The Intruder Third Knockout

The phone was ringing.

At first Ron thought it was just his imagination. It seemed far off and distant, like it was a mile away on a silent country night, faint and fading. It wasn't just that he was coming back into consciousness that made it sound like that, though. There was something around his head, something muffling the noise, like earmuffs.

Only bigger.

And hotter.

And softer.

But growing harder and harder by the second. Constructing. Closing in. Squeezing. Creating less and less space, pressing into his throat like a noose, taking away his breath, making every inhalation a struggle...

"God! Oh, God!" Ron eyes opened with a start and found themselves looking down the Intruder's imposing body, as he laid on his stomach and she laid on her back before him, stretched out. She gazed down his way over the hills of her breasts and the plains of her chest, with one hand behind her head her and the other at her side. It made for a striking visual, even he had to admit that through all the pain. It was just a shame he couldn't enjoy it for long. Her legs made that somewhat difficult.

She had her thighs wrapped around her neck, trapped n the crux of her legs while they draped over his shoulders. Snug and tight and tight[i]ening[/i]. He reached up and tried to pry them, digging his fingers into the thighs in a vain attempt to pull them apart. He would've had an easier time prying apart the Jaws of Life, he was sure of it.

If she noticed his futile attempts, she didn't show it, and he wasn't just thinking about her usual silence. No, the Intruder's attention was hardly on - instead, her eyes were focused on the cellphone in her hand. [i]His[/i] cellphone.

At first he was confused, or as much as he could be with the strangulation affecting his capacity to think and breath. That confusion only mounted when she held the phone up to his face, close enough that he could read the screen

1 Missed Call. From Anna. His wife had been trying to reach him.

His first instinct was one of relief, knowing that someone was expecting. She'd be coming soon, she could call for help, she could do something to help him. That feeling deflated and the color went away from his face a second later, though. If Anna came home now, she'd have no idea what she was walking into, and Ron strongly doubted the Intruder would have any more problem crushing her than she had crushing him.

It was a sobering thought, imagining Anna in the spot he was in, but he had little time to process it before the phone rang again, lighting up his face. The Intruder shifted around her legs, moving them higher, just reaching his cheeks, and then she pressed the little red button on the screen and turned on the speakerphone.

"A-Anna?" He stammered, fear and confusion and pain clear in his voice. "Anna, are you there, you need to-"

Before he could finish the warning, the Intruder's legs came down on his jaw with skull-cracking pressure, pulverizing his bones for one agonizing moment. It was brief, a flash, but it pure agony and his cry filled the room.

"Ron!" His wife's sweet voice perked up right away. She was in the car, judging from the way the sound bounced about. Probaby on her way home. "Ron, what's wrong?"

He opened his mouth to speak, then shut it just as quickly, looking up at the Intruder, staring into her ironclad, steely eyes. He couldn't help but feel there was an unspoken threat, here, a warning to not say anything that would displease her. If he had to guess, he'd say that would include telling his wife to call the police.

He had to be smart about this. Say the right things. That was the game.

"Nothing, nothing, I'm fine." The Intruder eased up on the hold, lessened the pressure. A reward. "I just got through with a workout, went really hard, that's all?"

"You went to workout?" Ron could almost hear his wife's eyebrow raising over the line. He loved her, really, but the woman had a habit of analyzing [i]everything[/i]. Sometimes it was cute, but not so much when he was on the verge of a concussion. "Where'd you find the time, you only got off-"

She was suspicious, suspicion was bad, and the Intruder showed him that by crushing his head once again, pumping his skull between her thighs with rapid bursts of power. Her legs swelled so large that they covered his ears, silencing the world around him for a moment, and he had to clench his teeth to keep from screaming.

Once again, only a moment, and when it passed he was gasping and sucking in air and thinking about all sorts of excuses. He picked the best one, and went with it. "They let me off early! They let me off early, that's all, it's no big deal, honey." The Intruder seemed to approve and shifted her legs, lightly rubbing them along his swollen cheeks, grazing his face with the fine hairs of her legs. "Trying to cut down on my hours, that's all." He even managed in some nervous laughter, though he didn't have to fake it all that much. "How was-" Ron tried to squirm around and make his position more comfortable, but she killed that notion with a jolt of power, putting him back into place. "H-how was your day?"

And so began the longest phone conversation of Ron's life.

As much as Ron loved his wife, she could ramble sometimes, and this was sadly one of those times. The next few minutes were filled with random oddities as they discussed her day, who had ticked her off, the little fued she had going on with a coworker, how much her feet hurt. It was all banal chatter that he'd learned to filter out. Harmless enough.

Not so harmless when he had a pair of thick thighs threatening to crack his skull, however. The Intruder kept the pressure up throughout the talk, keeping him secure, never easing up all the way. Sometimes she'd crank it up, make him suffer for no other reason than her amusement. Sometimes she'd rhythmically flex her thighs, surging from one side to the other, as if she were chewing his head. This painful, grinding, cracking motion that left his jaw aching and made the simple act of talking to his wife an agonizing choir.

When the conversation drew to a close, Ron was a sweating, heaving mess on the floor, and he thought one or two of his teeth were cracking.

"Well, look," His wife went on, already growing used to his constant groans. "I'm on the way in, I'll be there soon. Do you need me to pick up anything, or-"

"Yes!" He yelped the word out, a sudden blurt when the Intruder pounded his skull and made the noise come out, jerking him about like an unruly puppet. "Yes, yes, I mean, yeah, I need you to pick up a, uh...uh..." The legs were closing in again, harder than ever before, so little space, no mercy, no relent, no give, no anything. Think, think, [i]think[/i]-

"Pizza!" The answer came to him just as the stars began to light up around his eyes. "I'll order a pizza at Mario's, you can pick it up, that would be great. Yes..." With the answer made, the crushing ceased, and he was allowed to stay in the land of the living for a little while longer. It was the best he could think of - it would take her a while to figure out he hadn't called anything, buying him at least twenty minutes to keep her away from this hell.

"Oh, okay." She chirped back with a tinge confusion, but not enough to form a question. "I'll swing by there, then. Love you, honey."

"Love you-"

The Intruder clicked off the phone and tossed it aside, not caring about where it landed or whatever Ron's final syllable. She looked down at him, head turning left and right. Thinking. Considering. Waiting.

And then she began to bring her legs in.

"No, no-"

And she tucked her ankle under the knee of her other leg.

"Please, I did what you wanted, don't-"

And she began to crush and squeeze wring his neck, taking away all his air. This hold wasn't like the other ones she'd done - here, she'd formed her legs in the shape of a '4', creating a force that came down on his throat from all sides. It was like he was being hanged, like her legs were a rope wrapped around his arteries.

Blood was rushing out of his head, skin was changing colors, and it felt like his eyes were on the verge of bursting out of his head. She responded to his struggles and silent pleas with a hard jerk to the side, cracking his neck and slamming his face on the floor, hammering it into the carpet.

He couldn't feel it, thankfully. He was already fading. Going, going...

Gone.