She ran headquarters with an iron leg.
Becky was aces at running headquarters, which in this case meant the company’s distribution center, a warehouse on the far side of the city’s industrial part. The business office was here as well, but distribution was affectionately known as HQ because without distribution, there would be no business. Becky was the distribution supervisor and she was big, she was tough and she ran her ship with an iron leg. Two, in fact.
Becky was stronger than the 30 males under her and had, over the course of her tenure, had to whip most of them in shape, particularly those who hated the concept of working for a woman, especially a woman like Becky. The single gal was a bruiser, standing 6-foot-2 and weighing 220 pounds, every thick inch muscle honed from her years on the loading docks. Now that she was a supervisor, she went to the gym to work out instead, and coupling that with filling in when help was out, Becky was bigger and stronger at 44 years old now than when she worked the docks 20 years ago.
“Head-Scissor-Quarters” said the sign hung above Becky’s desk, a sign proudly made by the pretty blonde herself, sitting squarely above her short-haired, square-shouldered self, prompting all who saw it to ask what it was. She loved telling people. She loved showing them more.
Jeff was a new guy, meat, as rookies were called, a big bastard himself at 6-6, 250 pounds, former college football player and armed with an attitude as big as his arms. He got this job not knowing he’d be working for a woman, and coming out of the woods of the south, this did not sit well with him. He stood before Becky shifting from foot to foot as she talked to him, sensing his growing anger. She smiled and was glad for the warmth of the night and that she’d worn her tight brown uniform cutoff short shorts that hugged her tree-trunk thighs, and sleeveless matching top out of which her gargantuan arms exploded.
“You don’t much like working for a woman, do ya Jeff?” she asked, sitting back and crossing her legs, 17-inch calves flaring above her low leather work boots and heavy black socks. “Specially one looking like me, right?”
“Damn right I don’t, but I figure you worked your way up from the shit, so can I,” he growled, crossing his own massive arms over an even more massive chest. “I can live with your shit til I get your fucking job, bitch.”
She laughed and pointed up at the sign.
“Know why that’s there?” she asked. “Cause I’m in charge of headquarters, and my headscissors rule around here. Got that?”
“Headscissors my ass, you ain’t so tough, bitch,” he growled, leaning forward on the desk, punching his fists down onto it, massive forearms roped with sinew and muscle.
“I was hoping you’d say that,” she sighed.
He was quick in college, running the school’s fastest 40 for a man so big, but he never saw coming what was now seemingly killing him. Becky shot up her long powerful legs around his face and scissored it in her gargantuan thighs, 33-inch quads rippling in bold relief under her tight, tanned skin, her size 12 boots locked together and resting on Jeff’s muscular back. Her adductors were like steel drums tensed against his face, bending his jawbones, filling his ears, smashing into his neck. Jeff’s hands came up too late, not that they could help, and pulled frantically at the thick piles of thigh embracing his skull.
“Fucking cunt!” he screamed, amazed at the high-pitched tone of his voice.
Becky smiled and pushed up on the arms of her chair with her hands, bucking her thick hips and crushing thighs up, slamming the bulk of them against Jeff’s face and head, over and over, punishing him with her cruel scissor snaps. Outside, workers who were walking by with full hand trucks stopped and looked in, smiling and giving their boss the thumbs-up, and continuing their work. They knew better than to stop. Becky didn’t mind repeated scissorings and they didn’t want to be next.
“Now, young man, you gonna get to work or do I knock you out in my scissors?” she growled, throbbing her thighs on his ears, his eyes watery with tears and looking at her plaintively. “You can quit, too, don’t matter none to me, I just need someone who can work a good day and not bitch about it. Is that you?”
“Fuck….” He tried, but was silenced now as Becky turned his face to the side and engulfed it in hamstring, folding the back of that enormous thigh around his mouth, sealing his lips and nose and scissoring is air away, squeezing hard, nearly busting his teeth and jaw as well as smothering him.
His body convulsed. She dragged him over the desk and positioned him on the floor between her legs behind her desk, hooking the foot of the offending thigh around the back of the other leg, snagging the smother/scissors into a figure four, his escape impossible. Jeff’s big arms bulged with muscle and fear as he frantically pulled at Becky’s crushing legs to no avail, his eyes frantic and fixed on hers, which were calm and staring at him.
“I said are you gonna work or quit?” she asked “If it’s work, get to it and don’t make me show you why this is head-scissor-quarters again! If it’s quit, get the fuck out!”
He tried to respond but her thigh cut his speech as well as his air, and his big face went blue in her scissors, the veins in his neck bulging. She laughed and twisted his all the way around to snap her big legs o0ut straight for a classic headscissors, her massive thighs bulging madly around Jeff’s scissored skull. She squeezed harder and harder, her thighs quivering from the effort, until Jeff’s hands fell to his sides and he groaned, eyes rolling over white.
“Hey Boss, we’re a little short tonight, this asshole gonna work or what?” Brad said, her foreman, walking into the office and looking down at Jeff’s scissored face and then up at Becky, then back down to Jeff with “Ain’t got all night, meat, you workin’ or dyin’ here? Money’s good, but the hours are long. And so are Becky’s legs if you don’t watch it!”
Becky and Brad laughed as Jeff squirmed in the boss’s legs. They both looked at him with ‘Well’ looks on their faces.
“I’ll work, I’ll work,” he groaned. “I need the money but please, just fucking STOP THE HEADSCISSORS!!!”
Becky laughed and thumped him one last time in her thighs before letting him go. He staggered to his feet and out the door, past Brad who looked at Becky and shrugged.
“Them big ones are tough, but they’re worth it,” Brad sighed. “That fuck looks like he could load 10 truck hisself.”
Becky laughed and looked up proudly at her “Head-Scissors-Quarters” sign, and walked out to the floor to join the crew.
The End
