Author: [Barbunny3111] Stories~collected

[prisonpreak]

Stories in this collection:

Slowly BUTT Surely

Beauty and the Squeeze

Thighs Squeeze Poor Teacher's Head



The power of the female lower body is unbelievable. But does this apply to all parts of it?

Slowly BUTT Surely
by Barbunny3111
Barbunny3111@yahoo.com

pt 1

The huge feminine butt sank on his sleeping face in an
inescapable motion, without warning. The enormous
massiveness of her gigantic butt seemed to encompass
his whole face completely. It was early in the
morning, much earlier than the usual wake-up squeeze,
and the strength with which her bottom engulfed him
was new-fashioned in their relationship. After all, it
was his own wife who was waking him up every morning
by slowly descending on his dozing face with her
beautifully shaped ass. She was the ultimate authority
in the house, and the chain of command, as they called
it, was pretty obvious in their marriage. But it all
came out of true love. And he really loved her. It
wasn't in spite of the tremendous size of her
buttocks, it was because of it. Life's too short, he
always said to himself, but that butt is too big. Too
big to ignore. He loved to get the benefit of the butt
every morning, the sensuous wriggling of his wife's
ass on his sleeping face, always leaving a bit of
space, allowing him to laboriously breathe. And, as
they say, a healthy female squeeze now and then can
put things into perspective, the male head enters
first into this ample perspective.

But it was much different this morning. Ann's
opinionated butt brutally came down on his face as if
it wanted to kill him. And they both knew she could.
Those gigantic mountains protruding from her body
could keep him down there as long as SHE wanted, and
there was nothing he could do about it. Their sheer
magnitude would retain him there if it took her the
rest of his life. Or if it TOOK his life, literally.
John was aware of that possibility long ago, but never
before was he so frightened, as she was now clamping
down on his breathless face with a tremendous pressure
that was off the charts. Like her rump, this
suffocation was too terrific to be true, in any way,
shape or squeeze. Ann crushed his head onto the
mattress with violence and outrage he would never have
believed possible, courtesy of his own beloved wife. A
sensational combination of bewilderment mixed with
admiration was spreading through his compressed skull,
as he panicked, feeling the head-processor feminine
posterior of his wife squeezing the jewels out of him.
She had made it clear long ago that her buttocks have
unlimited visiting rights to his face, but this time
there was no 'fasten your seat belt' warning, the way
there was each morning, as his wife would gradually
rotate her ample buns around his slumbering face. The
only belt that was fastened now was HER behind,
fastened onto its seat, namely his physically abused
face. He had always loved her from the buttom of his
heart, and yet there was uneasiness and anxiety of the
sheer size of her ass.

And then it all came back to him. It was yesterday,
when he told her about the new secretary at work,
Rita, and how her freshly arrived butt could match the
one of his wife, and then some. The sleek,
powerful-looking thighs of his wife began gathering
his head from behind, as she sat on him, facing his
feet, her hands on his upper body for support. John
simply couldn't get over the mass of her huge behind,
as her behind got over and around his head. Wrapping
her colossal thighs around his head behind her, she
hugged his face to her fat-yet-firm butt, crushing his
face against the vigorous firmness of her prodigious
ass. Although he still thought his secretary's bottom
was larger than his wife's, it evidently wasn't so
smart to share this knowledge with Ann. His spouse's
enormous thighs pressured their way onto both sides of
his squashed skull, while his face was violated,
forced right into what was called, according to his
wife's executive order, Butts & Co.

My wife's thighs are unbelievably strong, john thought
to himself, as he felt the tremendous strength and
imposing power of that palatable ass, shoved
forcefully against his face. I'm being actively raped
by my own unreliable wife's butt, a butt that could
very well slaughter me without even recognizing it.
I've got to get out of here. It's kind of hard to
think about my future, when my future is squeezing my
life out of me. As he studied the crushing thighs with
his hands, john shivered in complete awe at the
thought of being squeezed to death against this ass of
command. 'I'm prepared to die' he pondered, as his
face was buried so deeply in her cavernous butt, ready
for the squeeze-de-grace.

"What's the name of this new secretary, John?" Ann
asked, releasing his head from her clamping ass,
keeping her thighs in place around his skull, ready
for the kill. John new he shouldn't tell. It could
well make a bad situation worse. Much worse. He knew
all too well no one squeezes like Ann, his cherished
wife. The immense pressure she could exert with her
gigantic thighs was absolutely unbelievable. And he
was well aware of that simple fact. And he was also
profoundly familiar with her loving behind, although
she had never applied such a suffocating force through
that part of her female anatomy. He strongly believed
that what goes around, cums around, around his abused
head, that is, in a crushingly, feminine way.

"She means nothing to me, really." He said to his
wife's butt, a butt that was proudly presented above
his crushed face, threatening to settle down on him
once again if a wrong answer was declared. "You've got
to believe me, Ann. Her bottom is much more..." John was
interrupted in mid sentence, as his own wife's angry
thighs weren't allowing him to finish. From her ass
point of view, it was so simple, so natural, yet in
the same time so devastating to her husband's head, so
unfortunate to his existence. I'm not going to
tolerate such a misbehaved attitude from my husband,
Ann thought to herself, knowing she has the means to
thoroughly interrogate him. Clamping her tremendous
thighs around his skull, she gruesomely crushed the
spirit out of her husband, preparing him for the
truth-squeeze. It's a measure they both knew she
possesses, yet she had never used it before.
Nevertheless, deep inside, they both appreciated the
sheer strength in her considerable thighs, knowing the
truth-squeeze is much more reliable than, say,
hypnosis.
   
"I need to know her name, John, and you know I love to
get on top of things," Ann softly whispered to her
husband, knowing he was still attentive to her vast
butt, feeling his deep breath on her behind. "I will
not tolerate dishonesty on your part, and you know it,
my dear. And if you still don't, I'd advise you to
take a good look at what's in front of your eyes," she
said, her voice sexy, sensual, feminine. "You already
know the thing I love to administer the most is
suffocation, and I'm beginning to have the feeling
yours is fornication. How about we'll make that
suffornication, as my girlish thighs hold you
accountable for your transgressions, or, if you like,
squeeze you accountable for them."

"But I really am telling the truth, darling," John
said to his wife's ass, his eyes closed, his hands
roaming around her outrageous thighs, knowing he would
have to do better than that, knowing he would have to
tactfully petition the ass of his wife to allow him to
stay among the living, let alone really avoiding
thigh-inflicted injury, escaping the ordeal unscathed.
"I love you so much, Ann, and I don't mind when you
get a handle on my head. You can even get a thighdle
on it, as you always say, but please, Ann, please
don't kill me," he whispered into her behind,
wondering how long it will take her thighs to thighten
around his head again.

"You heard me, I know you did" Ann hissed, slowly
constricting her inner thighs onto the sides of his
head, bracing her hands on his chest for support. "You
know we had certain codes of squeezing ethics, my
darling, and you know I had never used the
truth-squeeze on you before, but If a simple
ass-debriefing is not enough for you, honey, you know
I'll have to use my better methods of extracting the
truth from you, don't you? You just leave me no other
choice, really, and, as they say in Hollywood, the
squeeze must go on." And with that, she started to
really pour on the awesome pressure, as the inner
parts of her muscular thighs began to crush on his
head from all sides in 'the silencer', much like the
cylinder attached to a barrel of a pistol, rendering
him speechless and his head molested.

Opening her legs wide on the bed behind John's head,
her thighs agape, Ann rose from above his face,
waiting to see if her poor husband understood the
strong message her thighs had just handed down to him.
Or, more accurately, assed down on him. And then,
while she was patiently waiting, all of a sudden it
happened. She could not believe how fool can he get,
when presented with all that female power in front of
him. Clasping his arms around her ample thighs, he
took a deep breath, swiftly lifting his body through
her wide-open thighs, in a feeble attempt to escape
the connubial shrine of the leggy strength that he was
mere seconds ago trapped in. Ann's instincts couldn't
let it go unsqueezed. Whenever her almighty authority
is questioned by her husband, there must be severe
squeezing consequences. There had to be, there's no
other choice. Her own husband has got to understand
that his cowardly head is not beyond her thighs'
jurisdiction. It's more likely to be in between them.

Throwing her womanly legs backwards in the speed of
light, Ann caught her husband's neck in between her
sculpted calves, administering a sudden burst of a
quick squeeze. Keeping his ears free of feminine,
powerhouse calves, she lifted her body up above his
torso, supporting herself with her hands on both of
his legs. "I had always wanted to do you this way so
much, but I never thought you really deserved such a
huge amount of bottom discipline, honey," Ann
smilingly said, looking at his tremulous feet, knowing
she is going to make her own beloved husband
familiarize himself again with her hard-to-please butt
in a new and exciting way. "It appeared in my dreams
so many times, sweetheart, so I guess you'd better
know at least how it's called," she voiced, crossing
her feet on the back of his head, making her calves
grow on both vulnerable sides of his neck, and she
wasn't even squeezing yet. "You always say you
shouldn't have to put up with my strong calves, honey,
well, let's see what happens when you're put in
between them," she whispered, slowly increasing the
calves-induced pressure on his neck.

"In my dreams it's called the combination lock,
darling," John heard his wife's gentle, soft voice, as
he felt his neck beginning to lose space to the
feminine, protruding calves that were tightening
themselves around his jugular area. "I never knew
whether that meant a combination of squeezing and
suffocating on my legs' part, or a combination of awe
and fear on your head's part, fruitcake, so why don't
WE," she brought the upper parts of her feet towards
each other as she was saying the word, causing her
sticking-out calves to move inwards on his neck,
"check," Ann relaxed her feet back, adding room in
between them, enabling his crushed neck to have a
temporary reprieve from her overflowing calves,
"THIS," she produced the maneuver again, pressing her
huge calves on his gullet, suspending his breath for a
moment, holding his blood circulation in check, "out,"
the awesome squeeze was again graciously withdrawn
from his abused windpipe, as John braced himself for
the grand finale...

"RIGHT NOW," those were the last words he was able to
clearly hear, as he was fluctuating in and out of
consciousness by his own treasured wife, knowing it
was useless to resist her strength anymore,
understanding the simple fact that she was much
stronger than himself, surrendering to her physical
legs' superiority.

"Now," Ann girlishly said, momentarily releasing his
trapped trachea from her exacting, muscular legs, "I
think I have asked you a question, my dear, and
feeling the power in my female legs, faced with the
strength they can generate, I guess I deserve an
answer, am I not, honey," she casually gripped his
masculine neck again with her protruding calves,
sensually gyrating her chiseled muscles around his
neck, making him feel her ownership over him, as far
as his male body was concerned.

John was stuck between a rock and a hard calve. He
knew he shouldn't tell. He knew it could very well be
the end of his very life if he made his wife mad while
positioned in such a vulnerable, defenseless place
like the space between her hard legs. He glanced at
her huge ass, hoping he would be able to feel it again
with his face, with his cheeks, before she decides to
squeeze just a tad too tight. And with such a
tremendous strength in her legs, it could very well,
John knew, happen inadvertently, and that was the most
frightening aspect of it all. His own appreciated
wife, while squeeze-playing with him, accidentally
kills him in between her dangerous legs. He stared at
her bountiful behind again, knowing he can't reach it
with his face unless Ann allows this it happen. Let's
consider that my last meal, he thought to himself,
realizing she was still waiting for an answer.

"You know I'm your loved husband and I adore you
dearly, but this Rita and her huge ass mean nothing to
me, really." John moaned, feeling the crushing
potential of his wife's ominous calves growing by the
minute. "You know I like your rump much more, and if
there was a way I could convince you, a way I could
show you my honesty, you know I would worship your
bottom like there was no tomorrow. If you only let me
nuzzle my face on your broad butt, you'll feel my vote
of confidence in our equal marriage. Please let my
cheeks feel your womanhoo," John was stopped again in
mid sentence, as his wife tightened the awesome grip
on his trapped neck, contemplating whether he should
be granted the desired sensation.

And then, suddenly and without warning, it happened.
In a one quick motion Ann brought her enormous calves,
together with his ensnared head, upwards, smashing his
face into her femininely-hard butt muscles, only to
slowly bring them back, straightening her strong legs
again, John's head involuntarily follows. "A vote of
confidence, eh? What do you say we'll make it more
like a vote of crushing confidence, confidence in the
power of my rump, a longstanding confidence, a
THICKstanding confidence," she violently raised her
powerful calves again, his abused face is getting to
know her ass up, tremendous and personal, as he was
pounding on her huge thighs with his fists for all he
was worth, what with him being the male piece in their
marriage.

Lifting her immense calves – his poor head in between
– towards her waiting behind for the third time, Ann
did the impossible. In a one strong, ass-inclined
motion, she...

End of part one.
Rita WILL be in part two, and I promise her behind
will be stronger than ever.
Hope it's good, and up to your expectations, my
friend.
And to all of you out there, want a tailored story,
too?
Just tell me, and remember, I can make your worst
fantasies come true. It's the power of the word, you
know.
Barbunny3111@yahoo.com   

[prisonpreak]

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[prisonpreak]

Beauty and the Squeeze
by Barbunny3111
pt 1
_____________________________________

a young girl shows a burglar the power of her deadly thighs.
_____________________________________

"Come on over here and put your head where it belongs. That's right, baby, you
know where that is" I say to Jim while he is standing at the door, staring at
my slightly opened thighs, not even bothering to look me in the eyes. I am
lying on the bedroom floor, one of my muscular, mature thighs is proudly
skewed in the air while the other is waiting on the ground for Jim's head to
be comfortably put on it. I am in my mid 20's, and beautifully faced, even
gorgeous, to quote the guys I was with. Until they see my thighs, that is.
Nobody cared about my face, once they saw those gigantic thighs. Thighs that
will control their whole world when placed around their heads.

"I know you like 'em, baby" I tell him, watching how he contemplates the
outcums, wondering whether his fragile head will be able to find its way out
of the thightening legs of mine, once his head is put where it belongs. "What
have you got to lose, honey? Other than the structural receptacle of your
head, I mean. Come on. I'm only a woman. What in the world could my feminine
thighs do to you? And remember, as they always say, no squeeze is ever final"
I declare, slamming the inside of my solid thighs together, the thighs that
are waiting on the ground for his head to be consumed from within. I remember,
as he starts to step closer towards my thighs, how many presumptuous men were
like putty in my thighs. I've devised so many custom-made squeezes on their
poor heads, there was no angle in which their heads weren't entrapped in. and
squeezed. And each of them desire different squeezes.

"You recognize the fact I'm only a girl. A fact I won't let you forget when
those thighs of mine will close around your face. I usually call it 'the
closure'. But for now, it's the Grand Opening. Grand Opening of Thighs. Your
squeezing needs will be met by two thick, femme thighs, thighs you now look
at, and can't help but come closer towards 'em. Thighs that typically belong
under a woman's dress. Only now, they're about to perform their Dress
Rehearsal on your male head". I can see how he hesitates, while he does draw
near where I lay. I recall how one of my late boyfriends wanted me to play
with him 'The Squeezard of Oz'. He would place his head, face-down, right on
top of my crotch, while my abundant thighs were impressively stuck out in the
air, as I was lying on the bed. I would then slam-lock my immeasurable thighs,
slowly but unmistakably grinding the inner parts of them against the sides of
his head, gradually making his fearful head disappear. He used to call it the
thighlights of our relationship, as it caused, as he said, the strength of my
legs to become more and more convincing. He drove my thighs crazy with his
terminoleggy. He HAD to be in between those enormous thighs, to come up with
such wisdom. Asphyxthighation was what he called it when he came back to the
living, after my squeezes got a little out of thighs.

Anyhow, I was now lying on the floor, my hands were tied behind my back, so I
had no other choice but to try to allure Jim, at least that what he told me
his name was, into the space between my muscular, waiting thighs. That was the
only way I could make him submit. If only he would place his head, or any
other head for that matter, in between my tremendous thighs, oh mama, it's
going to be the end of the burglary. And probably the end of his life, too.
How the hell could he break into my house, put me on the floor, and tie my
hands to the bed behind my back? He must've been looking for more than the
money he already found in my purse. I wonder if he's so foolish to deposit his
head in the, to my knowledge, most dangerous location on earth. My thighs.
It'll be incessant squeezing. Back to back crushing, or rather thigh to thigh.

"We both know that your head is going to end up down there, in between my
considerable thighs" I said to him, looking below, at my crotch, "so I suggest
you'll stop pretending. And don't tell me you don't want to be there. Look how
smooth they are. Just look at them thighs. So feminine, so gentle." I could
see the sparks flying in his eyes, as he watched how I rotate my thighs
outwards, so that the inner, most muscular part of them will be proudly
presented for him to see. And to be squeezed in.

"But I have to warn you about one small, minor thing. If you do decide to
place your head in there, I'm going to SLOWLY close those abusers of mine
around it, and then start squeezing. It's plain and simple, dude. Yea, that's
right, you're striding in the right direction. It's a small step for mankind,
but it's gonna be a giant squeeze for your head." He was getting closer,
looking nowhere but at the thick part in the middle of my thighs, thighs that
have fought an uphill battle on the issue of whether to let them know, while
delivering their bodies upwardly, their middle is snugly affixed to the
insides of my thighs. It was a bit more fun to snip their torsos, a lot more
room to be creative. Squeezing the small of their backs with the big of my
thighs always was my favorite. Problem was, I needed a decisive, ultimate
conclusion here. He was a transgressor, and he had to pay his dues right here
and now. Call it a membership fee, call it capital gain taxes, whatever. My
judicious thighs will be the cops, the prosecutor, the jury AND the judge.
Thing is, there will be no cops walking him into the car, saying the usual
watch-your-head routine. When faced with my awesome thighs, even his
conscience won't tell him to watch his head. The only thing his pate will
watch will be the thoughtful, steady pressure caving in on the sides of the
skull. It's much like a police interrogation, there is the bad cop and the
good cop. the left thigh, the one that is lying on the floor right now, the
one that will absorb the full power of the other thigh, through the poor head
that will be stuck in between, is the good cop. But then come the right one.
Right as in legitimate, lawful, justifiable. It plays the role of the bad cop.
And play it is.

And finally there he was. Not close enough for me to ensnare, but he could
definitely reach out and touch. And touch he did. I could see the fear in his
eyes. The fear of those smooth thighs he was groping now, his body keeps the
distance, and only his hand feeling the smoothness of my glossy thigh. It was
at that moment that I knew he was all mine. Mine to play with, to control, and
mainly to squeeze.

"If you think exploring the outer thighs with your hand will be enough for the
real man inside of you, think again, honey" I said, while slowly moving both
of my thighs to a slight slope, obliquely putting them in place, ready for the
kill, all the while his hand is glued to my outer thigh.

"Well, there's one more thing I've gotta tell you, sweetheart. Once your head
gets inside, or rather in between, I don't think I will be able to control
them thighs. They just involuntarily make eyes pop and jaws drop. Literally.
And I would certainly advise you to avoid getting any closer to them" I
continued, keeping my huge thighs straight up in the air, ready to squeeze his
head to perfection in no uncertain terms.

"I don't think you understand me," I said as he started to get closer and
closer. "I really mean what I've just said. It's real dangerous out there, or
rather in between there, and I want you to take it at face value. Or, more
accurately, at thighs value. I eat guys like you for breakfast with my
arrogant thighs. It's easy come, easy squeezed. As simple as that. Your poor
head will be pressurized by those molesters of mine faster than you can say
thighs."

He was turning now, and really placing his other hand on the other waiting
thigh. I couldn't believe it. It was so obvious he was not going to get out of
here unharmed, once he came to terms with my thighs. "I'm not going to caution
you again, buddy," I whispered, as he was close enough, both of his hands
encircle my outer thighs now, his head still keeps the distance. "If you dare
bending this head of yours, I'm not gonna be responsible for what happens
next. I'm telling you, man. I mean, take a look at 'em. Just take a good look.
Can't you understand they will crush your world? When introduced to a fresh
male head, they act on their own. They have no choice, but to perform the
world's second-oldest profession. Squeezing. Just take a one, last look at
'em."

And than it happened. Slowly but inevitably, his head started to move toward
the open space between my thighs. His eyes were closed, his hands were still
rubbing my thighs, and he was heavily sweating. It wasn't anything like the
squeeze-by shooting, or rather the drive-by squeezing I used to perform in my
teen years. This was a deliberate act by a grown man, who was literally
putting his fate in thighs' squeeze. There won't be no 'help! I need somebody'
when his head will go all the way. My, my, I thought to myself, it's going to
be as good as it gets. Or, as I love to say, as squeezed as it gets.

At this moment, I lost my patience. My thighs needed to squeeze someone, no
matter what. And the prey was handed to them on a silver platter. The prey was
handed now, but he will be thighed in a moment. He grasped both of my enormous
thighs, and ever so cautiously began to slowly bow his head toward my waiting
thighs. It was amazing. And then, just as his head went almost all the way
down there, he withdrew. He was trying to put it there, as if to check if it's
really dangerous, and then he retracted. My thighs didn't move. They stayed up
there, with all their magnanimous glory, waiting for his final move.

I was really hot now. I almost forgot that he was a thief, breaking into my
house, in the middle of the night. It didn't matter now. All that mattered was
that my proud thighs would get their fair share of squeezing. All of a sudden,
he opened his eyes. But he didn't look up. He was staring straight ahead to my
crotch. The one that function as the juncture of my thighs. I could easily,
with one swift motion, end the wait. If I only wanted, I could slam-lock my
thighs around his head with a simple motion. But I was not allowing myself to
close them too tight. Or close them at all, for now. My hands were still tied.

He looked at my inviting crotch, and began to descend. His head came closer
and closer until it landed straight on my smiling crotch, all the while his
hands clasping my thighs from both sides. My crotch twitching was like curling
a finger at him. He just couldn't resist it. And than he waited. It wasn't
anything but love at first squeeze. I didn't say a word. He had already got
his warnings. My thighs stood disciplined at the right angle, pointing to the
sky, waiting.

And than, suddenly, he began pulling at my thighs inwards, onto his head, with
all his manly force. He was committing suicide. But I couldn't let it happen.
Not yet. I needed someone to release my hands first, and than I would gladly
let my thighs do their thing. But he was stubborn as... as... as a man who
desires to be squeezed between a pair of muscular, thick female thighs. He
encircled my thighs with his arms, trying to bring them thighs closer to each
other, and to both sides of his head, but to no avail. He couldn't budge my
thighs an inch. They were much stronger than his delicate arms.

"I'm not gonna do you, darling, until my hands are free" I declared, spreading
my feminine thighs even further, elevating his head from my crotch, as he
clung to my thighs with his weak arms, unwilling to let go. "I know you really
want to have them right now, or rather them have you, in between, honey, but
it ain't gonna happen before you set my hands free. But I can assure you,
sweetie, once my hands are free, my magnificent thighs will do to you things
you never even dreamed of. They would even kill you, I you wanted them to.

Reluctantly, he left my womanly thighs, got to the ropes and released my
hands. The only thing he did not understand, while I was making myself
comfortable on the floor, was that he just put himself on the death row by
doing so.

"Now," I said as he returned in no time to his precious spot, hovering above
my crotch, expecting to be squeezed, "what was the reason you broke into here
in the first place?" There was no reply. He simply was there, inches above my
crotch, my deadly thighs are on both sides of his soon-to-be-crushed head. And
than I decided it's now or never.

"I think it's time, baby, I think it's time" I voiced, placing my
now-unrestricted hands on the back of his head, and in a one swift,
unthinkable motion I...

End of part one. Part two is up for you, readers. Fans should submit their
follow-up to me by e-mail, and I promise to publish the best one on Diana in a
month. I can be reached at You are not allowed to view links. Register or Login And by the way, Tom, they
ARE strong, aren't they? I've told you I could squeeze a man into oblivion.
And you didn't believe me. Poor baby.

[prisonpreak]

A teacher's strange request in the name of physics is accepted when teenager's muscular thighs take his head too seriously, and go for the kill.

Thighs Squeeze Poor Teacher's Head
by barbunny3111
barbunny3111@yahoo.com

Comments, feedback and criticism are gladly appreciated


"The forces of nature are strange at times". Steve was
standing in front of his physics class, trying to
avoid eye and thigh contact with Pamela, the amazing
18 years old pretty girl in his freshman class. She
was sitting in the front row, her skirt riding up her
astonishingly muscular thighs, her blue eyes looking
at the blackboard. She was a good student.

"It was Einstein who said everything is relative,
every power has a counterpower, every squeeze is
caused by some pressure-applying instruments, every
crushed item has been pressurized by a more powerful
object" he said, thinking about those thick thighs and
what they could do to him, if only their owner would
want to.

"But it was Newton, who invented the squeezics
discipline. It's a proven theory that supports the
human intuition about mass." Steve said, visualizing
the so-succulent thighs that were spreading
nonchalantly in front of Pamela, the appallingly tight
vise they could become around his neck, and the
endless pain they could cause.

"The bigger the object, the less pressure it has to
apply in order to make serious damage. On the other
thigh, superfluous strength and power offsets lack in
size and enormity, and VISE versa." He said, furtively
glancing at those thunderous fleshy twins that could
easily transform a happy, healthy man into a
miserable, crushed one.   
He felt as if they had a life of their own, they were
so large and muscular, but their characteristics are
so different from their owner. Pamela was so naive,
even fragile, almost like a child. Truth is, he said
to himself, she was a child. Twenty years younger than
he was. She was so quiet in class, maybe the best
student he had. But her thighs ...
If only he could find a way to shove his head down
there, in between those capable animals of hers, to
convince her to squeeze him, even the smallest
pressure from those huge thighs probably will result
in some permanent damage, like in the adult version of
the famous film, where Mr. Cruise is squeezed to death
by his wife's thighs in 'Thighs Wide Shut'.

"Newton has invented the squeezimetry, a method
through which we can measure the mass of two objects,
that are squeezed against each other, and the severe
consequences they can cause. Now I want you to
remember, mass is a combination of strength and size.
You'll have to memorize the next formula, in order to
survive my exams, and more importantly, to survive in
the real life."

Let M, S, P be defined as follows:
M=mass
S=size
P=pressure
Then, we get the exact formula to measure pressure:
∑M*(S+2.14)=P

The second all eyes were on the notebooks, writing
down the formula, Steve stared at the epitome of his
desire, the two mind-boggling, ruling organs that were
proudly exposed before his eyes, and then he decided
it's now or never.
"You don't talk much Pamela, do you?" he asked her
thighs, oblivious of the fact he failed to raise his
gaze from her over-developed thighs to her blue-eyed,
beautiful face.

"Well, we are going to witness today an experiment,
one which Newton wrote he hadn't had the opportunity
to conduct. For the first time in written history, we
are going to check today the human law of pressure. I
need you to come over here, Pamela, to help us with
our experiment."

Pamela stood up, not understanding what is it that he
wanted, her thighs exploding with bulging muscles from
all sides the moment she stood up, walking to the
teacher's table.   

"I want you to stand on top of the table, for the sake
of the students in the back of the class" he said,
helping her to get on the to-begin-with high table,
her enormously-thick legs are proudly spread while she
stood on the table for everybody to see, her very
short skirt not blocking the view, leaving the entire
bare thighmeat looking at the class.
"As we can all see, we have here a very strong looking
pair of thighs. Thing is, we can never know if they
are really strong, until we put them to the test." He
patted her left thigh, sending waves of rippling
muscles all over the thigh he tried to move, leaving
the other thigh unmoved. He looked high up at her
face, finding her wondering what's this all about,
like she didn't get it, the object of his dreams, the
person he thinks of when he is with his wife, making
love to her, telling her how much he loved her, while
thinking only about Pamela. She was so childish, yet
her thighs were so powerful, so mature, as if you
would put together several adult males, and try to
assess their accumulative power, it might reach the
strength level of one of her thighs. Assuming his head
would have been in between her embracing thighs, and
she decided to bring them together for some reason, it
will be the end of his life right then and there. He
could easily be putty in her strong legs, 

"By and LARGE, we can definitely see the massiveness
of those thighs of Pamela. They are obviously huge as
you can all see. I point now with my finger to the
broadest part on her front thigh, can you all see the
massive muscles over here? That absolutely doesn't
mean they can exert enough pressure that can make
sufficient damage to certain items. Now Pamela, I need
you to turn around and face the blackboard, so the
students will be able to see the thickest, more
dangerous part of your thighs."

He said, helping her to turn around by raising his
hands and trying to hold those amazing legs of her as
she was turning around to face away from the class,
his fingers not able to stop the movement, giving in
to the tremendously-strong thigh-muscles. When she
completed the turn, he was mesmerized by the way her
glutes were forcefully trying to burst the
much-too-tight skirt, and he almost forgot himself,
forgot he was teaching his physics class, staring for
a full minute - together with the rest of the class -
at the eighth and ninth wonders of the world.

"Well, class, we are about to begin our experiment
with this melon I've brought with me. I want all of us
to appreciate the fact that we are lucky to have
Pamela with us, her enormous thighs will prove once
and for all, that the human rules of massiveness are
the same as any other rules in physics, in contrast to
what Newton argued. It's called the squeezimetry. I am
placing now the melon right in between your athletic
thighs, Pamela, and I want you to try and squeeze the
melon now." Steve said, trying to keep cool, his blood
is rushing throughout his body, imagining what it
would feel like if his head would have been that
melon, the most erotic phase of the squeeze he's
always dreamt of, the waiting period, when the head is
already in place, between its soon-to-be-expanding
thighs, the suspense - when and how hard - the squeeze
is going to be, a squeeze that will start exactly when
the thighs decide they want to start closing on their
victim. That was the most frightening part of it all.
They say every earthquake has a tranquil period of
time before it erupts. The seconds before. Before the
thunders start exploding, before the lion goes for the
kill, before the prey starts floundering, before the
thighs start squeezing.   

"What ...  what ...   do you mean, Mr. Jones?" Pamela asked
innocently.

"What do you mean 'what do I mean'? The melon is
between your thighs, now would you please squeeze it?
Try with every bit of force from your impressive
thighs." He demanded impatiently.

"I don't know. I have never thought I could use my
thighs this way. I don't think they are capable of
squeezing the melon at all. I mean, they look pretty
big, when compared to the boys' legs in the gym, but
after all, I'm only a little girl, right?" Pamela
said, embarrassed.

"Now you listen to me, my dear student. You might be a
girl, but you are certainly not little. You are huge.
You are amazing. The world needs to witness your
strength, the physics laws are waiting, and the
history has to be rewritten. Nobody here is sexually
interested in your flawless thighs. You are only a
cute, little child, that's right. But for physics'
sake, would you please start squeezing this waiting
melon?"

"O.k., o.k., I'll squeeze, but please let me know when
I should stop ... " Pamela said, moving her undaunted
thighs a touch inward, and in a fraction of a second,
the melon exploded into tiny pieces all over the
class. Steve was shocked, the students were shocked,
but the most shocked was Pamela. She couldn't believe
the strength of her own thighs. She didn't even
squeeze, she only made a small motion, to prepare her
thighs for the squeeze, and the melon gave way so
quickly, so effortlessly.

" Af ...  af ...  after we saw the potential of those
... things ... " Steve stuttered, "we will see now that the
more solid the squeezed item, the harder it becomes
for the thighs to crush it" he said, slowly moving his
hand up and down her smooth, feminine thigh, not
daring to pat it so carelessly like before, now that
he saw the power those legendary thighs possess. He
took a leather-made football out of his desk, and
without saying a word, shoved it in between the
standing, haughty thighs, the muscles of the inner
thighs immediately enveloping the football from both
sides, without-their-owner's-intention molding
themselves around it, preparing themselves for the
squeeze, as if it was so natural to them, as if she
squeezed male heads daily, as if her legs were some
Natural Born Squeezers.   

Suddenly, she brought her hand to her mouth, the
football is stuck between her flaring thighs, all eyes
are patiently riveted toward the cute, pretty girl's
thighs that were standing on the teacher's table,
turned backwards to his request, for everybody to see
the most incredible part of them, the inner,
ropes-like muscles dancing in front of the class. The
class was flabbergasted, their own classmate, the girl
they used to tease and pick on only days ago, now so
decisively showing them - and herself - what those
lower weapons of her could do. A second later she
sneezed, the powerhouse's muscles of her moving thighs
converging on the poor football, imploding into its
core, and then a deafening noise was heard, to the
amazement of the class.

The sneeze squeeze, Steve thought to himself. What if
she would sneeze while my head is in there? Is it
worth the risk? I know that the fate of my skull will
be similar to that of the wretched football. Am I
willing to risk my own life for the next level of our
historic experiment? He knew that it was his ultimate
objective. He didn't even have to go down on his
knees, herself still proudly standing on his table,
beginning to get used to the possibilities her
victorious thighs are able to provide. He will only
have to push his head straight ahead, her
indefatigable thighs are the same level with his eyes,
he should forget about the class behind, forget about
the age gap, forget about the principal's reprimand,
just stick his head where it's belong, and let her
superior thighs do the rest ...   

End of part one.
barbunny3111@yahoo.com

[prisonpreak]

A strange teacher's request in the name of physics is accepted when teenager's muscular thighs take his head too seriously, and go for the kill - part two.

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"I have one more test to conduct on those powerful
thighs we see here," Steve said. "Al and George, you
are the strongest football players in the county,
aren't you? I want you to come right here and try to
prise her awesome thighs apart. Remember, she is only
a little girl after all."
They both came near the table, shaking all over, and
placed their arms around each monumental thigh,
looking up to her smiling, pretty face. After long
seconds of uselessly putting their hardest endeavors
at her thighs, not even budging them an inch, let
alone prising something, Steve quietly said "you can
start now, just pull those huge trunks apart. It's
that simple. Please, just do it."
"Well Mr. Jones, it seems she is much, much stronger
than the both of us. I don't think we have a chance.
We'll be lucky to go home unscathed."

"O.K. class is dismissed. I hope all of us had learned
today the merits of physics, as well as those of the
obviously strongest pair of thighs in class, or on
earth, for that matter. When you get out of the class,
please tell your friends that the amazing experiment
was for the sake of physics only. We had to use Pamela
and those powerful thighs that are still standing
proudly here on my table, as you can see, just because
no other object could generate such immense force like
her robust thighs. We absolutely had no sexual
interest in her, or in her unreal thighs whatsoever."
Steve said, boldly slapping her left thigh twice,
wanting to show he's got only physics in his mind, not
her intoxicating thighs. As opposed to minutes before,
when the thigh tapping of his hand caused rippling
reaction of moving muscles, this time the thigh stood
still, like saying 'just try to move me, you strong,
adult male'.

"You can step down now, Pamela, I need your thighs to
come to my room, to sign some experiment papers and
footnotes" he said, looking straight at her striated
thighs, as if he was talking to them, as if they
already control his world, his head is wedged tight in
between their intensity, brutally squeezed. He slapped
her resistant thighs harder now on their back side,
stunned by the way they didn't move at all, squeezed
to the conclusion that she's most probably flexing
them. 

There was a soft knock on the door. He came to the
door and opened it, determined to reach the finale,
knowing that those insatiable thighs have to serve the
purpose they were made for, and his unproductive head
is going to be on the receiving end. She has to watch
her squeezes, or it could be the end of his life. His
own life is in jeopardy now. Once his submissive head
is in there, no one can guarantee there will be no
casualties. She could even kill him by accident. Just
enjoying the newfound sensation her gifted thighs
have, while he is suffering between them, thinking his
cries for help are only part of the game, keeping on
squeezing his crushed head, and unintentionally
putting an end to his life. Does it worth the risk?
One look at them and you get the point. You usually
keep distance from such dangers. They look like Mike
Tyson's. Or should he call her Pamela Thighson.

"You said I should come here and sign some papers, Mr.
Jones" Pamela girlishly said.
"Yes. There are some thighnotes I need you to help me
with for generations to come." Steve said, shaking. "
I want to stress again that all we do here is for the
benefit of history. Who knows when there will be
another chance for a physicist to take a foothold, or
rather a thighhold, in the face of such monumental
thighs like yours? They are one in a million, or,
actually I should say two in a million. I want you now
to sit comfortably on that couch, yea, like that, and
open your legs. Thanks. There's one more item we have
to squeeze to ratify Newton's Squeezics. I will place
my head right in between your rocky thighs and I want
you to squeeze my head until I'll tell you to stop."
"I didn't know, Mr. Jones, you could use your thighs
this way to squeeze. I am not standing, like I was in
class. I don't think I am able to do anything to you
like that." Pamela innocently said, while Steve gently
put his head, neck first, facing away from her crotch,
in the most dangerous location on earth he knew,
leaning on those devastatingly powerful thighs.

"Well, my educated student, you'll have to trust me on
that. Everything is ready for the squeeze. My head is
in place, between your overwhelming thighs. You are
now in the best-possible position to extract the best
of your thighs. History is waiting to be written anew
for the widespread world. Your thighs are enormously
wide, but please don't keep them spread anymore.
Please Pamela, you are such a good student. Please
squeeze." Steve said, raising his hands to feel their
enormity, muscles bulging all over his little,
sensitive student's thighs, though they were still
relaxed.

"But Mr. Jones, I don't get it. Why would you want me
to squeeze my thighs together while your head is
between them? Why would anybody? You saw what my
thighs did to the melon and the football? What if ... "
Pamela said innocently, tears starting to flow from
her eyes, "what if I hurt you? What if you will have a
headache and won't be able to teach our class
tomorrow? Please Mr. Jones, don't make me squeeze you
like that" she said, his hands savor the ropes-like
muscles in her unflexed outer thighs, his brain
starting to panic.
What if she wouldn't want to do it? What if, when his
neck is right in the place he has dreamt of for so
long, the overpowering thighs envelop him from all
sides, what if she won't do as she was told? He can't
force her, can he? On the one thigh, he is the
teacher, she should behave accordingly, and do exactly
as he says, or she will be punished. But on the other
strong-devastating thigh, he can't let this
opportunity, or his open-minded, soon-to-be-closed-on
head, slip away. He has to act now, to take matters
into his own hands, literally, the 'matters' being her
oh-so-strong thighs. If she is not closing them around
his head, he will.

"Now listen to me, you punk. You are going to close
those heavy thighs of yours now, or I'll punish you
severely. I can't stand it. Your gigantic thighs are
in both side of my face, presenting themselves in all
their simmering glory, already poised horizontally, my
view of the world is very limited to their animalistic
magnitude, I feel like I am on the ropes. As far as
your thighs' muscles are concerned, I am between'em.
Now please do me Pamela, just do me, as your thighs
congenitally know, do me." He begged, trying to clasp
her monstrous thighs that seemed to be expanding now
by the second, preparing themselves for the inevitable
coming of age, and possibly some other king of
cumming.

"O.k., o.k. I'll do as you told me, but it's only for
physics' sake, right? I'm starting to squeeze now, Mr.
Jones. Am I doing it right? Is that the way you want
me to squeeze?" Pamela asked unsophisticatedly,
bringing her thighs only a touch together.

"Yes it is. I can already feel the pressure, but I
want you, dear Pamela, to cross your ankles now, and
straighten your legs, as if there was no head in
between them." Steve said, braving the head
pulverizing that is about to begin, feeling the
almost-instantaneous response of her intellectually
disciplined thighs, as they started to constrict
around his soon-to-be-fractured skull. She  s l o w l
y  but  s u r e l y  phased the pressure in, crossed
her feet to his request, and straightened her legs.

"O.k., that's enough, Pamela, you can stop now," Steve
said, aghast by the awesome pressure her steely thighs
were taking his ravaged head through.

"But it feels so good, Mr. Jones, my muscles are
having a strange sensation right now, a sensation I've
never felt before" Pamela whispered, grinding her
inner thighs into both side of his delicate, hapless
head.
It was the first time Steve heard her whispering. It
was as sexy a voice as ...  as ...  as the sound his
about-to-be-cracked jawbones were making now at the
whim of her thighs.

"I think I've told you to stop, Pamela. Stop squeezing
now, or you'll be badly puni ... " his words were snapped
in midsentence by the tightening of the tremendous
thighs that were now inflated with a mix of muscles
and blood that flew along her thick thighs' arteries,
an obvious contrast to the difficulty his guttural
blood circulation was facing.
"What's the matter, Mr. Jones? Can't you take a little
pressure from my 18 year old thighs? It feels so good,
Mr. Jones. I don't think I could stop now. I don't
think I wanna stop. My shapely thighs sure don't. And
besides, we are helping to write history, aren't we?"

"I'm not going to tell you again" Steve said,
frightened by those colossal thighs that were usually
a sight to behold, and now became a sight to
besqueezed. "If you don't remove your unsymmetrical
thighs fro ... " he was brutally interrupted again by her
closing thighs.

"You know what our math teacher said, don't you Mr.
Jones?" Pamela said. "Always when you close a
triangle, it becomes symmetrical," Pamela said,
closing her thighs tighter still.

It was dangerous now. He should find his way out of
her lethal thighy embrace one way or another. There
has to be a way out. There is no, - like he has always
told his students ^ض absolutely no problem that can't
be solved. But how?
He will take the begging attitude. "Now please listen,
Pamela. Be reasonable. You are much stronger than I
am, as we are both aware of by now. But believe me
when I tell you, if you'll allow me, I can train your
rusty thi ... " again the solitary closed its thighs
together, not letting Steve to finish his sentence.
Pamela was thrilled. She was at higher skies, unaware
of he fact that Mr. Jones, her own physics teacher,
was shedding tears now, tears that trickled down his
soft cheeks, and were lingering in the fine,
newly-formed line of the thighs confinement, the same
tears she was shedding mere moments ago. She ground
her astronomical thighs, one at a time, onto his
squishy face, extending her left leg further away from
the couch and bringing her right leg closer, all the
while both of her horizontal, crossed legs are still
trapping Steve's inferior head in between, forcing it
to harmoniously move with the crushing rhythm, his
head ending up sideways to the righthand side, or was
it rightthigh?  She switched legs, stretching now her
right leg out, bringing her left one back, only to see
his whole head doing a 180 degrees turnaround toward
the lefthand side.

"I don't think you understand, Mr. Jones. This is your
lucky day. If you stay alive, that is. You should
define P in the formula as Pamela=pressure. You know
what our art teacher said, don't you Mr. Jones?"
Pamela said. "Always when you have a rusty object,
you've got to sharpen it" she said, continuing to hone
his prostrate head from both sides, equally devoting
her full thighs' muscle potential to each side.  "Mr.
Jones, I'm starting to get used to squeezing your
little head. The pressure is on. The squeeze is on.
Just as you asked me." She squeezed much tighter now,
simply bringing her elephantine thighs together,
preventing the steady stream of tears from moving
through the thigh barrier. "You don't think I'm
getting too promiscuous Mr. Jones, do you? It's only
so new and sensational to me, that I can control my
teachers so easily this way. I hope this doesn't fall
on deaf ears. I hope you can still here me now, Mr.
Jones. As you always say to us, are you all ears? It
looks like you are all thighs, rather, Mr. Jones. Are
you listening at all? Mr. Jones? ...  Mr. Jones? ... "

Her mind gave the instant order to her thighs to ease
the hydraulic pressure, only to see the life flow back
to him. She saw the look of terror from above, his
eyes said it all. He new it could be the end. He had
the feeling no supplication is going to help now. His
fate was at her thighs, thighs' submersion. He only
doubted whether it's going to be Apnea or a simple
head crushing. Things were so simple at her thighs,
yet so complicated. Then he heard her sweet voice
again. "You know I'm a good student, Mr. Jones, and I
always do as I am told. Now what was it you said about
the forces of nature, which are strange at times?
Every squeeze is caused by some pressure-applying
instruments, every crushed item has been pressurized
by a more powerful object? I've learned from you so
much". Pamela said, again constricting her strong
pythighs around his skull, squeezing, showing him a
touch of the precursor to losing consciousness.

After easing up a bit, she said smilingly, knowing
better "I think it was something like the bigger the
object, the less pressure it has to apply in order to
make serious damage. On the other hand, superfluous
strength and power offsets lack in size and enormity,
and vise versa, but in my 18 years old thighs' case, I
don't think we'll have to offset anything, do we Mr.
Jones?"

"Before you go out again, Mr. Jones, I think my thighs
want to remind your head something you've said, that
left a great impression on them. You were saying
something about 'if you can't beat them, squeeze
them', didn't you, Mr. Jones? It comes hand in hand,
or rather head in thighs with what our biology teacher
have said. He said that in nature's food chain, the
stronger animal have to hunt the weaker one to
survive. But it's the face expression of the weaker,
which orgasmatize the stronger. The seconds before the
death, when the weaker knows it's all over, his throat
is the center of the dying process, like yours is now,
the satisfied, victorious look of the stronger is
unforgcrushable, the same look my thighs have now ... 
and to paraphrase what our principal always says,
don't ask what you can do for the thighs, ask what the
thighs can do TO you ... " Pamela said, preparing herself
for the ultimate.

"You always say we have to try in real life whatever
we learn in class, don't you Mr. Jones? Well, I'm
going to feel that satisfied, victorious feeling of
the stronger lethal animal now, Mr. Jones" she said,
her thighs doing the unthinkable, lifting...