A STRAIGHT SCISSOR STORY
By Kandor


(For those of you who claim my recent stuff is too out there, weird, bizarre,
outlandish and unbelievable, here’s a good old-fashioned scissor story, not
that those are out there, weird, bizarre, outlandish or unbelievable.
Noooooooooooo, not that. Enjoy)

I was at the ballfield watching my son’s Little League game, bored out of my
fucking mind. I hate baseball, it’s dull, worse still as played by 10 year
olds. But not to Debby, a mother of a kid on the other team, a 40-something,
slightly chubby brunette with huge, heaving tits in her tight t-shirt, thick
legs and a big fucking mouth. Every play her fucking kid would made she’d
bellow "You GO, boy!" or something equally fucking annoying, all with foghorn
clarity and enough times to make other parents look at each other and shake
their heads. Including me.

"For God’s sake, Debby, can you PLEASE keep it down or pass out earplugs?" I
deadpanned. Others chuckled.

She shot me daggers and continued to roar her annoying brand of parental
encouragement. And I continued the snide remarks. Finally, she stormed up to
me, face red, ponytailed hair bobbing behind her.

"If you have a problem with my enthusiasm, maybe we ought to have it out right
here, right now," she growled, looking up at me, wagging a finger in my face.

I blinked and looked down. I’m six feet, she’s maybe 5-2. She’s got a gut, I’m
in shape. Her only attribute is a pair of really muscular legs, which she
loves showing off in short-shorts and other trailer-trash methods of dress.
Today she wore tiny, slinky lime-green short-shorts that hugged her bulky
thighs high and tight, her quads clearly outlined under rather supple skin,
and thick knuckles of calf muscle rising above her short dark green socks and
sneakers.

"Have...have it out?" I said. "Are you serious?"

"Damn serious. When I wrestle, I’m very serious. I’ll kick your sorry ass."

"Wrestle? Kick my ass? Lady, you’re too much," I said, waving my hand rudely
in her face and walking away.

"OK, you don’t have to wrestle me," she growled. "I’ll just wrestle YOU!"

Out of nowhere the little woman flew up and jumped onto my shoulders from
behind, an impressive leap for her height. I thought she was going to ride me
around the field or something, but instead closed her beefy thighs around my
head, her sneakers locking up before me. Those legs turned to steel and that
surprised me as much as how I was suddenly screaming in pain. I clung to her
thighs, pulling at them. They wouldn’t budge.

"Forget it, pal, when Debby locks you into a headscissors, you’re not going
anywhere," one father sighed, looking at us and shaking his head. "Been there,
done that. That’s why I don’t, or anyone else does, say anything to her."

"GET HER OFF ME!" I screamed to the other parents who now turned their backs
to me as Deb cracked my head in her nutcracker thighs. The damn things were
flexed up so big they obliterated my head, and I could see nothing but thigh
meat all around me. They swallowed my skull whole.

She bored won harder and I hit my knees. Harder still, and I fell back. Now
she sat behind me, my skull absolutely encased in her mammoth thighs. Hands
trembling, I pulled at her socked calves. It did no good except make her
squeeze harder.

"Here comes the scissor quiver!!" she screamed. "You’re goin’ OUT, sucker!!’

Horribly, Deb started a violent twitching of her super strong thighs, the
thick pads of inner thigh flesh quivering and quaking, the flesh slapping my
face as it wobbled and rolled on me. Impossibly, the pain intensified and she
now leaned up on her hands, bucking her lush hips, thundering her thunderous
thighs on my scissored skull with renewed vigor and intensity. As I passed
out, I saw male faces looking over shoulders in horror glad it wasn’t them in
the vibrating scissor grip of this crazed baseball mommy. The women looked on
with slight smirks.

When I awoke, the game was nearly over. I crawled to the stands where fathers
helped me to my seat. No one said anything. Except Debby, who unleashed a
bellowing cheer inches from my head as she sat behind me, then mocked me by
wickedly slapping her meaty thighs together in a scissor motion. I winced.

"Sorry, was that too loud for ya?" she teased.

For the rest of the season, I watched the games from the other side of the
field.