Wife has been learning some unique self-defense techniques and wants to show her husband.
Maryanne lounged on the couch in the living room, laying about in sweat pants she’d pulled up to her knees in the warmth of the evening, chatting on the phone with Liza, her long-time friend who had recently gotten her into taking self-defense courses at the local gym, courses that crossed over into wrestling, the girls in it being taught holds they can use to subdue an attacker. She was aching to use it on someone, but her husband, Mike, always demurred, saying it was a bunch of crap anyway and something best left for when she really needed it.
Mike came walking into the living room and bent to kiss Maryanne on the forehead. The in-shape, athletic, 42-year old brunette smiled.
“Yeah, Liza, I want to practice this stuff, but Mike’s not game,” she said, reaching up with one hand to cup Mike’s head and return the kiss – and set him up. “But it doesn’t matter, I am!”
Holding Mike’s head steady, Maryanne lashed her lower legs up and around his neck, wrapping her steely calves around it and squeezing for a moment before whipping them back down and sending the stunned man head over heels, crashing to the floor on his back where he lay moaning in pain.
“What the FUCK, Maryanne?” he howled, hand on his lower back where he’d landed.
“Hey, this is fun, Liza!” Maryanne laughed into her cellphone. “Just calf scissored him across the floor! Yeah, I know I have great calves. Hey, listen to this, my calves are gonna make him scream!”
She sat up and scooped Mike’s neck in her calves again, sitting on the couch, he on the floor, the slender but very muscular tubes of silky flesh wrapped like steel ribbons around him. She locked up her naked feet before him and squeezed hard, the interior of her rugged calves knifing into his tender flesh. His hands shot up to pull at her legs but she squeezed harder, slowing the blood to his brain and making his speech slurry.
“Shhtop…pleeesh..” he moaned, hands slipping to his sides as Maryanne’s muscular calves chewed at his neck.
“Fuck Liza, he is almost OUT!” Maryanne laughed with glee. “Yeah, I know you’ve knocked Nick out in your scissors, but I didn’t think I could do it? What? Keep squeezing until he’s out? How will I know when he’s passed out?”
She didn’t have long to wait to find out. Seconds later, as she kept the pressure on the sides of Mike’s neck, he slumped in her scissors and then snorted, his body convulsing as it fought for air and blood. Maryanne howled with delight and let him go to watch him roll to his side and continue snorting and twitching.
“Damn, that was so much fun!” she laughed, standing up. “I gotta strip down, it’s hot in here.”
She peeled off her top and sweats to stand in black sports bra and panties as Mike slowly regained consciousness, struggling to his feet. She stood before him chatting away.
“Sure, that sounds good, a flying bodyscissors, hang on,” she said, getting Mike on his feet. “Mike, attack me. Go on, try and grab me!”
“No…gotta go…” he groaned.
“OK, I’ll just pretend,” she shrugged, putting the phone down on the couch behind her.
She cupped her hands around his neck and leaped up, her sinewy, tanned thighs lacing around his ribs, squeezing hard. Locking up her ankles, she scissored with all she had, those tawny thighs slicing into his sides and making him groan in agony.
“Maryanne…please…you’ll break … a fucking rib….STOP!” he screamed.
She laughed, squeezed a second longer and slipped down off his waist, taking him down in one motion with a foot sweep. She flipped her cell phone to speaker and then quickly lay down by his head, capturing his throat in her muscular thighs and locking up.
“Side scissors, Liza!” she shouted to the phone.
“Arm bar, arm bar!” Liza shouted back.
Maryanne lay on her side, her thighs secure around his neck facing him and now grabbed his nearest arm and pulled it against her body. Arching her back fully, she not only exerted tremendous pressure with her thighs scissoring his neck, but stretched and bent his trapped arm to a most painful angle. Mike’s body thrashed and snapped around against the double agony but his leggy wife held firm.
“I could bust your neck in my thighs AND your arm, Mike, so I wouldn’t fight it too much!” she growled.
“You GO, girl!” Liza shrieked from the phone, laughing. “Get behind him and fold up that calf, figure four the fucker!”
Maryanne roared at that comment and obeyed, slipping behind Mike, snapping her muscular thighs around his skull and squeezing hard for a moment, her smallish but visible quads rippling in the full-on headscissor hold before she whipped a slender, powerful right calf up to his throat and hooked that foot behind her opposite leg. She grabbed her left foot with her hand, arched her back and pulled hard, the move causing her chiseled right calf to scissor deeply into his throat. Mike tried to scream, but his words were cut off by the offending leg cracking at his windpipe, and his begs for mercy came out in a grotesque cackle.
“Fuck, this is SO effective, Liza!” Maryanne shouted at the phone a few feet away. “Shit, you should see him squirm!”
“Oh, I know, hon, Nick squirms in my figure four scissor all the time, he hates it,” Liza said with pride. “But you know what’s worse? The old reverse! You know that one, right, the 69 position, stick your ass right on his face! It is so humiliating and so fucking painful, of all the scissors I KO Nick with, I use this one the most! Give it a shot!”
“You’re on, Liza,” Maryanne growled, freeing Mike briefly to perch on his face, pulling up her already brief panties to take his nose and mouth deep inside the smooth muscles of her well-packed ass, smothering him until he bucked and groaned under him.
She then stretched herself out flat, folded her calves to the back of his head to push his face deep inside her clutching thighs and gripping ass and let him have it, slam locking her long legs out straight and lifting off the floor with her arms, back arched and the full reverse headscissors on. Maryanne’s sinewy thighs trembled with the effort of crushing her husband’s head, and Mike’s hands pulled vainly on the punishing limbs.
“Oh, he’s going out, girl, I can feel it!” Maryanne shouted.
“Punch the adductors, Maryanne, really tense those inner thighs on his neck!” Liza called out. “He’ll be out in seconds!”
And he was, five seconds later to be exact, going limp and snorting again in his wife’s punishing scissor grip. She howled with delight and eased up slightly to let him recover – before pounding her thighs back on him, taking him out again. And again.
“Liza, three times I knocked him out, three times!” Maryanne laughed. “How many times should I keep doing this?”
“As many as you want, honey, but be careful, it can be dangerous,” Liza sighed. “One time I sent Nick to the hospital he was so fucked up! But hey, you’re up to three, make it an even dozen!”
Maryanne laughed, scissored and bang, Mike was out again. Then again, and on and on and one, each time he snorted back to life met with another punishing jolt of pure thigh power.
“Make it a baker’s dozen!” she laughed after the 12th, taking him out the 13th time and finally pulling her tireless thighs from his face, leaving it red, puffy and swollen.
“Hey, Liza, that was fun, but he’s out now, he’s no good to me,” Maryanne sighed, picking up the phone.
“Tell ya what, Nick is home in 10 minutes,” Liza laughed darkly.
“Be there in nine!” Maryanne said, pulling on her clothes and grabbing her car keys. “And later, you and I can come back here for more!”
The End
