Slave's head felt like it was caught in a steel vice. Mistress had him in a headscissors, her bodybuilder's thighs wrapped around his skull from behind as she sat on the couch of her bedroom, the knee-high black leather boots she wore locked at the ankles. She was scissoring him hard, pulsing the massive, 30-inch thighs on his head, and slave whimpered like a stuck pig.
"Say it, headscissor slave," Mistress growled, holding the seat cushions of the couch in her fists. "Say it!"
"Please, Mistress….may I … have…another?" slave squeaked.
"ANOHTER WHAT?" she roared, hunkering down to put on an even more violent squeeze.
"Another headscissor squeeze!!!" slave cried, his hands pulling at the thighs the held him and the nylons held up by garter belt.
Mistress smiled – and squeezed with all she had, her booted legs creaking noisily, her monstrous thighs expanding in the nylons that could barely contain them, her giant ass flexing in steel as she used it to power down the hold. Slave's hands fell away and he passed out cold.
"Weakling," Mistress sighed, standing up to shake the cramps from her legs.
She looked at herself in the mirror, next to wish hung an assortment of her tools of the trade: Leather whips, canes, handcuffs, cock-torture devices, ball vices, 12-inch strap-on dildo, speculum, all of it designed to inflict as much pain on her high-paying customers as they could bear – and afford.
But this slave was easy, as were all her leg-worshipping, scissor-loving devotees. All it took was dressing up her 24-year-old, 6-foot-3, 180 pound, rock-hard bodybuilding body and putting the squeeze to them, and for 500 bucks an hour.
"Saps," Mistress growled to herself as she watched slave struggle to his feet, his ridiculously small cock hard in the black Speedos she made him wear to accentuate the paunch and paleness of his 60-year-old CEO body.
Slave stood before her, dwarfed by her at his 5-foot-6 frame. She crossed her majestic arms, biceps bulging across her leather-clad chest, thick striations of pec muscles rippling. Her black leather gloves fisted, she shook back her mane of jet-black hair and laughed at him.
"Worm," she growled, suddenly backhanding him across the face. "How DARE you ask me for another scissors when you have yet to worship THESE!"
She wobbled a giant thigh, the massive slabs of muscled quad meat quivering as she shook it side to side and then blasting down to rock-hard steel as she stopped it suddenly. Slave whimpered.
"On your knees and start at my boots," she ordered him. "Lick."
Slave dropped like a stone and began slobbering over Mistress's shiny black boots, sucking the toes, up the instep, worshipping the leather-covered calves. Not an inch remained untouched by the time he was done as she stood stock-still, those big arms and massive biceps flexing.
"Thighs," she hissed. "Worship my thighs, the thighs that will kill you!"
Slave knelt up and started tonguing Mistress's gigantic right thigh, running his worthless tongue up her nyloned knee, up over the insanely huge, bulging quad, digging it into the thick furrows of muscle where it joined in a deep crevice on the side. Along the back he continued, her bulging hamstring devoured by his sucking mouth, her black- pantied ass inches from his adoring eyes, that magnificent double mound of muscular meat hanging in sexy chunks from her tiny panty.
"The other," she spit, and slave obeyed, repeating the ritual on her other thigh, the giant left one, lifting one hand to rub the majestic quad as it stuck into his face.
"How DARE you touch my thigh!!" she screamed. "You did NOT receive permission to touch, only lick! Now ask me to be scissored again!"
