Scissoring Sarah
By Kandor



I came into the living room where my wife, Sarah, was lying on the couch in a
pair of loose white short-shorts and white t-shirt. I smiled. Sarah, 40, is
still a knockout blonde after all these years of marriage and three kids, none
of whom were home on this Saturday night, out on dates or with friends. Sarah
is still a doll, her hair in a pony, her body long, tall and lean. She does
aerobics several times a week and her body is hard and toned. I love her
dearly.

But tonight she would show me a side of her I’d not soon forget.

I sat on the floor in front of the couch, leaning back against it to watch TV
with her. I tilted my head back against her tanned thighs and smiled at her.

"I love you," I said.

"I love you, too," she smiled back.

Then it happened. Like a mousetrap, Sarah’s legs opened and closed with a
fleshy slap of muscular thighs, my neck a prisoner of their grip. I arched my
back, bridging against the sudden squeezing pain. She locked her ankles and
tensed her silky, inner thighs.

"What....Sarah...what the hell..." I gagged in shock, pain and from the sudden
viciousness of her attack.

She laid on her side still, hand on her hip, this incredibly sexy look of
dominance on her pretty face. She smiled.

"Jillie told me about this, about using this wrestling hold...it’s called a
scissors," Sarah said matter-of-factly. "She says it’s a very effective hold
so I thought I’d give it a shot. She says she keeps Bill in her scissors for
hours, she calls it her ‘leg jail’, isn’t that just so cute? So, my dear
husband, how’s MY leg jail?!!!"

I couldn’t believe it. My quiet, lovely wife was suddenly this dominant
scissoring...legjailer, or whatever the hell it was. My hands pried at her
ankles. No dice, only more pain as she squeezed harder.

"Oh, Ron, c’mon, you know my legs are the strongest part of me, stronger than
your hands, anyway, you know the shape I’m in and have been for years!" she
hissed now. "You’re not goin’ anywhere, darling...you’re a prisoner of Sarah’s
Scissorin’ Leg Jail!!"

She laughed and lay flat on her side, legs locked tight and she was right, I
wasn’t going anywhere. My head hurt and so did my neck in this awkward
position, almost like a guillotine hold where it was tilted way back, my lower
body arched up and out against the pressure in my neck from my wife’s legs.

"Sarah...my back...please..." I croaked.

"Oh, all right, you big sissy, I’ll put you in, what did Jillie call this? Oh,
right, the ‘headscissors’," she said, flipping around to sit behind me, her
thighs now engulfing my skull, her creamy brown legs locking up hard and
tight. She crossed her ankles and put her feet on the coffee table before us.
"But don’t ask again. There’s a lot of television I want to see tonight!!"

And that’s where we sat - for the next three hours, through ‘Survivor,’
‘Millionaire’, and a host of other really terrible shows Sarah loves and knows
I hate. My head was numb, my neck ached and Sarah kept up a slow, steady
squeeze throughout, her iron adductors thickening by the minute, exerting
growing pressure on my ears. I watched TV through blurry eyes and noticed the
clock - 11 p.m. As if reading my mind, she said, "Kids will be home soon. Now,
for the next part of Sarah’s Scissoring Leg Jail Sentence!"

Suddenly she turned me to face her, hiking up her short shorts until her pussy
was visible and she rammed my face into it, reattaching her sweaty, tireless
thighs to my ears.

"Mmmm, Jillie was right, she says after a legjail term, she has such an
intense orgasm on her husband’s face...let’s see if she’s onto something..."

Sarah, my lovely, usually passive wife who loves sex but is rarely aggressive
in it, devoured my face in her crotch, pulling the back of my head in her
hands so hard I thought she’d push my nose and mouth right up into her womb
through her hairy snatch which was grinding like sandpaper into my face. She
was an animal now, bumping her hips, humping her pussy and throbbing her
muscular thighs brutally hard on my skull.

"Oh, fuck, yeah, Ronnie, goona cum ALL over your fucking face!" she screamed,
totally against character since Sarah rarely swore. "Yeah, gonna fucking cum,
baby, cum all over my legjail prisoner’s fucking FACE!!!"

And she came, long, hard and wet, with such brutal scissoring intensity I
passed out cold. When I came to, Sarah had me sitting on the couch, a cold
towel on my head. She sat next to me, smiling. The kids walked in.

"What’s up with Dad?" my son asked, before passing through to the kitchen.
"Got a headache?"

"Yeah, we were discussing, uh, our system of crime and punishment - and
jails," Sarah giggled, looking at me and slapping her meaty thighs together
until I winced. "Guess it must’ve given him a headache."

"Who won the argument?" my daughter asked, flopping down into a chair to watch
the news with us.

"Your mother," I groaned, weakly smiling at Sarah.

"But never say never, Ronnie," Sarah laughed, snuggling close to me. "I got
the feeling we’ll have this argument over and over again."