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Forum Saradas  |  Female Muscle Art - Female Muscle Fiction  |  Muscular Women Fantasies & Dreams  |  Lost In Translation
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Author Topic: Lost In Translation  (Read 2584 times)

Offline dimitar73

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Lost In Translation
« on: January 07, 2012, 11:07:56 am »
merican businessman seeking a haircut runs across two comely Spanish schoolgirls who give him more than he asked for.

I was in Madrid for a few weeks on business and was starting to feel a little shabby around the edges, as I hadn’t had a haircut in awhile. So one afternoon I set out to find a barbershop, but knowing little or no Spanish, it was tough. I walked around armed with a Spanish language book and hoped for the best. Walking down one alleyway, I spotted a bunch of high school girls in the small courtyard of their school kicking a soccer ball around, almost all of them blessed with classic Spanish beauty, dark eyes, long black hair and sleek, olive-toned skin. They were in their school uniforms, I supposed, baggy gray shirts and shorts, little socks on their amazingly powerful legs as they booted a soccer ball around to one another.
“Excusa,” I said haltingly, flipping through my book. “I’m trying to find a barber…uh, a hair cut…um…”
Two of the girls walked to me me giggling as I labored through trying to find the right words. I found what I thought made sense.
“Cabeza,” I said, pointing to my head and hoping that was the word for it. “Tijera. Cabeza tijera?”
The girls laughed and looked at each other knowingly, babbling something in Spanish to one another. I had combined the words ‘head’ with ‘scissors’, figuring they’d know I meant I needed a haircut.
“You want head scissors, senor?” the taller of the two girls, both looking to be at least 19 and seniors. “Scissors your head?”
“Great, you speak English!”
“Poqueno,” she smiled, holding her fingers close together, meaning little.
“Hey, your English is better than my Spanish, honey…what’s your name?”
Maria, she said, introducing her other friend, Consuela, both really pretty and amazingly muscular, particularly in their long, strong legs. Consuela was shorter, around 5-5 or so, with thick, meaty legs, Maria standing nearly 6 feet tall, taller than me, with long, flowing and lean legs.
“Dinero,” Maria said, holding out her hand, meaning money. “You give dinero, we scissor your head.”
“Um, you give haircuts?” I asked, confused, but fishing into my pocket and coming up with a wad of Spanish money. “Or you’ll take me to a barber?”
“No,” she smiled darkly, taking lord knows how much money from me. “We scissor your head. We good at scissors. You come, now.”
Shrugging, I figured what the hell, boost the local economy a little and help the kids out. Maybe they’re learning hairdressing in school, who knows. I followed them down the alley, into the gym of their school, which was empty except for us. We walked inside and stood on mats that were spread out under some gymnastic equipment.
“Uh, this doesn’t look like a barber shop, girls,” I said, looking around.
“It no barbershop,” Maria said, winking at Consuela, who was giggling as she stood, shifting from foot to foot, her thick legs flexing as she did. “It where we put scissors on your head.”
“Look, maybe I misunderstood, maybe something got lost in translation, so why don’t you just give me my money back and I’ll go try to find a barber shop,” I said with a smile.
Maria’s smile went dark as she slowly reached up to grab a pair of gymnastic rings hanging over her head and slowly pulled herself up off the mats, her long arms bulging.
“No misunderstand,” she growled. “I scissor your head – with my piernas!”
Instantly she swept her long, muscular legs – her piernas, I imagined – up around my head and slammed her tight thighs around my ears, my face mashed to her crotch. The pain was out of this world, her rock-hard inner thighs cording up into bands of steel as they ripped into my skull. My hands clutched her gripping thighs and my fingers pulled at her long quads as they bulged around my face and head. I couldn’t believe she was doing this to me, and so easily at that, hanging effortlessly from the rings, snapping her locked legs over and over on me, thighs pulsating against my ears.
“Maria! Stop! Please!” I screamed, my shouts muffled in the folds of her baggy shorts which had now ridden up to expose almost every creamy smooth inch of her dark thighs.
I heard her laugh and also say something in Spanish to Consuela, using the words I now knew meant scissors and legs. Next thing I knew, the shorter, beefier girl had leaped up and slammed her thick, muscular thighs around my belly and back, scissoring my guts as Maria scissored my head. The pain was doubled now and my hands didn’t know where to go first as I pulled frantically down on Maria’s clutching thighs and then against Consuela’s. The girls’ legs were eating me alive.
Then we fell to the mats as Maria let go of the rings, the girls tumbling free and leaping to their feet as if shot off springs while I groveled in pain on the mats, trying to regain my composure. As I stood, they both leaped at me feet first, flattening me to the mats with a double flying drop kick. Their grace and athleticism was astounding as they then lifted me up by my hands and flipped me easily forward, a rolling somersault that plunked me underneath a set of parallel bars. Maria rolled over to me and lifted me to my feet between the bars, holding me from behind around the waist, pinning my arms to my side as Consuela leaped onto the bars and started a gymnastic routine inches from me before finally swinging her hefty legs up and around my face, capturing my skull in her massive thighs. She leaned up on the bars, arched her back and put all she had into the scissors,her huge thighs quaking from the effort. Seconds before I passed out, she let me go and both girls walked around me, circling me, laughing as I groaned on the mat, my head aching and ribs burning.
“Girls, stop, please,” I groaned, putting my hands up in supplication. “No mas!”
“Oh, mas, mas,” Maria laughed dominantly, meaning ‘more, ‘more’. “Mas tijera!!!”
She jumped up on a nearby pommel horse, her butt in the middle of the handles, and spread her legs wide, doing a sitting split as Consuela lifted me to my feet, spun me around and whipped me backwards. Like a sinewy mousetrap, Maria’s thighs snapped shut onto my head, those braided interiors latching like cables onto my ears as she leaned up and put the scissors on full. I thought my head would crack open like an egg as Consuela stood before us, laughing and eyeing me with a sneer as she watched her friend’s thighs consume my head.
It went on and on, each girl taking turns scissoring my head or neck in their powerful, schoolgirl thighs, often doubling up to scissor my body as well. At one point, Consuela sat behind me on the mats, her mammoth thighs bulging around my skull and legs in the air as Maria lay on her face first, using her own legs to scissor Consuela’s thighs which put double and unbearable pressure on my head. I screamed for mercy, submitting over and over, but the girls thighs had their way with me until I heard, through the impossibly tight clamp of their Spanish thighs, the bell ring.
Letting me go, they stood up, their legs pumped with muscle, red marks on the insides of their thighs, the marks left by my head being squeezed between them. Graciously, they escorted me to the door as the other girls filed in, Maria pointing down the road.
“Barbero,” she smiled, which I took to mean ‘barber’. “Not far. You go now get real scissors on head!”
They laughed and went back inside as I stumbled down the alleyway toward the main street.
Fuck the haircut. I waited until I got back to the States.

The End  ;)
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Lost In Translation
« on: January 07, 2012, 11:07:56 am »

Forum Saradas  |  Female Muscle Art - Female Muscle Fiction  |  Muscular Women Fantasies & Dreams  |  Lost In Translation
 

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