Beast Legs

Betty Washington (Née Bollier) came from a long line of athletes. Her mother had been an Olympic track star, and her father had a short soccer career. It was only natural, then, that she ended up marrying an athletic man herself, a former All-American collegiate wrestler-turned-boxer with a winning, if not outstanding, record on the professional circuit. Their son, taking after his parents, had joined the hockey team at his high school, and become extremely invested in all the school sports. That, in fact, was what got the family together today, her son's love of school sports, to watch a local broadcast of a high school wrestling meet across town.

She herself was never an athlete, not competitively anyway, but she did have a love of bicycles. While she'd abandoned her ideas of a Tour-de-France run one day, she still took great joy in pushing herself on a racing bike, riding through town in the skintight suit that showed off her powerful thighs. In truth, she was proud of her thighs, though she would never admit it, not with the way her husband and son treated her about them. Even she would have had to admit it wasn't really conventionally attractive, and quite a contrast to the demure housewife she presented herself as, and they certainly made her love of skirts a little hard to indulge in. Still, they were a sign of how hard she worked at the cycling. She appreciated their athletic accomplishments, after all, he just wished that they would appreciate hers without mocking the physical results. She could hardly ride as well as she did without some physical changes to her body, after all, and her thighs were a sign of how good she was at what she loved to do.

To them, though, well...

"Hey, beast-legs," her husband called out to her, as the event paused briefly between rounds for a short conversation with the competitor, "Go pour me a beer, would you?"

"Me too, mom!" Her son added.

"You're too young to drink, James," she answered sternly, "But I'll get you a glass of grapefruit juice."

"You going to squeeze it fresh, mom?" He asked. She took a moment to try to understand what he'd just asked since she'd never done that before, but he quickly added, "I mean, I see you got a lemon press out," he said, pointing at her legs.

"Ha! Good one, Junior!" Her husband congratulated him on the comment, raising a hand for a high-five, as Betty slunk off to the kitchen, leaving the laughing pair behind her.

She had never minded a little bit of teasing, of course, she'd grown up with five brothers, and the nickname 'Beast-legs Betty' (or 'Beast-Legs Bollier' at school) had stuck to her not long after she'd taken up bicycling, but it always seemed to come more at night, especially when they had some sport to watch. She sighed as she poured her husband his drink, and got the bottle of lemonade out of the refrigerator.

Then, curious for a moment, she placed it to the side and pulled out a grapefruit instead. It was a big one, even for the breed of oversized fruit, but she examined it for a moment, running her hands over the ridges, and then lowered down and placed it between her thighs. She gripped it for a moment, and then stiffened, squeezing against the citrus's skin.

Naturally, it didn't stand a chance. There was no hard shell like a watermelon, after all, and she was more interested in whether or not she could than showing off anyway. It crumpled like an old tin can, and the juices rolled down her thighs. She smiled at the feeling, not thrilled by the taunt that had provoked it but happy to know she could when she heard a voice from the other room.

"Damnit, Betty, what the hell's taking so long, ya stop to shave your legs or something?!"

"No!" She answered back quickly, finishing pouring the grapefruit juice and quickly wiping the liquid from her thighs, "No, no, sorry, just... Just dropped something!" She called out, stopping for just a second to make sure the juice was no longer staining her.

Both her husband's chair and the couch her son was sitting on had their backs to the kitchen entrance, so the pair of them didn't see her come in with their drinks. On the screen, she saw that the next match had started, with a girl from her son's school taking on a boy from their cross-town rivals.

Although, honestly, taking on might have been a little bit generous as far as describing what was happening onscreen. The girl was a wrestler, after all, and like any wrestler, she had plenty of meat on her bones. Meat that was, at the moment, wrapping around the midsection of the cross-town rival boy, crushing his midsection, while she held down his shoulders. She couldn't quite seem to get him pinned to the mat, but that didn't seem to be that important. She could see the boy's face starting to turn purple in the face of his opponent's overpowering squeeze. She couldn't see the young man's midsection, of course, not with the full singlet covering it up, but she was sure by now his body had turned a pale white from the crush, and likely his abs were starting to bruise. It was an exciting thought, the idea of controlling someone with just her legs, crushing their body the way she had just crushed the grapefruit with her thighs. As a mother, she had seen plenty of pained expressions on young men's faces, seeing them pick up knicks and bruises was a natural, so she knew the pain that the young man must have been experiencing between those legs.

She soon realized she wasn't the only one getting excited by the images onscreen.

"Damn, she's really something, isn't it," her husband commented.

"Yeah, she's... She's really, uh..." Her son started, "Umm... Cool. Yeah, she's cool."

"You ever talk to her?" He asked.

"Nah... I mean, I thought about it, but like... I dunno, she's... She's just really cool."

"You oughta," the older man advised, "If you can get the attention of a girl wi-"

"Got your drinks!" She quickly interrupted, and couldn't help laughing a little at the sight of her two men responding. Her son practically jumped right out of his seat, and her husband whipped his head around so hard she half expected him to fall out of his chair.

"Oh, uh, hi mom!" Her son said nervously.

"Hey, Betty. Uh, Beast-Legs. Uh, Betty!" Her husband responded, blushing a little bit as she handed her son the glass of juice. As he took it, she temporarily glanced down between his legs and saw the undeniable signs of an erection tenting against his pants. She'd thought she'd heard a hint of excitement in his voice, but she hadn't been sure. Besides, he was a teenager, they had unwanted and untimely erections, all the time.

Still, she had a theory about that, and one that was at least somewhat confirmed when she passed by her husband and saw 'something' pressing out against his jeans as well. He took it without talking, his eyes glued to the screen.

She sat down on her chair and watched the two men who seemed spellbound by the image onscreen. It wasn't anything that unexpected, aside from the dominant power of the girl's legs, certainly nothing that would merit the jaw-dropped looks of admiration that she saw from her son and husband. She liked to watch the crushing, but, well, she knew for a fact that they didn't care for women with thick thighs like that.

Or did they? With a small smile on her face, she decided to test that theory.

The whistle blew to end the match, with the girl having managed a dominant and undeniable victory over her male opponent. As soon as she was offscreen, her husband and son leaned back, listening to the local announcer discuss the results and watching them set up the next bout. They had looked practically hypnotized while the girl was onscreen, but now that she was gone, they were back to their usual selves. Although, she did see her son sneaking a few looks at her legs, and she had her suspicions her husband might be as well. He had known her for longer, though, and, if her theory was right, had more experience hiding his interest in her unusually proportioned body.

He saw them perk up a little when the girl stepped out onto the mat once more, and chose that moment to strike, crossing her legs under her skirt, and then tensing them just a little to make them bulge with power. Her son's eyes bulged like he'd just seen an alien land in front of him and offer a blowjob, and a second later he started to cough, the grapefruit juice having journeyed down the wrong pipe in his excitement to see her legs.

She relaxed them as her husband turned his head to her, although it was hard to 'relax' such large muscles to the point of completely fading, and for a moment she could see the excitement in his eyes, though he quickly tried to cover it up.

"Come on, beast-legs, sit straight, you look like a horse when you do that."

"Y-yeah!" Her son added, "I just drank this wrong 'cause I thought the minotaur had showed up in my house!"

They were being rude, but she could see the reason for it now, and she just smiled at their responses, now that she understood them. She had, quite naturally, assumed that the response had come from a genuine dislike and distaste in her body. Now, she realized, quite the opposite was the case. They weren't disgusted by her. They were just trying to hide just how much they liked what they saw.

The second match featured the girl from her son's school again, and she saw her husband and son immediately lean forward, falling back into the trance of watching the large-legged young woman at work once more. She was watching as well, but for a different reason, trying to understand the appeal that the girl had. Obviously, every man wanted to be between a beautiful young woman's legs, but that wasn't typically the way they wanted it to happen. Though she supposed her husband had always been exceptional, and her son had always taken after him. This was just another way they were alike.

When the match started, she slowly hiked up the hem of her skirt, making sure that her husband and son alike could see the powerful muscles in her legs, crossing them a little tighter. They wouldn't admit it, but it got the point across, and despite the excitement they had shown for the competitors when the match had started, the pair seemed to be incapable of choosing where to best focus their attention, whether it was on the girl on the screen or the woman in the room.

She decided to answer it for them, uncrossing her legs, setting them, only to cross them again on the other side, muscles pressed against the fabric of her skirt. She could see the two men shift, her son crossing his legs as well, and her husband seeming to need to adjust something in his seat.

"Hey, Betty, could you go a-"

He started to ask, and she interrupted him by tensing the muscles of her legs completely until they stood out against her flesh like a roadmap of power.

He stopped talking, his eyes on her thighs, then up to her face. She met his gaze but pretended not to know what he was so excited by.

"Yes, Jim?" She asked, "Was there something you wanted?" She punctuated the question by flexing her thighs again.

He paused for a moment, and then faked a loud yawn, "Ahhhhhh... I just feel so tired all of a sudden. Do you want to come to bed with me, babe?" He asked.

"Oh, happily," she responded, standing up and leading the way to the bedroom, swaying her hips a little as she did to make sure he saw her thighs as she walked.

She stepped into the room, and quickly dropped her skirt and top, leaving her only in her black lingerie. Black was a practical color, after all, you didn't need to worry as much about washing it with other colors, and it was often cheap. It looked good on her, too.

Her husband wasn't far behind her (obviously, how could he have been willing to wait with how excited he seemed?) and she felt his hand strike her ass the moment he stepped into the room.

"Are you sure that's the part of my body you want to touch?" She asked him, swiftly turning around. He had already removed his shirt, though not his pants, seemingly so eager to get to bed with her that he couldn't wait to even say hello before starting to strip down.

He feigned confusion in response to her question, "What do you mean, babe?" He asked.

She pressed her body close, rubbing her thighs along his, "What I mean, love, is that I saw how you were watching that match, I saw how excited you got when you were looking at my legs, I saw how easily distracted you were by my thighs. I know you love my legs, Jim, I know you want them wrapped around you. You could have asked any time, I'd have been happy to indulge!"

He shook his head, but his growing arousal against her told a different story. Men could lie about what they liked, but their bodies couldn't, and right now that part of him was screaming that she was right, that he wanted nothing more than to feel her thighs around his body.

"No, honey, nothing like that," he said, "It's been a few days, and anything would have got me excited. You know you're beautiful, Betty, but come on, you got the legs of a horse." He said it smoothly, but the look in his eyes told a different story. He didn't look mean or taunting, he looked like he was looking for a sign that his denial had worked.

"Oh, do I?" She asked. He nodded, and she pressed her thigh harder against the bulge in his pants, "I didn't know you wanted to fuck horses." She told him.

He blushed "I don't, Betty!" He said quickly.

"Oh, you don't? You certainly feel like you do, pressed up against my 'beast' legs," she taunted him, reaching down and pressing her hand against his ass, "If you don't want that, then there's an easy way to prove it."

"And what would that be?" He asked.

"Wrestle me," she answered simply, "You were a college wrestler, if you don't love my legs, then you shouldn't have a problem, right?" He paused, and she prodded him, "Right?"

She knew that he must have had a thousand thoughts running through his mind right now, but mostly that he wanted it, whether he'd admit it or not.

Finally, he stepped away from her, "Alright, Betty, we can do this," he said, "but when I win, I don't wanna hear any more of this nonsense about me liking your legs so much."

"And WHEN I win," she responded, "It's all you'll hear for a long time."

There was no bell, it was after all just an informal contest at home, but it was as if they had both heard it when they sprung into action, stepping in and grabbing onto each other. Her husband was a large man, and while his days of wrestling were long gone and he had gained plenty of non-muscle weight, he still had strength to spare. When they locked up, he immediately began to push, and she immediately began to slip backward.

She couldn't outmuscle him in the upper body, but after a second, she remembered what it was he had liked so much, and set her feet, trying to keep steady with her thighs instead of her arms and torso. In an instant, everything changed, and they came to a standstill. His power, so overwhelming a mere second ago, seemed to suddenly fade to nothing and he couldn't budge her. She smiled up at him, pleased to see the shocked look on his face when he realized she had stopped him.

"Is something wrong, dear?" She asked, tensing her legs and feeling his struggles increase against her power. She felt him increase his effort, pouring on more muscle, but she countered by tensing harder and it was as if he had all the strength of a tiny child. He'd always seemed so strong and capable of overpowering her (anyone, really) but right now, life seemed to have changed and be operating on dream logic. She could feel his muscles bulging, she could see his bare, hairy pecs and powerful arms, but in the face of her thighs, he might as well not have been there.

"Betty, what in the he-" He started, and she didn't let him finish, stepping forward, wrapping one of her powerful legs around the back of his, pulling back while leaning forward with all she had. He might as well have been some sort of practice dummy for all the effort it took, and the pair of them fell to the ground together, his back slamming onto the hard floor of their bedroom.

"Betty, what are y-" He began to speak, but she cut him off, kissing him powerfully to distract him while she repositioned into what she believed from the announcing she heard was something called a half guard, their legs intertwined as if she was trying to grind on his thigh. In truth, his thigh was her target, but not for grinding, she wanted to see just how strong her legs really were. She squeezed her legs together, large biker's thighs bulging and crushing his muscles as if they were made from balled-up tissue paper.

"AGGHHHHH!" The only thing that silenced his scream was her lips covering his, and she pulled her legs tighter, increasing the pressure. She didn't want their son to hear what was happening, so she kept up the kiss, massaging his tongue with hers, while she poured on the force, and like some sort of pressure-activated dog toy, his screams grew louder in her mouth. Was he just surprised? He'd always seemed so powerful. How could he be so weak now?

She needed the answer, she released him for a moment, and he looked up at her, gasping in shock. "Betty, what are y-"

"Tense," She said quickly.

He looked up at her, "What do you mean tense?"

"Tense." She ordered him again and clarified by crushing her thighs down and making him cry out.

"AGHHH-MMMMMF!" She'd forgotten about his voice, and cut off his cry with her hand over his lips. After a second of torture, she released her hold and looked down at him again.

"Tense," she commanded, and this time he did if only for the moment of protection. She felt his thighs flex out against hers, and flexed back.

The result was the same. He knew it was coming, had tried to fight it, and his power had been like that of a shadow, she crushed him like his muscles were foam, and got the same scream as before. She dove in like a hungry animal, resuming the kiss to keep him quiet, holding the back of his head to press him to her lips.

She'd established all she needed to know. All he would need to know as well, as far as she was concerned. She was dominant. Her thighs were better. As far as she was concerned, it was over. She pulled back.

"Submit." She commanded him. He didn't answer, looking up at her. Was he denying the power in her legs? Her muscles had just crushed his into bruised mincemeat, and he wasn't willing to give in? He couldn't accept that she had the power here? What was WRONG with him? She glared, and repeated the command, "Submit!," following it up by crushing down on his thighs once more.

"GGGHHHHHHHHH!" He had his teeth gritted and writhed beneath her, she felt his shaft press against her musclebound thigh as he twisted, felt his arousal growing despite his torture, but he still wouldn't give in. He'd always been a proud man, of course, but it wasn't pride to deny what they could both see and feel. She saw him raise his hand, and thought for a moment he was about to tap out, but no, he reached out almost blindly as if he wanted to push her away, and she let him touch her side, if he needed more proof he was trapped, she would let him have it.

"SUBMIT!" She ordered a final time and squeezed with all she had. His cry of agony in response was almost horrifying to her, but at this point, she didn't care if their son became aware, her husband's defiance of her will could be an abject lesson in pride. The man's hand grasped against her muscles, but he just shook his head, still refusing to tap out.

She had a bit of a mean smile on her lips at that. She would have liked to have him tap out, of course, but if he wouldn't, it would give her a chance to continue the attack. She released her grip on his leg, but only to give herself a chance to twist around and wrap her python thighs around his midsection.