He begged her to not leave marks on his from her lethal legs. She left him scarred for life.
Jim slipped into the dark parking lot behind Linda's apartment building, certain no one had seen him. He'd been carrying on an affair with the hot 22-year-old aerobics instructor for months, content for the occasional sexual interlude and keeping Linda happy with the promise that he'd soon be leaving his wife. That was bullshit, of course, but so long as it kept his end wet, he didn't much care what she felt.
Linda had this thing for using her legs, loving locking them around Jim's neck, his ears, his body, and squeezing hard in her long, strong legs. She stood 5-10, weighed a muscular 130 pounds and nearly all of her muscle was in her lean, rugged legs. It's what drew him to her and kept him there, sometimes literally. He wasn't nuts about her scissors, as she called it, but if it meant getting laid, he could put up with the occasional pain.
He raced up the stairs to her place and inside, where Linda sat in jeans and a sweater watching TV. He kissed her hello and started snuggling, eventually making his way to his knees between her long legs. Instinctively, she lifted them up around his shoulders and gently squeezed his head in them. He groaned.
"Linda, c'mon, I haven't got that much time tonight, gotta get home soon," he growled, pulling at her locked legs which were getting increasingly tight around his neck and jaws.
"I'm so sick of that, Jimmy, sick of you coming up, getting laid and rushing off," she said with increasing anger. "Dammit, when are you gonna leave her?"
"Soon, my sweet, soon," he cooed, trying to pull her legs off his ears. "Uh, can you not do that…your jeans hurt…you're gonna leave marks on my face and I told you I can't go home like that."
She smiled at the thought - and squeezed harder, feeling the raised seam of her jeans inside her legs press against his face.
"Oh, you don't want scissor burn, Jim?" she growled, tightening up until he squirmed against her squeeze. "My jeans gonna mark up your pretty face and your wife will wonder what happened? That it?"
"Yes," he groaned, pulling harder at her locked legs knowing that when she locked up, it was all but impossible to pry them loose. "Linda…c'mon…enough…"
"Tough SHIT!" she screamed, suddenly and savagely locking her legs out straight and tight, putting on a tremendous squeeze, the rough fabric of her jeans cutting into his face as he roared in pain. "About time your wife knew what was going on, don't ya think?"
"STOP!" he bellowed, face red and eyes shut against the pain. "Christ, STOP!"
She not only didn't stop, she increased the pressure and now grabbed a double handful of his hair and started whipping her locked thighs up and down against his face, the seam on each leg ripping into his face, abrading his skin with the rough material, burning his face and leaving welts and scrape marks. He tried desperately to pull free but could not and a minute later was nearly unconscious from her brutal leg lock. She squeezed down hard, knifing her adductors into the sides of his neck and taking him to the brink of sleep.
"Fucker," she growled, finally stopping to stand up and let him flop to the floor as she peeled out of her tight jeans to stand in sheer pantyhose and sneakers. "Now let's try the nylon facewash, you pig!"
She squatted on his face, after noting how red and scraped up it was, facing his feet and then scooted her legs out behind her to lock her sneakers and put on a horrendous squeeze in her reverse facescissors. Jim's face was all but lost in the tensed-up mass of muscle that were Linda's muscular thighs, every nylon-covered inch of the inside of her thighs ripping into his face and ears. She quivered them as she squeezed, pulling and pushing her thighs up and down, abrading his already tender face with her pantyhose, the mesh material grating his skin. He screamed in agony at the scissor pain and the agony of having his head caught in her leggy cheese grater. She pummeled him mercilessly for a full five minutes, rubbing his face more raw with each quivering scissor squeeze, until she tired and rolled off his face.
Jim groaned and touched his face, his hands pulling away as the skin stung badly. He staggered to his feet and walked to the mirror across the room to look. His face was a mess, his ears raw, his cheeks bright red and scraped nearly bloody, his chin and forehead an even his neck a mass of welts and bruises.
"You fucking CUNT!" he roared, turning around to face her as she sat calmly on the couch, pulling on a pair of wooly black kneesocks over her pantyhose. "What the FUCK am I gonna tell my wife?"
"Tell her," Linda laughed, standing up to walk over to him, "you got your head caught in your mistress's legs and she did THIS to you!"
She rammed a knee into Jim's nuts, causing him to bellow and pain and hit his knees before her. She stepped over his hanging head, pushing it down and locking the sides of his neck and jaws in her socked, muscular calves. She crossed her feet and put on an intense scissor squeeze, her rugged lower legs crushing into this neck and face as he screamed, the rough material of her socks rubbing his already sore face even more raw.
"And just for good measure," she growled.
She leaned over him, put her hands on his back for balance and started jumping up and down - with his neck still securely locked in her socked calves. The wooly material of her black kneesocks scraped and scratched against his red face and neck, her thick calves rippling under the fabric, squeezing his neck as her socks rubbed his face raw. She kept up the jumping sock scissors for a full minute, Jim unable to pry himself free. She finally stopped and put on a tremendous calf squeeze, knocking him out cold.
When he woke up, he felt pain in his face again, pain from the scraped flesh, pain from her pantyhose-clad thighs locked on his ears again. He looked up into her eyes as she held him tightly in her front facescissors, her muscular thighs squeezing hard, that damned rough mesh of her nylons grinding on his tender face.
She had the phone in her hand.
"No…don't!"he cried, reaching for her arm that held the phone only to have the crushing pain in his skull stop him as she pumped her thighs on his ears.
"Hi, is this Jim's wife?" she said brightly into the phone. "Yes, well, when Jimmy comes home later, ask him what happened to his face….yes, his face…I want HIM to tell you and if he doesn't, feel free to call me back at the number you see on caller ID and I'll fill you in."
She slammed the phone down, bridged off the couch to put on a 100-percent burst of pure scissor power and glared down at him.
"You're going out, Jim," she howled down at him. "And when you wake up, you're GETTING out! And don't EVER come back again!"
Jim didn't go home for several hours that night, hoping his wife would be asleep when he got home. She wasn't. Having called Linda back after he left to find out what was going on, she was up and waiting for him - wearing jeans, with pantyhose and kneesocks on underneath…
The End
