Wife forces her husband to give thanks for her lethal legs.
Don was a wimp. Married to Danielle, a tall, leggy brunette possessed of model looks and a rock-hard aerobic instructor’s body, he kowtowed to her every wish, desire, demand. She loved the adulation but hated him for his wimpy ways. And made him pay, every day, in her mile-long crushing legs.
Thanksgiving came, the two of them going to her family’s for the day, returning home around 8 p.m. Danielle slipped out of her clothes and into a tiny baby doll teddy, white and sheer, and showing nearly all of the gorgeous 24-year-old’s 5-9, 120 pound body. She sat on the couch next to Don as he watched football on TV.
“Donald, what are you thankful for this Thanksgiving?” she asked curtly, snapping the remote out of his hand and shutting off the TV.
“As always, my sweet, I’m thankful for the grace and dignity of your love,” he gushed like a schoolchild, the pudgy little man hitting his knees before his wife and taking her hands in his to gaze longingly into her dark brown eyes.
“And?” she continued.
“And….and for your ravishing beauty, your sharp mind, your fashionable attire?” he said with a question in his voice.
“And,” she said more impatiently.
“Donna, no,” he said cautiously, fearing this was going where it would cause him extreme pain, especially as she slowly spread her long, lean legs. “Please…”
“Say it!!”
“And…and for your beautiful, powerful legs, my love,” he said, head bowed.
“And? Damn it, Donald, just say it!”
“And….your SCISSORS!!” he groaned. “Please, Donna, don’t…”
“Oh, you must be able to show me WHY you’re thankful for my scissors, darling,” she hissed darkly, slowly encircling his head with her long legs.
And then the pain hit, as it always did, starting at his neck where Donna’s sinewy thighs embraced it and thundering up into his head as her thighs spread in a meaty embrace to capture him around the ears. She sat back on the couch, humping her hips into the air and snaking her slender ankles together to put on a squeeze most horrific, Don’s face going bright red and then ashen blue in his wife’s scissoring grip.
“Thank me, Donald,” she growled through clenched teeth. “THANK ME FOR MY HEADSCISSORS!!!”
“Thank…you….Mistress…Danielle…” he moaned, barely able to speak, his hands cupped around the outside of her blisteringly powerful thighs as they crushed his skull.
“And what OTHER scissors do you have to be thankful for this day, Donald?” she hissed.
It was her way of inviting him to suggest other scissors she could work him over with, not that she needed instruction. Her legs were legendary down at the gym where she worked; many was the self-styled stud who dared hit on her and soon found himself on his knees in the aerobics room, his head encased in Donna’s punishing legs. Where Donald was now and had been for years.
“Bodyscissors…” he groaned. “I’m thankful for …. Your bodyscissors, oh scissoring mistress!”
She laughed darkly and spun him to the floor to lace her insanely long legs around his middle, he facing the floor. Her creamy white thighs encircled his chubby midsection, chiseled in sinewy muscle as they chewed at his guts, her long calves wound tightly around each other as she leaned up on one hand to work the hold, forcing her ever tightening thighs deeper into his collapsing middle. He howled in pain; his guts felt like they’d explode, his ribs felt as if they’d shatter and his spine ached hot under the constant inward crush of the hard thigh locked across it. He screamed and begged for mercy.
“And what other scissors, Donald?” she asked through clenched teeth. “Hurry up, I want to get to bed, I’m very tired.”
“I am thankful for,” he continued, nearly breathlessly. “For…Mistress Danielle’s….reverse…head…scissors…”
“That’s my baby,” she laughed, flipping him to his back after releasing his body from her legs to sit on his face, her slender but well muscled ass halves absorbing his moaning face. “Now it’s time for bed..well, it’s time for ME to go to bed, it’s time for you to sleep my scissored sleep right NOW!”
She whipped her long legs backwards and scooped his face tight to her ass as her thighs snaked brutally hard around his trapped skull, hamstrings thick and hard against his pinched face, her frighteningly solid quads wrapped like steel cords around his neck, squeezing off the blood to his scissor-addled brain.
“And one more thing you’re thankful for?” she hollered back at him, back arched and the scissors fully on.
“Scissored…sleeeeep,” he slurred in squeaky voice as the familiar galaxy of stars swam before his open but unseeing eyes and Danielle’s thighs lulled him to a quick slumber.
She laughed and let him go as he dozed on the floor, standing over him, hands on hips, her long thighs pumped with muscle, calves flowing muscularly above slender ankles.
“Happy Thanksgiving, darling,” she sighed, walking toward the bedroom. “Tomorrow we’ll start the Christmas Scissor Season!”
The End
