SEX AND SCISSORS, A MATTER OF LIFE AND DEATH
By Tom Walker
Her scissors can hurt him badly, knock him out - maybe even kill him

PART 1. HER DEATH SCISSORS

Jeannie had been out bike riding with her friends that Sunday morning, and 
she arrived while her husband Tom was still in bed. She glided silently 
into the bedroom. Tanned and bare-legged, she was wearing a white 
sleeveless jersey, black Spandex bicycle shorts, and low tennis shoes 
without socks

At 5'5" tall, she had been complaining about gaining too much weight, and 
Tom knew she had gone from 120 to 140 in a short period.  She had been 
using a treadmill every morning to improve her muscle tone, however, and 
her calves looked very hard, more sinewy than he had ever seen them.  As 
strong as her lower legs looked, her thighs had become so muscular that 
thoughts of her squeezing him in her body scissors caused both excitement 
and an involuntary trembling.  Swelling powerfully against her tight 
Spandex shorts, her strong quadriceps were chiseled looking, sharply 
defined, while her hamstrings seemed to burst from her round  gluteal 
muscles like the biceps of two enormous arms. 

She came near and bent over the bed.  He threw off the covers, grabbed her 
and wrestled her down alongside him. She laughed, encircled his head 
tightly with her arms, and pressed a sinewy leg across his chest to hold 
him down.  He arched his back, inviting her to lock her legs around him, 
hoping that he could get her to squeeze him in her body scissors grip.  

Her body scissors was the primary feature of sexual foreplay between them, 
fulfilling fantasies that were born before he entered puberty and remained 
with him still. 

She had two older brothers and had learned some rudimentary wrestling holds 
from roughhousing with them.  Early in his courtship with her, they took a 
week end out of town during which they engaged in playful tussling on the 
king-size bed in their hotel room.  She was very thin then, weighing only 
108 pounds, but had a tomboy's wiry strength.  At one point, she trapped 
him in a full nelson and wrapped her legs around his waist to keep him from 
rolling free. Although he was in excellent physical shape at the time, he 
was unable to break her hold.

Emboldened by her success with the full nelson, she decided to see how 
tight she could squeeze him with her scissors. She knew very little about 
how to apply real pressure with the grip, trying to squeeze him from behind 
with her knees, relying entirely on the strength of her thigh adductor 
muscles. Her legs were strong, very exciting, and he knew that she could 
develop an effective scissors if she learned certain basic rudiments about 
how to apply it.  He told her he would teach her if she would let him.

He reluctantly had her unwind her legs from around him; ð  ðreluctantly,ð ð 
because the feel of her thighs tightly wrapped around him was erotic beyond 
his wildest fantasies, and he had an erection that throbbed and quivered 
for ejaculatory relief. 

 He somehow managed to assume his best didactic tone to teach her basic 
"rules" about the body scissors. Generally, these were: (1) place the 
victim’s body  flat on his stomach or flat on his back, high between your 
thighs (this adds the victim’s body weight to the pressure of your legs on 
him); (2) place your legs so that one thigh is pressed flat across the 
small of the victim’s back, the other across the upper stomach just below 
the sternum (this applies pressure to the diaphragm; the diaphragm action 
supplies more than 80% of the body’s oxygen in respiration; if that action 
is impaired, oxygen starvation leading to eventual asphyxiation can be 
effected); this positioning works whether your prey is on his back or on 
his stomach; (3) apply pressure by straightening your legs against him, 
using the quadriceps muscles of your thighs, and not by trying to squeeze 
your knees together; (4) after the legs are extended, inflict "finishing" 
pressure by hardening and swelling your thigh adductor muscles into his 
body and moving your hips over his chest to add your body weight to the 
pressure of your thighs. 

She followed the rules carefully and practiced them on him for the next two 
hours.  By the end of that first session, he was exhausted, and she was 
able to scissor him so tightly that he could barely breathe.

Over the years, she became very proficient with the scissors.  He, in turn, 
became hopelessly obsessed with the sexual pleasure he felt when she 
squeezed him with it.  Once she realized the extent of his obsession, she 
used her scissors as a manipulative tool, withholding it when she wanted to 
punish him, squeezing him with it only when he begged or when she was 
particularly happy with him.  Whatever the circumstances and whenever she 
felt like it, she could always scissors-squeeze him to immediate erection 
and force him to ejaculate in a few minutes, sometimes, even, in a matter 
of seconds.  They say some men are "pussy-whipped" --- he was thoroughly 
"scissors-whipped."

On this day, she needed no coaxing to apply her scissors. Forcing him down 
onto his back, she pulled him in high between her thighs, locked her legs, 
straightened them hard, and squeezed with immediate and overwhelming force.  
He was not prepared for the speed of her assault, and the air burst from 
his lungs with a loud whooshing sound as the pressure of her thighs took 
hold.  She did not ease up, but instead exerted repeated hammering 
constrictions of her adductor muscles into his upper stomach, tightening 
her legs between hammerings to prevent him from recovering breath. 

This was not her usual gradual foreplay scissors, building to the eventual 
screw-down with the final tightening of the thigh adductor muscles when she 
was ready to make him ejaculate.  Instead, he felt that she was about to 
strangle him.  Her muscles responded to his efforts at resistance like the 
coils of a constrictor snake to the struggles of its dying prey, applying 
an immediate responsive constriction each time she felt  him move, 
tightening, always tightening, to dam up and finally squeeze dry the flow 
of life. 

He was getting light headed, dizzy, weakening inexorably from oxygen 
starvation. Completely dominating him, her scissors was so powerful with 
this new technique that he knew he was in danger of being squeezed 
unconscious.  Frightened, he tried to unlock her ankles by grabbing them 
with his hands.  She responded with renewed hammering constrictions, 
punishing him for his temerity, crushing him until he was squealing with 
pain and gasping noisily for breath.

When she heard his squealing, a look of mock concern came over her face. 
Keeping him clasped between her thighs, she kept the pressure tight enough 
to keep him from breathing normally but eased it enough to abate the 
earlier pain. Then, she bantered with him:  

"Gee, Tom, I guess I better not squeeze so hard.  I might kill you with 
this scissors of mine.  You always get red, but today Ið  ðm squeezing you 
purple.  You look like a carbon monoxide victim. How do you like my new 
squeezing approach?  I call it my “death scissors.” I got it from watching 
a TV movie on constrictor snakes.  Nature sure gave those pythons and boa 
constrictors the right idea on how to crush the life out of a victim.
 
The key is in the timing and the strength of the constrictions.  I can feel 
it when you need to exhale, and I ease up just enough to let you. Then, I 
squeeze down on your diaphragm so you can't take in fresh air. This means 
your oxygen supply gets exhausted very quickly, particularly if you are 
using up oxygen by struggling to resist my grip. Every time I feel you 
trying to struggle, I constrict my thighs, again and again. I can feel your 
struggling getting weaker and weaker.

I was crushing you pretty good.  I could feel your heart pounding against 
my loins. It was almost as big a turn-on as a vibrator. I don't want to be 
accused of murder if you die of a heart attack because I've scissored you 
to death with my thighs, but I sure have the feeling that I could do that 
to you now. Did you feel how hard and strong my thighs are when I flexed 
them to finish you? I was really bending your ribs with my thigh muscles. 
With a little more, I could have broken them.
 
God, this is such a turn-on, feeling you writhing and squirming while my 
legs mangle and squeeze you helpless. I’m finally getting even for all 
those put-downs you inflicted on me over the years--- only I’m giving you 
back some really satisfying “squeeze-downs” instead.  
 
If you don't want to die, you better not make me mad when I have you in my 
death scissors, and you better be ready to give up before I do permanent 
damage to you with these thighs of mine.
 
As if to prove her point, she retightened her scissors and applied short 
hammering constrictions with her thigh muscles.  Pummeling his sore body 
with these contractions, she quickly had him cringing and screaming with 
pain each time she applied pressure, his body cowering in fetal folding 
between the sinewy blades of her legs.

She continued the squeezing for another half minute, then unwound her legs 
and let him breathe. Her shorts were stretched tight over her swollen thigh 
adductors, showing large wet blotches where they had been squeezing into 
him.  His ribs were visibly bruised; the flesh on his chest and upper 
stomach was bright red, raw from the friction generated by the rubbing 
pressure of her thighs.

PART 2. HER SEX SCISSORS

About 15 minutes passed. They were both still lying on the bed.  He had 
taken off his sweat-soaked pajamas and was recuperating on his back, naked.  
His stomach and ribs were sore to the touch, and his chest ached when he 
breathed. She had removed her tennis shoes and her shorts, and had pulled 
her jersey up above her waist, exposing her glistening legs all the way up 
to where her powerful thigh adductor muscles tapered to enter the soft 
thicket at her loins. Turn‚ing on her side toward him, she laced her top 
leg between his legs, across and around his near thigh. She hooked her foot 
behind his calf in a wrestler's single-leg grapevine hold. Thrusting her 
leg straight and tightening her foot hook, she controlled his trapped leg 
with hers.  As if to prove her control, she lifted his leg and forced it to 
a wide angle, straining his groin.  He begged her to stop, pleading that he 
was too tired to wrestle with her any more.  She ignored his pleas and said 
she knew him better than he knew myself.  Smiling viciously, she warned 
that she was going to squeeze an orgasm out of him with her scissors 
whether he wanted it or not.

Come on, baby, it’s time to make you squirt. You know you can’t stop me.  
Feel while I use my legs on you. You’re hard already.

She reached her hand into his crotch, confirmed that her entwining leg had 
forced his immediate erection, then softly fluttered her finger‚nails along 
the sensi‚tive flesh under his scrotum. In spite of himself, he arched his 
back with pleasure, writhing and trying to thrust his hips up against her 
caressing hand.  She responded by tightening the grapevine, holding him 
still while her fingers continued their sensual play.

He knew he would ejaculate in seconds if she kept up her caresses. To avoid 
this, he reached down and grabbed her wrist to move her hand away.  She 
broke his hold and immediately encir‚cled his head with her arms, rolling 
her body over his near arm to hold it down. Rolling back onto her side, she 
thrust her free leg under his back and maneuvered him into the position she 
knew he could not resist --- target‚ing him once more as the prey for her 
deadly body scissors.

A smug, knowing, smile crossed her face.  She thrust her top leg across his 
stomach, entwined her sinuous ankles to close the coil of her legs around 
him, locking him between her thighs.  She pulled him in tight against the 
cushion of her pubic hair and straightened her legs against him, applying 
initial pressure with her quadriceps to squeeze his stomach's girth down to 
manageable size.  She then added the crushing strength of her thigh 
adductor muscles, rolling her hips over him and slowly swelling and 
hardening the muscles against and into his yielding body. Unable to 
withstand the enormous pressure of her scissors, his stomach muscles 
collapsed and went flaccid, leaving his diaphragm and internal organs 
defenseless. She easily cut off his breath‚ by continuing her pressure.

Dizzy and gasping for air, his insides screaming with pain, he was so 
constricted that he could not even cry out to beg for release.  Feeling his 
weakness, she seized his free wrist with one hand, easily holding him 
helpless while her legs drained him.  Her other hand went to his crotch, 
clasping the base of his penis with her fingers in a painfully tight grip. 
She slightly eased the scissors pressure, and he arched against her hand.  
She forced him back down by tightening the scissors with such a powerful 
contraction of her thigh muscles that he yelped in pain.

What’s this? You’ve still got some fight left in you. I guess I better 
squeeze you with my death scissors until you behave yourself.

She tightened her scissors again, inflicting immediate unbearable pain on 
his bruised stomach and ribs. His legs flailed helplessly and then went 
still as he collapsed, unable to offer any resistance. A knowing smirk came 
over her face, and she hissed into his ear: You’re mine now, baby.  ”Let me 
know when you’ve had enough, if you can still talk or move then.
 
She tightened her scissors rhythmically, driving the air from his body. He 
was in agony. Her deadly thighs were crushing his torso just below his rib 
cage, making it impossible for him to breathe. As soon as he managed to 
take in a small gulp of air, she would constrict her scissors, expelling it 
from him.  He tried to gasp out his surrender to let her know that she 
could do with him what she liked, wanting only to have her stop the 
strangling pressure.  He had too little air and could only croak 
helplessly, an indecipherable sound not much different from his squeals of 
pain when her thighs squeezed down on him.  She, in turn, was growling like 
an animal as she bore down into him with her scissors.  This continued for 
what felt like several minutes, but could have been less than 30 seconds. 
He knew he was growing steadily weaker, no longer moving at all, his face 
and torso feeling as if he was on fire. Then, he knew nothing as she 
finished, squeezing him unconscious.

When he came to, she still had him locked in her scissors.  Moving to 
finish her sexual subjugation of him, she unlocked her ankles and moved her 
top leg down across his lower belly, pressing it against the base of his 
erect penis.  She bent her leg sharply, hooking his penis in a sinewy vise 
between her calf muscle and the swell of her hamstring muscle. Flexing 
these muscles to bear down with the grip, she squeezed the organ so tightly 
that he felt as if it would break off or be crushed beyond any possibility 
of recovery.

While she applied this excruciating pres‚sure, she caressed the underside 
of his scrotum, manipulating his testes with her fingers until she felt him 
reach the sudden hardness that immediately precedes ejaculation. She eased 
her leg vise just enough to allow him to explode.  His sperm spouted as if 
from a geyser, spraying his chest and face, coverings her thigh with globs 
of viscous white ointment.

Not finished yet, she re-locked her scissors around his lower abdomen, 
applying pressure at a nerve spot that somehow caused sympathetic responses 
in his penis. He felt as if he was in the live coil of a giant electric 
wire, shocking sensations jolting the base of his spine and encircling his 
hips. He kept throbbing and throbbing; each throb discharging another load 
of semen. She constricted her thigh muscles with each throb of his penis, 
pumping and milking him until, completely drained and exhausted, he 
shuddered and collapsed, everything going all soft, a wonderful warmth 
suffusing his hips.

She was still not quite finished, however, and moved her scissors back to 
his upper stomach. Exalting in her power, she let out a screaming roar of 
triumph, stretched her legs and dug her thighs deep into him,  holding a 
long terrible squeeze until he coughed out a final gasp, shuddered, and 
again lost consciousness.

She had really frightened him with her scissors, and he knew he had to work 
to change their physical relationship.  He kidded myself into thinking he 
could beat her scissors grip by strengthening his abs.  For three months, 
he worked on situps, leg lifts, torso rolls and the like.  By the time they 
wrestled again, he would be able to flex his stomach wall hard as a board.

They hadn't wrestled since she had squeezed him into whimpering submission 
and eventual unconsciousness.  She had continued using the treadmill every 
morning and had bought a Thighmaster machine that she also used regularly.  
Today, she said she wanted to see if her legs had gotten any stronger, and 
she invited him to let her try her scissors on him. He of course leaped at 
the chance, both because he wanted to show off his newly developed abs and 
because of the excitement he always felt when he thought of being squeezed 
by her strong legs.

When she lay next to him on his bed, he could feel the muscle tone in her 
legs even while they were relaxed. She placed him on his back next to her, 
and clamped her scissors on him just below his rib cage.  He hardened his 
stomach muscles and swelled outward. She squeezed in response, a fairly 
strong constriction, but his stomach pushed her thighs until they yielded 
to his strength.

She giggled at his counter-pressure, and he boasted to her of the exercises 
he had done. She propped herself up on her elbow so she could look down and 
watch him. She kept steady pressure on the scissors, not so much to inflict 
pain as to keep track of his stomach's tension. After a couple of minutes, 
he relaxed, enjoying the feel of her smooth legs around him.

As soon as she felt him relax, she attacked with a jolting squeeze of her 
thighs. The breath whooshed out of him with a loud gasp as her legs dug 
deep into his flesh. He struggled and hung on until she had to let up on 
the pressure. As soon as he could, he re-flexed his stomach muscles very 
hard, again successfully resisting her thighs. She giggled again, letting 
him do the hard work of resistance, waiting watchfully for him to relax 
again, then spoke:

"Your stomach's terrific, Tom, but I can wait here indefinitely until you 
wear yourself out keeping your muscles flexed. The second you let down, 
I'll squeeze you again --- over and over --- all night if necessary, until 
you're so weak you'll barely be able to breathe when these thighs come down 
on you."

As if to prove her point, she hardened her interior thigh muscles and 
squeezed him with a long, very powerful constriction. He flexed and 
resisted, his stomach muscles still holding up for the moment, but he knew 
he could not maintain their hardness much longer, felt them already losing 
that early strength which had allowed him to swell against her pressure. 
She eased up, keeping the metering pressure. He exhaled and relaxed his 
stomach. Instantly, she was on him again, this time with a full muscular 
assault, hammering him with a series of violent constrictions, each one 
making him gasp aloud, each one forcing another reserve of breath out of 
his struggling lungs. She had his diaphragm now in her death scissors, her 
thighs finding and embedding themselves in the deadly position that induces 
inexorable suffocation, paralyzing the respiratory system until the body 
collapses from lack of oxygen.  He felt his face heating up, his torso 
soaking with sweat.  His stomach was heaving, and nausea clogged his 
throat, compounding the threat of asphyxiation.  He couldn't speak, but he 
could hear his other sounds --- moans, squeaks, hisses and grunts. She was 
squeezing him into a sound-box mannequin with no will, no strength.

"How's that, buster? Where are those big strong abs you were bragging  
about? No way you can stand up to my death scissors. I could squeeze you 
out now if I wanted to, just like last time.  Look at you. Your face is 
purple, and you've been squealing like a scared pig.  I don't feel your 
muscles fending off these thigh muscles of mine any more. I'm going to ease 
up now and let you get back some of your breath. Behave yourself, though, 
or I won't be so merciful next time.
 
She let up on the pressure. He sucked in air with wheezing gasps, coughing 
and still spasming in his guts. Arching his back to try to stretch out the 
bruised muscles of his stomach, he settled back into the surrounding flesh 
of her silken iron-hard legs.

Sensual now, she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling his head close 
to her face.  Her mouth opened, moved, found his ear and closed gently with 
sharp teeth on his earlobe --- opened again, covering the ear's opening, 
blowing moist warm breath into the cavity, then following with full soft 
tongue lapping, lapping. The tongue changed shape, pointed and stiffened, 
jabbed and entered tight into the cavity, slid in and out, then thrust hard 
forward, vibrating. He writhed with the excitement of it, stretching his 
body slowly, his waist totally exposed, extended, completely vulnerable.  
She spread her legs to pull him in higher between her thighs and reset her 
scissors, pressing his rib cage flush against her loins.  She flexed her 
thigh muscles, turning them rock hard, digging them deep into his lower 
ribs, holding the pressure very tight, squeezing the breath out of him 
until he felt myself again gasping and squealing for air.

She drained him to a state of total exhaustion. His lower body was tingling 
from lack of blood circulation, his legs writhing out of control. He tried 
to pry her ankles apart with his hands, but he had no strength left. He 
tried to roll, but she easily controlled him, holding his head immobile 
with her arms while her legs continued their deadly squeezing. 

She forced her legs to full extension. He felt her thigh muscles firm, then 
gradually swell to rocklike hardness as she flexed them to apply maximum 
pressure. Panicked, he could feel his heart pounding against his ribs. He 
was struggling to breathe, but his entire chest was paralyzed, as if held 
in an enormous vise that kept screwing tighter and tighter.  His head 
lolled back, his neck muscles too weak to hold it.  She rolled her hips 
over him, adding her body weight to the killing pressure of her thighs.

It all hurt too much. he lost focus, faded, shuddered briefly --- then 
blackness --- nothing.

When he came to, she had him in a reverse body scissors. She was on her 
side facing his lower body, her legs locked high around his ribs, her hard 
buttocks almost in his face. She applied rhythmic pressure by tightening 
her gluteal muscles and forcing her hips into him, at the same time 
squeezing with a steady underlying pressure that kept him from recovering 
breath between the gluteal constrictions.  At first, he had no feeling in 
his hips and legs other than a general “pins and needles” numbness from her 
scissors’ constricting his blood circulation.  Because of her position, he 
could not see what she might be doing to his lower body.

Suddenly, he cried out as he felt a sharp stabbing pain in his groin, and 
he realized that she had seized his scrotum with one hand and was digging 
her fingernails into the base of his penis.  He had a partial erection, and 
her hand grip was intended to prevent his subsiding by keeping the blood 
damned up in his swollen organ, rather than letting  the blood flow back 
out of it.

Ah, awake at last, buddy boy. How do you like this position? You can really 
ogle my thighs when I flex them into you this way. Not often that you get 
such a good look at the back of these legs when they’re in real action. As 
much as you’re hurting, I can feel you getting harder and harder in my hand 
just from thinking about what these muscles can do when I use the death 
scissors on you.  Well, get ready to come again, because if you don’t,  
these legs are going to splinter your ribs and scissor your guts right out 
your throat.

He knew she could squeeze him to near-death. Terrified, he could barely 
breathe as her thigh muscles flexed and swelled against him, bending his 
ribs dangerously against his lungs.  She went into a finishing rhythm, her 
hand squeezing and releasing, caressing his inner thighs and scrotum with 
her other hand, her sharp fingernails always a dangerous threat to impale 
his exposed and helpless lower body, while she pumped and squeezed  the 
scissors, crushing his lungs and carrying him to the dark edge of 
unconsciousness in her sinuous embrace.

He felt himself begin to come and heard her laugh in dominant triumph. She 
tightened her hand grip so hard that he screamed in pain. She was blocking 
his ejaculation, forcing the sperm back into him,  squeezing his swollen 
and aching testes in her other hand, while she bore down full strength with 
a terrible prolonged constriction of her scissors, her gluteal muscles 
nearly exploding in his face, her thigh muscles swollen hard and striated, 
glistening with sweat as she worked them to crush and break his battered 
body. Suddenly, he heard a loud popping sound; then a stabbing pain shot 
through his chest as she squeezed the scissors tighter, crushing, then 
shattering his rib cage.  He was in a state of total terror, asphyxiating 
and in terrible pain, overwhelmed by panic.  His body resorted to its last 
available defense, carrying him to the relief of unconsciousness until, 
comatose, he blacked out.