AN ORDER OF LEG ROLL
by Kandor


	Tom waited alone at the bar of the cheesy Chinese restaurant next to the
hotel he was staying at on his latest business trip. A blue cloud of cigarette
smoke hung in the air, most of it his, as he sucked down butt after butt
waiting for his low mein, fried rice and pu pu platter for one to go. He was
getting annoyed. The ball game was on back in his room and he wanted to settle
in and watch it, chowing down bad Chinese food and forgetting about the shitty
meeting he faced the next day.
	"Hey, Hop Sing, any word from Hong Kong on my food comin' in?" he barked
indignantly to the bartender who swabbed the cheap Formica surface and ignored
him.
	The woman who'd taken his order walked by and Tom got his first real good
look at her - and it wasn't bad. The Chinese lady was short, as most tend to
be, maybe five feet and had to be all of 45 or even 50 but like most Chinese,
she didn't show her age that much, still owning a pretty, virtually unlined
face and a thickly set but rock-solid body honed from years of the unofficial
exercise of running a restaurant. He caught a glimpse of her legs and it
caused him to gasp. She wore a flowery dress, kind of long, and clunky black
shoes. But the calves in the middle are what caught his eyes, they were huge,
massive, and muscular cuts of meat, jagged diamonds in the back, flaring out
on the sides as she walked. They were incredibly hard looking legs, Tom
thought to himself, prompting him to wonder what the rest of her body looked
like.
	"Hey, Mama-san," he hissed ignorantly, every erroneous Asian stereotype
oozing from him as his testosterone level rose at the sight of her beautiful,
hard calves. "You got some kinda leg on you, honey. The rest of you as hard as
those calves are making me?"
	She didn't smile as she stood before him.
	"Your order ready fi' minute," she said in a crisp Chinese accent, looking at
him darkly through thick, round glasses, a frame of jet-black hair sweeping
around the sides of her face. "OK?"
	She walked away and those calves bubbled. Tom whistled and called after her,
emboldened by the three beers he had and the total lack of customers -save for
him - in the entire place.
	"Hey, it's not OK, I'm starving, I want some food now!" he yelled after her.
"How about a little of that leg you're packin', baby?"
	She stopped in her tracks and slowly rolled forward on her toes. Tom's eyes
bulged along with his pants as her calves did a thick bubble flex up and out.
She turned to face him, smiling slightly for the first time. The bartender
looked away and the cashier, a pretty young Chinese woman, smiled but averted
her eyes.
	"You sure?" the older woman asked. "You want some of my leg roll?"
	Tom nodded, sitting on the stool and spreading his legs to show his thick
package bulging through his tight jeans in his prehistoric way of trying to
impress women. The woman walked up to the side of him, put two hands on the
bar and smiled. Tom smiled back. The next thing he knew, he was on his back,
skidding across the cheap dance floor next to the bar. The woman had grabbed
the bar, flung her short but powerful legs up, latched those calves to his
neck and then snap-flipped him off the stool to the floor. Tom skidded to a
stop and came to a sitting position, facing the flashing juke box at the far
wall. He blinked.
	"What the fu..." he started, but didn't have a chance to finish.
	The woman had run up and slid to a stop behind him, up close, and then
slamlocked her amazingly thick calves to the sides of his neck. Tom grimaced
in pain as he watched her clunky black shoes lock before him, just under his
chin, and felt pure iron disguised as flesh tear into his neck, quickly
closing down the blood flow to his brain. In seconds, stars danced before his
eyes as his hands pulled meekly at the weapons locked around him.
	"You rike my leg roll? Huh?" the Chinese woman asked, snapping the scissor
down on him harder as she did.
	Tom moaned in genuine pain and his hands slid off the twin tubes of muscled
destruction as she crushed the life from him, stars swimming in his head, his
eyes rolling. Then suddenly he was free, slumped to the side, struggling to
retain consciousness. He wobbled to his hands and knees and found his jawbones
and ears encased in steel rollers, or so it felt like; the woman had stepped
over his hanging head and devoured it in her calves, standing on crossed feet
now, his teary eyes sticking out the backs of her legs looking down at the
dance floor which was spinning madly before his scissor-wracked face. The pain
was intense, as she humped up her insanely thick inner calf meat and roped the
steely tendon and muscle harder into his jaw, taking it to the breaking point,
bending it until his lips pursed outward and from them escaped a gurgling
moan. She stood, hands on hips, like a ballet dancer with a skull scissored in
her lower legs, bending slightly to relax her legs and then snapping up
straight again, ramming her potent calves harder onto their target. Tom's
hands cupped the thick bands of outer calf flesh and tried to pull the legs
apart. The woman laughed at his feeble attempt, and at his garbled cries for
help.
	"No one here, Mistah," she growled, thundering her calves on him again until
she felt the trickle of his agonized tears sear down and over the thick lump
of calves that was causing him to cry. "My help, they no help you, they all
been here before, they know my leg roll! I the boss rady, they no fuck with
me!!!"
	Through a haze, Tom managed to see the bartender leaning against the bar,
arms folded, watching the fuzz of non-cable TV above him showing a distorted
old "Starsky and Hutch," and the pretty cashier stacking menus at the register
cubicle. It seemed business as usual
	"Your order almost ready, I think," the boss lady said, finally unlocking her
iron grip from Tom's head, allowing him to fall face first to the floor,
banging his nose off it in a near comatose plunge. "I go check."
	She came back a half minute later as Tom rolled to his back, growling in pain
and fearful of her return. Laughing, she sat down next to his head, her legs
drawn up, toes curled and the big balls of calf meat bearing the red marks
from the last few minutes of scissors they'd put Tom through. She held her
skirt tight around her knees, demurely not allowing her thighs to show. It was
all calf and Tom turned his head to look at them, terror refilling his teary
eyes.
	"Two minute more, Mistah," the woman said. "Prenty of time for more leg
roll!!!"
	Tom couldn't move, his neck was a white-hot sheet of agony and it was about
to get worse. She lay on her side and shot her legs out, thickening her
muscle-lumped calves around his neck, the top one crushing down on his
windpipe, the bottom laced across the back of his neck, the steel in them
pressing on his vertebrae. She crossed her shoes and Tom's eyes involuntarily
squished shut against the agonizing pain.
	"You know, Mistah, I could kill you, one snap, rike this!!" the woman yelled,
punching the scissor hold down and bending his neck horribly. "But I no kill
you, I want happy customers, so I give you a lahhhhh-ta leg roll!!!"
	The pain got more intense. The woman grit her teeth and leaned up on her
elbow, bracing her head in that hand, and slowly rolled her calves in, the top
shin catching Tom under the chin, the bottom shin rubbing against the base of
his skull. Then the rolling began, turning her calves up and back, the sheer
volume of her titanic calf muscles pushing down onto his vertebrae and
windpipe on each roll. Up and down she brought the calves, rolling them back
and then rolling them up, slowly, agonizingly, her teeth flashing an evil
smile as she pumped the rolling leg mass on Tom's neck. She was not just
crushing his windpipe and taking his breath away, or massaging his neck bones
to a painful degree, she was stretching his head up off his shoulders by the
thickly bunched bulk of her calf meat filling his throat and neck space,
pushing his skull up and away from its moorings. Tom's hands meekly pawed at
the legs but fell away and he genuinely feared he'd soon hear the gruesome
separation of gristle and bone as she decapitated him in her incredibly
muscular calves.
	"Order UP!!!" he heard someone yell.
	"Oh, you a rucky fucker, Mistah," she giggled, finally unlocking the legs
from Tom's throat and standing up to walk away, two huge red marks on her
calves that did nothing to mask the muscle nor the snaky blue veins that ran
around the backs of them to her shin fronts, vascular evidence of her five-
minute leg workout. "We keep going, I could kill you!!"
	Tom struggled to his feet, and crashed into the bar, making his way along it
to the cash register, past the unconcerned bartender and the smiling young
girl. The scissor lady stood at the register, smiling.
	"That be 25 dollah, Mistah," she said. "Oh, but with that extra leg roll,
bettah make it 50 dollah!!"
	"Fi...fifty dollars for that little bag?" Tom squeaked, rubbing his extremely
sore neck, unable to move his head to the side, a river of pain running down
from his neck and up to his brain, his vision still cloudy.
	"You want maybe more leg roll for your money, mistah?" the woman asked,
pushing her glasses up her tiny nose and making a move toward the front of the
counter.
	"No, no, no!!" Tom whined, pulling out two 20s and a 10 and throwing it
before the smiling woman.
	He gathered his bag and staggered for the door.
	"You tell all your friends about our special!!" she called after him. "All
the leg roll they can handle!!"
	The bartender laughed and changed channels on the fuzzy TV above the bar. The
football game flickered on.