls in human history.

"You wanna see these big babies, don't you?" she said with a wicked smirk on
her full, pouty lips. "I know you do."

I did, of course. What seventeen year old boy wouldn't want to see any pair of
tits? Leaving aside that this was probably the most monumentally awesome pair
of tits ever. But I had never encountered anything like this. She was bigger
than me, heavier and stronger, and probably more... what my folks would have
called, "forward"... than anyone I'd ever met, male or female, adult or
otherwise. I was somewhere in the middle ground between cumming in my pants
and shitting my pants. I could only formulate one possible response.

"I gotta go!" I blurted and sprang up from the couch. My objective was my
bedroom, where I had every intention of locking the door and masturbating with
all the wild fury of a demented chimpanzee.

"Oh, no you don't!" she giggled. I didn't see it coming - how could I have?
How could anybody? Before I'd gotten past the arm of the couch, she whipped
her impossibly long left leg up and out, and I ran into it with my stomach
with a surprised Oof! Her thigh was immense. Just mind-bendingly huge, and as
hard as the bones in my chest. It was like running into a wall that reached
from my belt to my collar bones.

Before I could think of a way around it, her right leg came up from behind and
pressed against my back. Her ankles intertwined and there I stood, clasped
between them. She wasn't squeezing, just holding me there. I couldn't lift my
hands, but I used my biceps to try to push on the thigh in front of me - but,
of course, I had zero leverage. I turned my head to plead with her to let me
go.

That's when I saw that she had peeled the t-shirt up and off. Her tits,
colossal even in the thin fabric, were flat-out unearthly now that she'd freed
them from it. Then it occurred to me - she was insane. That was the only
possible explanation for this: she was full out, balls to the wall, batshit
crazy. There was no other way to explain a 19 year old girl doing this kind of
thing with a 17 year old boy.

Not only what she was doing, but when she was doing it - it hadn't even been
fifteen minutes since my parents had left. They could have walked back through
the front door at any minute - maybe my dad would have forgotten his wallet,
maybe my mom would have worried that she hadn't told Sasha some vital thing I
was supposed to do, or not do, or who knew what. But my parents couldn't
possibly have even gotten halfway to the airport yet, and here this girl was
topless in front of me, holding me prisoner between her thighs.

"You're not getting out until I let you out." She said smugly. "And I'm not
letting you out until I have some... fun." Her hands moved to her nipples; her
thumbs and index fingers seized them and began to pinch them, then roll them,
twisting them and pulling at them until they looked like puckered, flesh
colored dimes.

Then I felt something firm and warm push against my side, a mound of heated
flesh at the juncture of her thighs, and she moaned. I'd only ever heard a
sound like that one time before, as I had wandered toward the bathroom from my
room in the early morning hours. I hadn't known what it was, but I had known
it was my mother's voice and I knew instinctively that it wasn't from pain.
I'd put that sound as far back into a dark corner of my mind as it would go,
but now here it was again coming from this girl who was clearly as horny as
I'd ever seen any girl get.

"Stop!" I begged her. "Stop it! Let me go!"

"Shut up..." she hissed, and the unreal steam roller muscles that surrounded
and imprisoned my small teenage body closed in on me firmly, crushing the air
out of my lungs in a weak groan that was swiftly followed by another moan from
her. She tilted her head back and licked her lips, and I felt more than warmth
against my side now - I felt a slight dampness. I struggled as hard as I could
- thinking at first, in the depths of my total inexperience, that she was
peeing on me. Of course, ten years and a great deal more knowledge later, it's
obvious to me that that wasn't even close to what was going on.

That misidentification didn't last long, though - even at only seventeen, even
as a shy, scrawny virgin, I knew that what I was feeling wasn't spreading as
fast as pee would have, and besides that, my side began to feel sticky instead
of just wet. I also knew that if those titanic thighs closed in any harder,
she would hurt me - really, really badly. What was more frightening than that,
though, was that she didn't seem to care or even notice.

That's what planted the seed that would later develop into a dark and twisted
tree, one whose roots spread deep and wide into my psyche, so that every time
I saw the faint diamond outline of a flexed calf, or the stretch and then
swell of a thick thigh, my cock would spring instantly to agonizing life and
tent my jeans, slacks or shorts with a horrifically immodest bulge.

She unlocked her thighs, just for an instant, and seized me roughly by the
shoulders. "Come here, you..." she hissed, and spread those monstrous legs
wide, hauling me in against her so hard that my face disappeared into the deep
valley between her breasts, my rock hard pole slamming against that soft,
moistened mound hidden just behind the jean shorts. Then she closed those
walls of solid female muscle in on me again, and I felt as if I had been
utterly devoured, head to toe, in a warm, dark, suffocating, crushing room
with walls of soft skin over hard feminine steel.

"Mmm hmmm..." she moaned, somehow grinding that mysterious mound against my
young cock without moving her hips or thighs, using those huge, hard limbs to
pin me in place while her pubic flesh seemed to undulate and grind against me
of its own accord. "Uh huh..." her voice was heated, breathless. Her arms
tightened around the back of my head as her thighs clamped down on my tiny
body. "Yeah...? Yeah...?" her voice pitched higher, grew more hoarse as her
breaths became ragged. "Gonna fuck my little dildo...? Aw...? Yeah...?"

I didn't know then what a dildo was, but I was sure I didn't want to be one. I
felt like I was being squeezed, like a tube of tooth paste, but unlike a tube
of tooth paste, I was being flattened in the middle with the cap still on. The
sensation was one I would never forget. Even later, when any of my girlfriends
would scissor me between their thighs, it wasn't like that inhuman squeeze. A
woman's thighs can either knife into your sides, if they're thin and hard, or
flatten your rib cage if they're large and soft - Sasha's were both impossibly
large and iron hard.

Then her calves folded in, shivering violently with the effort, and pressed
against the backs of my own thighs as she loosed a guttural scream and tensed
around me with a violent full body orgasm that soaked her shorts and my pants
and caused my own body to respond in kind, soaking the inside of my jeans with
cum as she soaked the outside of them with hers.

When the mind-blotting climax - my first ever - finally faded away, I felt
tears on my cheeks. Not because of what she had done, but because I wasn't
ready for it. Mostly because I had had no choice. I hadn't felt so helpless
since I was a baby, and I guess maybe that's why I was bawling like one. But
she wasn't done with me. Not yet.

Her calves left the backs of my thighs as she straightened them out again.
"You're not going to tell anybody about this, Jimmy." She said quietly. There
was a soft half giggle in her words, but the way she looked down at me told me
the giggle was a crazy-person giggle. "You know why you're not gonna?"

I shook my head and squirmed in her grip as it tightened all around me.

"Because if you tell," she said, "I'll tell them that you did it. That you
waited until I fell asleep and then climbed on top of me." She nodded. "And
they'll believe me, too. They always believe girls when they tell on boys for
doing naughty things."

I felt the tears grow hotter and flow more freely. She was right. Every time
there was a story like that on the news, they always believed the girl. I
couldn't believe the position I was in. Seventeen years old and bawling my
head off moments after having been practically raped by the babysitter. It was
surreal, and yet the agony I was in was as real as anything would ever get.

"But after that..." she said, her thighs tightening around me even more,
forcing the air out of me in a horrible Uuuuuhhhhhhnnnnnnggghhhh! sound,
"After that, I'll get you alone, Jimmy. And I'll put you in my legs again,
just like this..." She increased the pressure even further, until every bone
in my chest felt like it was on fire and I thought I was going to pee my
pants, "And then I'll kill you." she hissed. "I'll squash you like a bug and
I'll squirt again when I do it. Do you understand me?"

I couldn't talk. I couldn't even think. Then she lifted her legs into the air,
with my tiny body caught between them (like a bug) and shook me in them until
I didn't know whether I would be squashed just like she promised, or just torn
in half. I nodded my head frantically, my mouth open and gasping for air,
wailing without making a sound, tears streaming down my face. Finally, she
lowered me back to the floor and let go.

I ran to my room, stumbling and falling most of the way there. I vomited on
the hall carpet before I made it, but I was so dizzy and disoriented that I
didn't even notice. I had nightmares every night for the next week.

But there was something tied in with those nightmares - something that, as the
terror in them faded, grew to mingle with that terror, to transform it into
something else. I would wake up from those dreams sweating, panting, flailing
in my bed desperate to escape those crushing limbs even as her moans still
echoed in my ears - and I would wake up with a flagging erection covered in my
own mess. I couldn't shake the dreams.

**** For The Full And Complete Story, Come Visit us In Our Amy's Conquest
(www.amysconquest.com) Exclusive, Members Only, Text Stories Section ****