M'Lissa by Tom Walker She loved wrestling with boys and breaking their ribs. When she met me at the door, she was bare footed, wearing only a dancer's black leotard. Her straight black hair was tied back from her face. She wore no makeup, her perfect fair skin glowing. She rushed into my arms and kissed me with open mouth, her tongue active and thrusting, pressing her hands against my buttocks, pulling me in tight against her lean body by twining one long leg around mine to keep me from pulling away. She released me and commanded that I strip down to my undershorts. I rushed to obey. Standing back a few feet, she stretched herself, stood on tiptoe and twirled gracefully, showing off her lithe sinewy legs. Her leg muscles were taut, sharply etched and rippling when she moved. Long-legged for her height, her thighs were powerfully muscled and disproportionally long, making her lower legs look almost squat with their large diamond-edged calves. My erection was sticking straight out through the pee-hole in my Jockey briefs. She looked at this and laughed: "Put your cock away, Tommy. We have to wrestle first." She moved close to me, took my hands in hers and pressed my palms against her thighs. Then she spoke: "Feel how hard my thighs are. I did a lot of swimming, ballet and horseback riding when I was growing up, and I do a lot of skiing and aerobics now. That's how I got these leg muscles you've been gaping at since you first saw me. Don't be embarrassed. You aren't the first one. My legs are even stronger than they look. I know from experience. What kind of experience? I asked. Wrestling. I love to wrestle with boys. Nothing turns me on more than feeling a strong guy struggling and writhing to get out of my scissors grip while I squeeze him until he's too weak to resist any more> and begs me to let him go. Where did you learn how to do that? I asked. My older brothers were both high school wrestlers and they taught me all the different kinds of scissors grips before most of them were outlawed as too dangerous by the NCAA wrestling federation. I got very good at it. When I was 16, I almost killed one of my brothers with my flat body scissors. My thighs were just too strong for his ribs, and I cracked four of them. He had to tape his chest for a month, and he moaned every time he breathed. "Wow! I can't imagine any girl would have that kind of leg strength." I exclaimed. "Are you serious? There have been studies that prove that most women have naturally stronger thigh muscles than men. I'm sure it has to do with sex functions, maybe the cavewomen had to force their mates to have sex with them and had to hold them with their legs to get it done. "That's a really cute theory, but today is today, and that was then. Still, I have to agree that strong legs are a real turn-on, at least for me. "See, I knew you were a good candidate. I got into the sex and legs thing early. Like, I kind of knew my brothers were getting sex kicks from my scissoring them. We finally stopped when they got wise to the fact that I was getting kicks too. I remember the last time I got my oldest brother in my top body scissors. I had my arms around his head and was hugging his face in tight against my boobs while I squeezed him with my legs. I pumped him real hard, and he was getting beet red from my squeezing. His breathing got real fast at the end. He was thrusting his hips at me and I know he was having an orgasm even while I was strangling him. When I got off him, we were both soaking wet in our groins, and, take my word for it, the moisture wasn't all his." "I don't have my brothers around any more, so I pick out guys to wrestle with. I pick you out by your reactions to me when we dance. Remember how I pulled you in close and pressured your leg between my thighs? You got an instant hard on and seemed to lose concentration on anything else around you, both signs that you were a good candidate for what I want to do to you tonight." "What did you have in mind?" I asked. "Well, the really special thing about me is the muscle development in my legs. A lot of it is just genetics. I always had kind of spectacular definition in my calves, and the sports and the aerobics have given me the kind of thigh muscles you only see in women's body building competition on ESPN. I'm 5'10", weigh 145 pounds, and measure 36, 24, 35, but I can swell my thighs to 25" when I get pumped. "If a guy gets so turned on by looking at my legs that he seems to be kind of out of it, like you were, it means he wants muscles, usually because he fantasizes about what it would be like to be squeezed with them. Guys who have these fantasies worry that they may be perverted, which embarrasses them. If, like you did, a guy gets hard and red-faced from my leg pressure, I know I've touched the right fantasy spot. You'll be one of my happy victims for sure. "Victims? What do you mean by that?" I asked, feeling my face getting hot and flushed with self-conscious embarrassment. "Just what I said. You don't need to be embarrassed. You're not alone. I buy this magazine, "Cavalier", that has video ads all over the place showing guys being scissored by women. There's one outfit that advertises only squeeze videos, which are strictly videos of women squeezing the bejeezus out of guys with their legs. I bought a couple of them and they look real. There was one with a French woman named Noelle who couldn't have been more than about 5'2" by 105 pounds, but she was built like a gymnast. She beat up a guy who must have been about 5'11" and weighed about 170 pounds. She got him in a neck scissors and kept riding him with it until he turned purple in the face. The guy was on the edge of passing out at least half a dozen times. The only reason he didn't was because she loosened up periodically to let him breathe and keep the show going. Don't worry. I won't squeeze your neck with my scissors. I only do that to big bodybuilder types who want to show off their bull necks. I remember the last guy like that. He was built like a truck, weighed more than 230, and his neck must have been 22" around. He really had a bull's stamina, and I had to ride him for almost two full minutes with a figure-four around his neck before he lost it. When I felt his muscles begin to go from rock hard to rubbery, I pulled him in tight against my crotch and finished him off by jerking and contracting my inner thigh muscles. When he broke, he felt like a giant rag doll. I had drained everything out of him. "What do you plan to use on me?" I asked. "Well. Let's see. On a guy your size, my scissors around the ribs would put you out for sure. The pressure is all on the lung cavity. When I squeeze down around a guy's thorax, it's usually over --- but too soon. My victim can't breathe and I feel his heart racing between my thighs until he either gives up or passes out. If I keep applying the pressure, the guy's face gets red, then purple, then kind of icy blue --- like being strangled, I guess. It's a little scary." "I love squeezing guys around the stomach best. That's mainly what I'm going to do to you. It takes longer, but it's a real turn-on to wear a guy down, then feel the stomach muscles collapse and the internal organs get all wiggly and squishy between my thighs." "Anything else you do?" "Oh yeah. The figure-four and stretcher body scissors are wonderful fun for draining a guy who's in good physical shape. Pumping a guy with one of these is almost as good as intercourse. I press my whole body flush against the guy's back and bear down with my hips so I feel like a boa constrictor squeezing its prey. I coil my legs tighter and tighter as the guy struggles until he's wearing himself out just to stay conscious. I pump tight and fast at first. They sweat a lot and their bodies get all hot and wet against my loins. Then I slow down on the pumping and squeeze just tight enough so they can't draw full breaths. The shallower they breathe and the more they struggle, the more exhausted they get from lack of oxygen. When they're on the edge, their breathing gets labored and very loud, and their bodies kind of tremble and quiver in my legs. I swing down alongside them then and finish them off with my flat body scissors. I squeeze them and bear down with my thigh muscles just below the rib cage until they beg me to stop or pass out. It works every time." "Ouch. Just the thought of what you described is painful." "Don't get too worried. I might just be telling you a "story" to scare you. Are you ready to get started? Good. You probably outweigh me by about 40 pounds, so it's only fair that we should start even. Besides, I'm "only" a mere woman. Let's go." We each bent forward, our knees bent, in the wrestler's crouch you see in Olympic wrestling matches. She was about an inch taller than me with very long arms and large hands. When we sparred, she slapped at me with her hands, connecting quite hard, different from any amateur wrestling I had ever seen. I focused intently on her hands to try to block them when they came toward my face. She feinted a slap, and I drew back at the waist, as a boxer might do to avoid a jab. She immediately dropped to one knee and seized my legs in a tackle takedown. Driving forward, she forced me off my feet, pressing me flat on my back. She scrambled up on me. I twisted, and turned onto my stomach, instinctively trying to avoid being pinned. The next thing I knew, she had locked an illegal full nelson on me, snapping her arms back and her hands forward, wrenching my upper arms and applying sharp pressure to the back of my head and neck. "Geez, M'Lissa. That's not fair. The full nelson's been illegal ever since I can remember. You're wrenching the hell out of me; come, on, stop it." I whined. "Gee, Tom, didn't I tell you the rules? Anything goes except gouging and intentional scratching or biting. There are no pins, only submissions. If I get you in a hold where you can't signal your submission, I win if I hold you without hearing from you for a full 30 seconds. This nelson is getting boring. I really want to get you in my scissors. "Tell you what --- I won't tear your arms out of your sockets if you'll do as you're told and let me guide you gently into the position I want, which is flat on your back next to me, OK?" "Sure ... . . . " I groaned, as if I really had any choice in the matter. "Good. Now that your flat, lift your hips so I can get my leg under you." I obeyed. She thrust her bottom leg under me, reached across my stomach with her other leg and locked me in a flat body scissors grip. I felt her thigh muscles harden briefly as she pulled me in tighter against her loins to reset the grip. She released the full nelson, encircled my neck with her arms, then pushed my chin upward with her large hands, restraining my head, her palms crossed over my mouth, partially smothering me. Holding me like this, she straightened her legs and squeezed me so hard that my breath exploded from me, and I started to cough uncontrollably. Her thighs swelled and crushed against me like massive iron bars. Their girth made the pressure more overwhelming, my stomach unable to resist the mass of muscle enveloping and squeezing it with such fearsome force. "Feels good, doesn't it, Tommy? I love doing this to you. You love my muscles and you love what it feels like to be squeezed by them. You don't know the half of it yet. Wait until I squeeze you flat, and make you feel like you're going to explode between these thighs." She thrust her legs straight and hard against me, then applied pressure with a long slow squeeze of her thigh muscles, gradually increasing the pressure until she had me gasping and trembling, forcing a whimper from me in spite of myself. After only 30 seconds of this constricting pressure, I was completely out of breath. Sapped of strength, light headed, my face burning hot, my torso soaking with sweat, I felt spasms inside my stomach; nausea clogged my throat. I couldn't speak, but I could hear the half- smothered animal-like mewlings she was forcing from me --- squeaks, hisses, grunts and an ounderlying semi-sobbing kind of continuous moaning. She swelled her thigh muscles even bigger, turning them stone-hard, and dug them into my guts, constricting my internal organs so tightly against my spine that I thought I would burst. Her muscles worked on me like two boulders compacting a piece of soft fruit, turning my stomach into mush. Smiling, she eased the pressure and moved her legs up higher on my torso, her thighs finding my diaphragm then crushing down on it to paralyze my respiratory system. She squeezed with another long powerful constriction, pressing her hips into me, forcing me to exhale as she squeezed the air out of me. I heard a sharp cracking sound, and a jolt of pain shattered my chest with such sudden intensity that I let out a muffled scream through her smothering hands. She was so focused on applying the pressure with her legs and hips that my scream was lost on her, and she ignored my pain. I instantly blacked out. When I awoke, my chest was on fire each breath like a knife sharply cutting my insides. M'Lissa was fully dressed and told me she had called the paramedics for help. We dreamed up a story to tell them. I barely remember it, since I was only half conscious at the time. It had something to do with a bookcase falling on me --- or was it a truck running over me? In any event, the emergency room medics confirmed that she had indeed cracked four of my ribs with her scissors, and I was taped up for several weeks. M'Lissa came to see me often while I was in the hospital and while I was recuperating in my apartment. More often after I was fully orecovered but those visits are for another story.