Shapeshifter's blog

More of a bodyscissor focus in this one :)

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His short, thick legs fastened around my abdomen just above my waist. Cruelly, they felt warm and safe, the very opposite of their intent when submission and control were on my boyfriend’s mind.
I instinctively flexed my abs to resist the squeeze that I was all too aware he could deliver, but found this to be wasted energy. The expected crush didn’t come, instead, he casually laid and just watched me.

He smiled at the power he knew his tree trunks legs had over me whenever they were around me, whenever they were laid over me … hell, whenever they were in close proximity or line of sight! There was a sudden, short, pulsing squeeze from his thighs and I felt a rush of adrenaline. He followed with another, and then another, each time holding the pressure a second longer whilst all the time watching my expression.

I’d laid my head back on a pillow, my back arched from the solid, round thigh that secured me from beneath it. My eyes had closed and hands had moved to rest upon the mound of muscle that surrounded me.

“Open your eyes” I heard him say, his voice soft “Open your eyes and look at me”

I raised my head and looked at him as those once relaxed legs now began to tighten. The pulsing squeeze had been a warm up - a warning shot - for the crushing experience I was about to receive.

First his adductors flexed, bracing me in position in the high-between-the-thigh spot he’d locked me in. Now, with his ankles securely locked and the foot of his upper leg tucked behind the foot of the lower, his legs began to straighten.

With their thickness the pressure built quickly, I held my gaze into his, feeling my expression change and watching his sparkling eyes drink in every detail of my resistance and suffering.

“That's it, keep looking at me” he said, having me fight every instinct I had to close my eyes as I flexed my core against the squeeze.

He laughed a little and looked to my abdomen, enjoying the sight of his thick thighs swelling as they crushed me.

“You can flex all you want” he looked back at me, in part to watch my expression again and also to check I was still looking at him “It’s over once you’re in there, my legs are going to keep tightening and tightening around you” my hands that had been admiring the feel of the muscle beneath them now pushed in vain at the legs that were moving so purposefully slow that they were still not yet at full extension “Just like a vice”.

My heels were planted into the duvet now as I bridged and tried to push back, to shift the lock around me and resist that little bit longer, but this futile attempt was brought to a swift end with a small rotation of his hips coupled with the incessantly growing pressure. I was soon flat on my back again, squeezed and obedient.

With them finally at full extension I grit my teeth and held on as long as I could. My squeezer continued to watch me, enjoying the feel and sight of my squirms, his experience enhanced by the sound of my groans as he casually laid and admired the work of his leggy grip. My abs began to faulter and his thighs closed the gap of their fractional surrender. His control was absolute and with my hands tapping the solid musculature of his thighs, I signalled my surrender.

He relinquished his grip steadily, a warmth flooding through my legs as the restricted circulation was granted free passage. His ankles remained crossed and legs still around me, feeling as though they were absorbing the very energy of my submission.

Granting me only a few seconds of respite he bent towards me at the waist and reached across my abdomen, taking hold of my left side and with a parting of his legs turned me towards him, re-securing his scissor a little higher to now be in the space between the base of my rib cage and top of my waist.

“Oh no” I breathed, having fallen victim to this particular variation countless times before, and was met once more by that submission assured grin.

“You didn’t think you were getting away from this one, did you?” he mocked “I saw that bridge, you need reminding of your place”

The stretch to full extension came more quickly this time. It wasn’t a sudden burst of pressure – he knew the harm he could do and had long favoured breaking me down slowly - watching my resistance turn to acceptance, my fight turn to surrender – but unlike his slower squeeze across my stomach, he reached his target power over the course of only six seconds, flexing his legs as far as possible with my body in this position.

I couldn’t even speak. The squeeze felt incredible, my body registering a peculiar combination of pressure and stretch on my obliques. He expertly held this at the point where only a few percent more would have me tapping. I had instinctively curled forwards, bringing my body so close to his that he could easily have got his arms around me and pulled me into a hug from this position. My hands were on his chest as though I was bracing against him, my head was down and my eyes clenched shut. I’d brought my knees so high behind him they almost touched the perfect curve of the bubble that was his ass. His power had got me foetal, curled up in defence of his crush.

“Oh my god” I said through clenched teeth “Oh my god, I give up”

The bands of solid muscle slowly relaxed. His right leg, the one that had formed the upper part of his trap and lay over me, bent at the knee and brought his thick calf to my back, pulling me forwards a little and holding me there, the tips of the toes of that foot tucked behind his left calf to signal enclosure. The limitation of his short legs meant he could not fully secure a figure four around my body.

Not for the first time, I allowed myself the fantasy of once again wondering just what that would feel like? How could he play with that power and position? How long could he hold it? Indefinitely? The embrace alone would have me afraid to move for fear of having the life squeezed out of me.

“Lay on your front” he said suddenly, unlocking his legs and pulling me from my imagination.

He repositioned now to be turned away from me, sliding one leg beneath me and the other across my back. As before, the foot of his upper leg tucked behind the foot of the lower leg. I had noticed this was a feature across all of his scissorholds where there was a top and bottom position.

Shuffling once again to ensure I was as high between his thighs as possible, he set about flexing and relaxing, ensuring this time their pressure was across my diaphragm. I was instantly breathless with each squeeze, each muscular contraction constricted my chest and held me at exhalation.

“What shall we call this one?” he asked rhetorically, facing away from me as I gasped with every opportunity to take a breath that I could, unable to actually hold enough air to form words “The Python Grip? Or how about The Anaconda Attack?” he considered “No, no, I wouldn’t be letting you take ANY air with either of those would I?”, there was a prolonged squeeze on the word ‘any’ as if to demonstrate just how easily he could do that “I’m going to stick with The Vice for now, how’s that sound to you, jobber?”

I remained unable to reply, pained and increasingly suffocated but enjoying every second of his constrictive control “Good" he chuckled "I’m going to take that as a breathless yes”

I can’t remember how long this had continued for. There were gaps to allow longer breaths, almost as if he could sense or at least had an educated guess of when I was becoming more lightheaded, but eventually he let me free, allowed me to catch my breath then eased me on to my back.

Adjusting his gear and the contents within as he knelt up beside me, he moved to mount my chest reverse style, facing towards my feet, resting his weight on me momentarily before settling back onto my face, his glutes easily enveloping my features. He rested there a brief moment before his now sweating thighs slid around my head and drew me up into a stifling reverse figure four.

My boyfriend and I had just finished an after dinner walk along the river when I felt a nudge in my side. Walking this closely together I had to look down to make eye contact and see what he wanted. He directed my gaze forwards with a nod of his head and a quick “Look there”.

I followed his line of sight to see a square, wall mounted metallic sign of black text on a yellow background which read 'Caution - Clamping Used In This Area'.

To the average person it was merely yet another urban warning sign, one of so many that were bolted to walls, barriers and street poles, this one aimed particularly at any would-be parking charge dodgers. But to us, even so early in the relationship, it meant something else entirely. It meant something to which my body responded with a surge of adrenaline, the feeling that is so often described as butterflies. I grinned as my eyes shot back to him then quickly down to his shapely legs that were filling out the smart black trousers he wore.

Standing 5’ 5” and blessed with the body-beautiful genes of what I likened to a small rugby player (but whose own musculature was actually the product of weight training and cross fit and not the game of rugby) this man who’d stolen my heart was shorter than me by a full four inches but felt at a minimum four times as powerful, particularly when we wrestled. He seemed to be always in the mood to match up, it was intrinsic to how we both expressed our sexuality. He was a bedroom wrestler, a dining room wrestler, a kitchen wrestler, a hotel room wrestler and very late one night even a back garden wrestler – seeing the moon glowing fully behind him as he looked down at me from his pinning position was a sight that was burnt happily into my memory.

Wrestling was how we had started talking. Repeated visits to and appreciation of each other’s online profiles leading on to message exchanges and eventually meeting. The chemistry had started online and been confirmed in person. What had started as conversation quickly became a smile when reading his messages, frequent in-real-life laughs at his witty responses and remarks, the rush of excitement as I read and re-read his vivid descriptions of particular moves and techniques. Every electronic ding that heralded the arrival of a new message instantly made me hope it was one from him.

And where did the clamping sign come into this? Clamping, I’d quickly come to learn, was what he liked to call a particular pin of his. He was fond of giving his own names to wrestling holds. Clamping was when that powerhouse of a build got the better of mine and he’d crash me out onto my back, mounting to be sat on my stomach or lower chest where he’d sit and take joy in being able to so easily hold me down a moment before moving up, his crotch coming to rest on my mouth and his beautifully thick thighs closing in tightly either side of my head and holding me in place.

Just as the bright yellow sign, which now passed on our right as we turned and left the mild evening air of the outdoors to enter the cooler air of the busy city centre hotel lobby, threatened to clad the tyre of a wrongfully parked vehicle in a solid metal casing, his own solid thighs – which felt at his will like they became an organic steel - would envelope my head and enter a playful game of squeeze and release as he skilfully engaged and relaxed his developed adductors.

That mental barrage of images of his legs, recollections of their many previous uses and the very fact he’d made a point of drawing my attention to the sign meant my excitement was growing, forcing me to stuff my hands in my pockets as we passed by the long reception desk to mask the visible reaction I was conscious was beginning to show. We crossed the polished floor and stepped into a waiting lift where I quickly pressed the button for floor 7, the indiscernible chatter from the nearby café-bar rapidly diminishing to silence as the doors closed and our suspended box beginning to ascend.

No sooner were we underway he pushed up square against me and brushed his right thigh along the outside of my left, the butterflies took flight again at the contact as he glanced down to check his positioning then looked up into my eyes, worked his left leg between mine and gripped my thigh between both of his. I wanted to slam my hand on the emergency stop and willed no one else to want this lift between now and us getting to our floor. He flexed his quads, his eyes sparkling as I involuntarily bit my bottom lip at the feel of the pressure, before reaching up and cupping a hand on the back of my neck, guiding me down to bring my ear to his mouth where he whispered “Wait until that’s your head”.

No amount of pocket stuffing could hide this now and I hoped no one was waiting outside as the lift slowed to a stop and the doors opened. Forgivingly, the coast was clear. He took the opportunity to keep me in his thigh grip a moment longer then released my leg and took my hand, leading us out and to our room.

The walk along the corridor to room 710 was full of anticipation, a quick swipe of the access card and the door was open. Once across the threshold he moved around and behind me, closing the door and turning the lock. Remaining behind and with his hands now on my waist he guided me to the foot of the bed, turned me around to face him and sat me down. Straddling my legs I edged backwards so he could come to rest on my lap, his folded knees now either side of me and instinctively closing in and applying a light pressure. He feigned moving in for a kiss and instead shifted, lifting up first one side and then the other, extending a leg with each movement to cross them at the ankle behind me. I braced myself for the inevitable and incredible crush he could deliver but instead he laughed, moving forwards and manoeuvring me to be laid on my back. I arched to accommodate his locked feet behind me before he quickly uncrossed them and moved to sit on my chest. Advancing forwards to rest his crotch on my face he reached down, linked his fingers behind my head and pulled up, bringing me forwards to be buried in the warm and soft material before drawing his thighs tightly together.

The Clamp was locked on.

His hands maintained the hold on the back of my head as his thighs worked their own on the sides. I looked up as best I could to glimpse at his face and found he’d tilted his head back a little and closed his eyes, his expression a very visible sign - alongside the very physical one that I could feel pushing against the barrier his clothing formed - that he was enjoying every second of working me in his grip. Releasing my head from his hands but holding me tight with his legs, and with eyes still closed, his fingers worked to unbutton his shirt from top to bottom, untucking it from his waist and sliding it off first one shoulder and then the next, letting it drop off the side of the bed. His impressive chest rose and fell strongly with each breath as the grip-and-ease continued around my skull, never letting go to allow me to rest back on to the bed.

His hands found their way down to his waistband where they first opened the clip of his fly before finding and lowering the zip a couple of centimetres. He paused a moment to look back down at me and without a word laced his hands back behind my head, rolled to his right and took me with him, stretching out those short and powerful legs to secure a headscissor. A light squeeze - a tease of what was to come - gave way to a brief release of pressure, a full pull up and repositioning of my head into both his crotch and the thickest part of his thighs, and then a re-locking of his ankles. He straightened out his legs, closing his eyes once more as he set about this first stage of his wrestling domination, simultaneously crushing and smothering my head.

I couldn’t breathe.

The increasing tightness around me conjured an image in my mind of a void, a pitch-black void around my lower rib cage that was slowly expanding. There was a heady mix of panic and pleasure as I realised, much to the joy of my heel, that his increasingly constrictive thighs had been expertly and intentionally placed to constrict around my diaphragm. They had delivered a prolonged and now increasing pressure which, with every exhale, drew his thighs a little closer together.

I was propped up on my elbows, facing down with my opponent to my right. My legs, which had initially been kicking as I squirmed against the constriction, now lay still, no energy could be wasted on a futile attempt at escape. My heel casually laid on his side, one arm on my back and the other propping up his head as he joyfully and intently watched the expressive interplay of pleasure, pain and panic across my face.

“Oh my god … I …” 'can’t breathe' I had wanted to say, but I couldn’t talk any further, the few words I had managed were deeper than my normal voice and cut short by the pure exhaustion of air, akin to trying to speak a full sentence in the dying two seconds of a full forced exhalation.

I tried again to draw breath but couldn’t, the increasing void in my abdomen had spawned a twin in my head as my peripheral vision began to swim and I tapped frantically, collapsing forwards as the thighs slowly eased up and I could gratefully take in precious air. The incremental release from around me was not to prolong the suffocation, it was to prevent a sudden recoil in my thorax. This man indeed knew what he was doing. His deadly thighs remained around me as he had warned they would. A tap, beg or call for submission would release the pressure, but not the hold.

“Perfect” I heard him say, a grin obvious in his tone but not seen by me as my face was sunk into the duvet. He shifted his scissorhold a little lower now and held me a moment, the heat from his thighs radiating through me before he began to apply his vice-like pressure again. I noticed he would do this rotation of positions, seldom focusing on the same place twice in succession. He wanted a gradual wear down, he wanted options, he wanted to revisit a site and it not be sore, not wanting me to volunteer too soon a surrender. This squeeze session was to be a lesson, this squeeze session was to be prolonged.

I had brought this entirely upon myself.

Prior to our meet I had been a typical cocky jobber, this natural affinity for winding guys up bolstered by the mental state I’d developed from spending more than a few recent occasions being more of a heel. I’d talked and met with guys more jobber than I who had wished to be on the receiving end of the facesits and headscissors I was most familiar with and fond of applying, and I’d applied these happily.
The dynamic of him being the heel in our conversations had been established early, indeed I’d suffered pleasurable defeat again and again in this man’s thighs in our first encounter, but that had been years ago. Through a variety of the meets I’d had since then and a consistent dedication to exercise I’d gained more size, strength and experience.

“You can crush me as tight and as long as you would like” I’d invited time and again “Apply any hold you want, I’m sure I can take it”

He’d tried to remind me of the previous defeat but I brushed it off, expecting at some point to turn the tables when in person once I’d had my fill of being a squeezetoy and making him mine, “I’ll show him who’s actually the boss this time” I’d thought to myself.

Now, as those thighs squeezed out another submission, I was reminded what it was like to be between the legs of a true scissor heel. This man knew not only how to apply a scissorhold, but where to apply that particular variation most effectively, which one to use and in what order to gradually wear an opponent down, how to play with positioning and the muscles of the thighs to alternate the pressure to effect the much desired weakening and extract the sweet submission.

As I tapped to the scissor across my torso I found myself manipulated to be laid on my back, him now behind as those long and capable legs effortlessly fashioned a figure four bodyscissor around me, his arms – though I tried to hold them off – wound just easily around my neck and applied a light pressure. This was his game. A constant and tolerable pressure to begin with that would hold you in a state of squirming and sap your energy until the gradual build up to crush out the submission. I laid as still as I could, I had learned early that increased movement brought increased pressure.

His deep and restful breathing behind me was a stark and audible contrast to my own almost choking gasps as he held me fast, ready to lock down in an instant if I was foolish enough to attempt escape. I hadn’t felt such control and containment for so long, such an inability to free myself and fight back. My body ached, my neck ached, I was slowly being squeezed and choked in this move of dual containment and I was loving it. I was excited and nervous of the power he had over me, fearing and craving it in equal measure.

It was a solid reminder of the skill of a true scissor master and above all, of being careful what you wish for.

The difference in size was reflected in both height and weight and played an important part in the enjoyment and dynamic of the meet.

My opponent stood two inches taller than I, a negligible difference when it came to reach and up-close positioning, but he weighed over 15kg more than I did, and as he stripped out of his clothes to slide on the gear he’d chosen for the roll, I could see that the entire weight difference was in muscle, and that the difference was a debt that - if we were going to wrestle competitively - I would be paying for with interest.

His build wasn’t a complete surprise of course, I’d viewed with keen and grateful eyes the many pictures he’d shared, but the reality was so much better than the images his camera had captured.

As it happened the broad guy that smiled as he adjusted his gear and knelt opposite me was predominantly going to let me practice holds and take a more dominating role with him. The impressive size he carried and strength contained therein were to be my playground and playthings.

We didn’t want it to be entirely one-sided though, I was desperate to sample his power and wrestling style, the very way he filled his singlet alone had me licking my lips. Luckily for me my taunts in the weeks preceding our meet had combined with his existing deep love of wrestling to firmly establish a want to demonstrate his abilities, to lock me up and pay me back for the jabs and jibes I’d ceaselessly doled his way, and so - with awareness to the size difference - we started with a light competitive bout.

His headlock takedown made easy work of hoisting me from my knees and on to my back. Within half a second my world spun and I could tell in what I could see of his face from this position that this was absolutely zero effort for him. I grew all the more excited that I would be in control of the body that was so easily overpowering mine.

This headlock wasn’t solely to be a takedown, it was to also bring surrender, and he began the process with a slow, growing pressure, the size of his arms meaning he didn’t need to flex much at all to have his sizeable bicep swelling, closing the already small space the hold created and pressing down on my carotid artery.

I began to feel the pulse in my neck as the pressure grew and he readjusted himself forwards to bury me beneath his armpit, grinning down at me as he did so before turning and using his other arm to hook one of my legs that I’d started using to try and bridge in protest.

“Ready?” I heard him ask as he brought his arms together, effortlessly curling me around his back. The pressure on my neck and the growing stretch in my spine and hamstring were initially a fun mix of pleasurable punishment before - as I started to become lightheaded - I submitted to him.

He eased off the pressure, unlocked his arms from their respective holds and laid back, resting some of his muscular weight on top of me as he casually laced his hands behind his head. He mockingly sighed in contentment, turned to look at me to see that I'd heard him then moved forwards to kneel again and return to his side of the mat.

It had played out perfectly; a fun display of strength, a warning of his abilities, and an opportunity for me to experience his control before the imminent start of my place of command took hold.

I rolled up on to my knees and we locked up once again. This time I was the first to secure the headlock, and with definite cooperation on his part I took him down to his back and swiftly threw myself on top. From here I reworked my arms to have my left around the back of his neck, using the hand of this arm to lock on to my right bicep and bring my right hand up and across his mouth.

I instantly felt him move beneath me, his warm hands reaching up to grasp my arms as they tightened around him and I cupped the hand more firmly, forcing him now to breathe through only his nose. Each inhale became increasingly audible with the narrow, turbulent flow the location of my hand created.

This particular move was a new favourite that had been discovered fairly recently. Through my years of wrestling I’d learned where my strengths and weaknesses lay. One to one competitive matches? Fine if we are within a few pounds or kg of one another. Against bigger guys? With a disparity such as this? Not a chance for me. Not unless they sought a smaller-dominates-bigger dynamic, are severely lacking in skill or have a specific fetish for holds that they’d like me to apply.

I’d found in this time that I’d been naturally drawn to moves that work by restricting breathing. I’ve never been a big guy, in fact still at my current sub-70kg weight this was the most toned and muscular I’d been, and I’d learnt from my meets to date - both the fun and the disastrous - that my build allowed my limbs to fix firmly around a neck to apply a tight scissor or choke. The use of my hands came from the more recent tutelage of a long-term wrestle buddy who’d began introducing me to what he simply termed 'hand over mouth'.

It was these arms I was using now with increasing effect, the squeeze building incrementally as I drew them closer together, first one elbow walked and repositioned and then the other, reshaping ever smaller the frame they created. I commanded my opponent to open his eyes and keep them open as I focused mine directly into his. I wanted him to see the intent I had in controlling him and making him submit to me and for him to clearly see I was enjoying every single second of doing so.

His determination to not be beaten so quickly could be both seen in the defiant stare that looked back at me and felt in the deep, controlled breaths that raised and lowered his chest, taking my body up and down with each rise and fall, evidencing his ability to withstand my technique.

I sighed in mock disappointment.

“As you wish” I said as I moved to what I consider the second phase of this hold, reserved for stubborn opponents like this that didn’t grant easily the submission I so wanted to hear.

I slid my legs down alongside his and worked my feet beneath his thick thighs and down under his knees. He flexed his legs straight in response - perhaps thinking I was going to try and grapevine or scissor them together - and this is exactly what I wanted to feel. Using their now rigid form as a solid base, I straightened my own legs, hinged down at the waist, slightly arched my back and pulled myself down with my arms, creating a compressive force to add to my weight. I used my position to focus this on to his diaphragm and the lower aspect of his ribcage.

The muffled groan expelled beneath my still firmly cupped hand was a sweet, rewarding sound. He closed his eyes reflexively as he did this and I ordered them back open and fixed back on to mine. With the eye contact reestablished I cinched my arms as tight as I could get them, increasing the squeeze against his now hot and sweating neck.

He held on longer than I thought against this second stage application of my move, he was definitely tough! But eventually I got the tap, the signal of submission, and I instantly eased the pressure from all angles, remaining and relaxing on top of him a few seconds more before sliding off and moving around to be above his head.

I initially moved as though to apply a scissor, sliding first my left and then my right leg alongside his head as I tilted forwards and planted my hands either side of his waist, and just as he prepared for the expected wrapping up of his head I focused my weight into my arms, slid forwards further and planted down in a swift facesit.

Firmly in place I sat upright and slid my knees out on each side, bearing more weight down on his face that I could feel was trying to move from one side to the other beneath me to secure a channel of air. Not expecting another smother so soon he hadn’t taken a deep breath to replenish the stores for his oxygen hungry body, and was instead already feeling a burn in his lungs.

The movement of his head was to no avail. I had been blessed with glutes that curved naturally into what had been described as an eye catching bubble butt, and I had learnt exactly how to use that curve to my advantage on the mats. He could turn his head side to side or up and down as much as he wanted, there was no way without surrendering to me or unseating me that he’d get a single breath down there.

But the dynamic was already in play, he wouldn’t unseat me, he wouldn’t use that superior strength to lift me off, he would endure the position, experience the burn and the primal panic, the feel of my increasing weight (by grasping my shins and pulling down, using myself as an anchor to apply more weight), all until he could withstand it no more and finally submit. And that he did. His hand reaching up at the last second of his tolerance to pat my right thigh.

I lifted up and heard his deep intake of air, the breath he’d originally held had been spent beneath me on stifled groans and muffled moans, leaving his lungs empty and eager for a refill. I lowered once more as though to retake my position atop his face and heard him make a sharp inhale. I didn’t sit down but instead hovered, knowing from my position that all he would see above him, all that was his visual world, was the eclipse of my Speedo blocking the ceiling light above us and threatening to make his world completely dark and breathless once more with a simple lowering of two further inches.

I held this position until I heard him exhale the urgent breath he’d taken and instantly dropped, re-securing his face beneath and between my glutes. I held this for only twenty or so seconds before voluntarily rising, allowing him time to take a few breaths before - once again on exhale - I lowered, employing this technique in a chain of applications to both weaken him and affirm my place in control.

I was happy at this point, as this game of sit-upon-exhale played out, that smothering had played an ample and effective role in the introduction to the match, planning next to transition to restraining holds that would bend him and use his size against him.

But that would be for round two of my time in charge.

Another short story that came to me this morning :)

Begins:

I was already half awake when I felt my boyfriend stir, rolling towards me to curl an arm over my shoulder. It was only the third time he’d stayed over, the plan to catch up for food after work lovingly evolving to a full evening together and him staying the night, pre-hanging his shirt up on the door before bed to wear again the following day. This manoeuvre into big spoon had already become a habit of his that I was fast becoming attached to, this morning however it would be different. This morning I would learn he liked to wrestle.

“You awake?” he whispered, his left arm finding its way between my shoulder and the pillow to slide under my neck, his right now wandering beneath the duvet to find my chest and stomach, his fingertips feeling their way to the waistband of my briefs and now tucking under my t-shirt, exploring their way back up to lightly stroke my chest.

I didn’t answer verbally but entirely against all my will I gently shivered at the amazing feel of his bed-warm touch. Even without, he could probably feel my heart racing.

A light kiss brushed against the back of my neck, before his lips moved to my right ear, his stubble grazing my skin as the arm that had slid to be under my neck now curled up and wrapped around it, pulling me into him and applying a light choke whilst his other hand continued to stroke my chest “Yeah, you’re awake” his tongue found my earlobe “Fancy a wrestle?”

My eyes opened wide in surprise as his arms gripped me fully and he rolled on to his back, pulling me on top of him where his legs worked their way from under the duvet and wrapped around my own. He arched his back a little and I felt my body simultaneously stretched and restrained as he held for a few seconds then relaxed, but kept me wrapped up, his height advantage working all the more to his benefit.

With his legs securing me in place his arms uncurled and slid up to lock over mine at the shoulder with his hands behind my head. Again he stretched, this time pushing forwards lightly for the nelson to take effect and held it there, my legs starting to kick to break free but his legs tightening around them in reply. His breaths were getting more excited beneath me as he arched his back again, holding it this time and extending further until I had no choice but to submit. He relaxed and held the nelson in place a few more seconds, then unlocked his legs and released my arms, sliding from under me to quickly secure me on my back with a firm hand on my chest.

It was autumn already and dark outside, the only light available to us in the bedroom was the light blue from my digital clock display, but it was more than enough for me to make out his handsome features, and to see that he was looking directly down into my eyes. He moved as if to kiss, I raised my head in response, but his lips only grazed lightly then he pulled away and with a laugh in his voice I heard “Not yet”

He moved along the bed, took my legs at the ankle and pulled me down.

“If you want to kiss my lips you better kiss my arse first”

My heart exploded - I wanted to retaliate, I wanted to feel the challenge of his strength as he got me back under control - but I didn’t want to break his train of thought or interrupt his plan. I was still reeling that he was a wrestler, and now he was into this!

He moved up the bed beside me on all fours, a hand back on my chest to keep me in place (as though I was ever going to move!) as he turned above me and moved to straddle my chest, my arms pinned beneath his legs. The dim glow highlighted his glutes and back before he settled down and my world went dark, buried in his ass as he first settled, lifted back up, then settled back down, moving his hips to wriggle me deeper.

I heard a relaxed breath from him as his hands went back to exploring my chest and stomach, his fingers lightly stroking my skin, sending shivers through my body, my leg hairs standing on end. I felt his glutes flex and relax a few times - was that to taunt? To move me deeper in? - either way, it felt amazing, but my lungs were starting to burn, I didn’t want to break free, but I did need to breathe.

I reluctantly tapped the bed as best I could and he lifted slightly, enough for me to breathe but just enough that his cotton briefs still touched my nose. There was a heady mix of night-before shower and his own natural masculine scent with each inhale.

“Where's that kiss?” he commanded, and I complied without hesitation, raising my head to first kiss the left and then the right side

“Good boy, now, deep breath” he ordered, lifting each leg in turn to free my arms then on full inspiration he settled back down, this time his hands abandoning their stroking exploration to take hold of and part his glutes, burying me fully in their thick, curved depths. He settled back, I felt more of his weight upon me, and instinctively I squirmed again, the pleasure of the pin, the feel of his weight and the dominance of his words and actions causing excited knots in my stomach.

For close to a minute I held on without air, my legs rhythmically flexing and relaxing, sliding and kicking, my hands moving up to grab his glutes, feeling their fullness and shape, padding and vainly pushing at them, feeling the way they moulded perfectly to seal my face between and beneath them. On my breathless tap he lifted, his briefs again upon my nose as I gasped lungfuls of air

“That was” I breathed “Oh my god, that was amazing”

“If you liked that” he said coolly “You’re going to love this” and with a tilt at his hips he leant forward, his legs moving into action to circle and coil around my head, drawing me helplessly between them and back face-first into the glutes that now flexed to welcome and secure me. His thick legs locked me in place and I felt a building pressure as he applied a long, slow squeeze, drawing it out as one does for pleasure, not for submission.

Just as I reached the limit of what I could take of the crush they expertly delivered and was about to reluctantly signal my surrender, the constriction slowly eased, holding me in place a moment longer before the legs that had been in a figure-four now shifted to straight leg.

He rolled to his side, taking me effortlessly with him bound in his scissor grip and reached down, his hand on the back of my head as his legs temporarily parted and he pulled me higher still between them, re-lacing them around me and locking his legs at the ankle. He raised himself on one elbow, relaxing as he set about demonstrating his control of his muscle and strength, building the pressure, maintaining, building further, holding, and then at the point of a tap releasing back to 10% of what they could deliver. I’d known guys I’d met for matches do this before, this was to sap my strength, and I’d loved it. Every. Single. Time.

I moaned with every building pulse of pressure. The sensation was incredible, and my vocalisations spurred him on, I could hear in his own groans and breaths that he too was loving this.

With a prolonged squeeze, this time leaving me no choice but to submit to him, he released the hold and quickly flipped around, using his legs to ensnare my head now in a forward headscissor, my face pulled deep into his crotch by the grip of his hands once again as his ankles re-secured the hold and that rhythmic squeeze and release continued.

With this biceps flexed, his back arched and his legs outstretched he squeezed me back into repeated submission, my hands first grabbing his thighs to part them but rapidly distracted to the role of worship by the thick musculature I could feel rippling and working beneath his taut, hot skin. I tapped them urgently when I could take no more and he eased the crushing pressure, pulling me now into a figure four as he relaxed, the physical weight and shape of his thighs holding me easily against his crotch.

We rested for barely a minute before he slowly released me and moved to be beside me, easing me on to my back where I lay with my eyes closed, smiling widely, my memory fiercely recording every second, sight and sensation.

“Shower time” he declared, and I finally got my kiss before I felt him lift from the bed and head off to the bathroom.

It's been a LONG time since I last wrote anything, I could feel the rust in my fingers as I typed, but this came out of nowhere to me this afternoon so thought I'd post it. Any feedback always welcome :)

Story begins:

It was the final night of my short city break when on impulse more than habit I logged in to the wrestling personals site to check the latest forum, photo and video contributions. My day was done, I was ready to get lost and let my imagination run wild in the world of wrestling that I was still so relentlessly drawn to. I was on my second page of newly added content when an alert that my profile was being viewed popped up. The dopamine rush was welcome, I’d seen this man's profile when I’d logged in on arrival, but was too intimidated to be in touch - there was no way he’d be interested in me, his profile read of skill and competition, he was also taller and had a stone in weight on me, all muscle. Moments later another alert, this time a message, and it was from this guy! I opened it readily, he wrote that liked what he saw, he recognised I was new to the area, and was interested in a meet.

We chatted back and forth a little where I gave the reason for my visit and the unfortunate deadline that came with it. I’d be gone come morning. It wasn’t a problem, he could meet within the hour.

My usual style of writing for a while to better know the guy I’ll be rolling with was cast aside as the body and action pics poured through now the meet was arranged; the vibe was established and there wasn’t a chance in hell I was missing this opportunity!

I gave him the address and set about squaring up the hotel room, the act of setting aside the humble furniture and sliding the mattress to the cleared floor almost now the action of muscle memory than plan and execution.

The wait for him to arrive was full of excitement, I found myself refreshing the page every minute so as not to delay receiving the message of his arrival. Eventually it popped up, that same rush returning, and I headed straight down to reception to meet him.

As soon as our eyes met there was a spark, his photos didn’t do him justice, he was even better in person. His casual clothes of jeans and t-shirt fit snug to his frame, and mentally he was already undressed to his wrestling gear before we even shook hands and I invited him upstairs.

We exchanged pleasantries and thanks for the availability as we made our way to the room, and both visibly relaxed once the door was locked behind us. The outside world was gone, the room was now the arena. I’d been working hard on my fitness for a few months now, and though there was a lot of improvement to come I could tell he was appreciating the effort as the casual talk continued and the clothing came away. Time was already against us, but we were keen to collide and get tangled in each others limbs.

We’d agreed to start from kneeling, so took our positions at opposite ends of the mattress. I absorbed a full top to toe view of him as I walked around him to take my place on the far side. Broader shoulders than mine that tapered down perfectly to the bubble of his ass that he promised he’d use to pin me later and from there to a pair of thick thighs and defined calves. The running, cycling and hiking he listed as doing for fun had clearly left their mark.

The plan for a light roll with holds exchange meant we had ample space before us, we smiled and moved towards each other, I instantly lowered myself - it’s the instinctive jobber in me - as he raised higher and went to grab my head. I dodged it easily and managed to secure my arm around his neck, taking him to the mat where his strength instantly became apparent and he raised back up, taking me with him and breaking the hold, locking his own stronger arm around my neck and taking me down instead. He looked me in the eyes and smiled, a cocky “as if it would be that easy” smile, and brought the headlock in a little tighter. I struggled against it but instantly loved the feeling of power and control he was exerting.

He shifted now, loosening the hold but keeping me in place as he laid on top, lifting up and crashing down twice - using his extra stone of weight to his advantage. I acted winded, but the rush I got was unreal. His hands found mine and our fingers intertwined as he stretched my arms out above me - his pecs parallel with my eyes - then slowly, deliberately, moved up to make a seat of my chest, resting his knees either side of my head and drawing his legs together, his ample thighs now securing my arms as he released my fingers from his and sat up, inching forwards so now his speedo clad crotch rested on the lower half of my face.

He grinned down and mockingly wiped the back of his hand across his forehead, feigning effort and exertion, sweeping aside his hair as he did so.

I struggled but it was in vain, his perfectly applied weight combined with the sexy smother he was applying meant I couldn’t shift him, and my exertion only caused me to have to breathe harder. I tried to swing my legs up to grab him - this had worked for me numerous times in the past - but he was no stranger to this retaliation, and moved as if to grab them. I knew that would lead to a roll up, landing me in greater trouble and burying me deeper in his already-increasingly-hard-to-breathe-against package so I lowered them and gave him a mock scowl which only made him smile wider.

“Give it up, jobber, you know you’re pinned”

I struggled once more in defiance, then tapped one of my hands against the other, his position had conveniently placed my hands with the back of one against the palm of another for just this occasion. He knew exactly what he was doing.

“Good boy, that’s what I like” he said as he climbed off and I took a deep breath, taking a few seconds to recuperate - and relive the memory of the pin - before rolling to my front and getting back to a kneeling position.

He smiled at me as he edged back towards his side of the mattress as he said “If I’d known you’d be this easy, I would have just told you to lay down”

That was it, the heel streak I have was ignited.

We moved in again, neither of us this time trying for a headlock but instead slowly circling, he moved as if to grab my arm and I pulled back, shifting my centre of gravity which was entirely his plan, he quickly lunged and wrapped his arms around my chest, taking me backwards to land on my back and him crash on top of me. The ignited streak was quickly extinguished.

I wrapped my legs around his waist and went straight for a body scissor, rapidly applying the squeeze but the grip of his arms already tightening around me was too much and I released, him now moving to straddle my legs with his to contain them. He gave a light grunt and brought his arms in tighter again, the pressure on my ribs felt incredible but this - combined with his weight pressing down - was already making breathing an issue. My opponent that had been circling with me fifteen seconds before was now a hot, human vice clamped tight around me and working to break me down.

I put all my focus into breathing, trying to keep my chest as expanded as possible as I gasped a breath, but he knew the pattern, he knew how to work me, and he closed that little bit more each time.

“I’ve got you jobber” he whispered now, maintaining the tight squeeze around me with arms that now felt like bands of steel “You’ve already stopped squirming, I know you’re mine”

I worked to take another quick breath, and the arms closed half an inch closer again. I could hear the smile in his voice as he continued “Submit to me, boy, there’s no escape, there’s not another breath without my say so”

I held on for as long as I could against the grip, the burn in my lungs, the feel of his weight upon me, the determination in his strength - but I had to give, had to reach around and tap his back. The solid constriction eased on my surrender. He released the grip slowly, and I felt my ribs ease back to their usual position, not realising in the high of the hold and domination just how tight he had me. This man was a force, I’m so glad I’d logged in!

He lifted up but this time kept me on my back, resting to be sat upon my legs. He looked down and smiled widely, pleased with his work, as he moved first up my body then around to be above me.

My stomach filled with butterflies, I knew what was coming.

He knelt facing my feet, his knees either side of my head, as he lowered himself down on top of me and worked his legs to scoop up my head, drawing it willingly into the incredible valley of his thighs and glutes.

Purposely, with slow and perfect precision, I was manoeuvred into the first stage of his signature hold, his legs expertly coordinating their attack to wrap and trap. He locked me high between his thighs, gripped my wrists with his hands to restrain them, and slowly extended his legs, building the crushing pressure around my skull until I had to tap. The hold was maintained upon my submission but the pressure eased as his legs bent again at the knee, only to build back up to extension and re-apply their crushing grip. I held on longer this time, but it was only seconds more before I had to tap again, my hands tapping the mattress.

I couldn’t hear it as his thighs covered my ears, but he chuckled lightly and repositioned his legs as he kept my arms restrained. His right calf pushed against the back of my head as his foot locked behind his left knee. The new trap was set. My submission already foretold.

But it wasn’t going to be given yet, it wasn’t going to be ACCEPTED yet, this was his goal, this was his prize, the prolonged squeeze and smother of a jobber’s head, the complete ownership of another man in his hamstring prison, the time and space to play at leisure with the sub head made of me - to squeeze, hold, and release at will.

His left arm was already locked firm around my throat as I felt his right snake into position to secure the immobilising choke, shifting his body behind and beneath me to free his hither-to mostly idle legs and coil them around my waist, a soft groan of pleasure travelled upon warm breath against my ear as my hot, exhausted, sweating body settled between his eager thighs and he slowly, casually, crossed his feet at the ankle and stretched his legs to full extension.

Thighs which were already firm to the touch began to take on a new, ridged shape and purpose as thick muscle forged from devotion and discipline set about transforming from flesh to what felt like living marble.

He groaned again, that same pleasurable moan, his sweat-damp head beside mine as he brought his lips close to my ear and whispered “Squirm for me”, ensuring this demand was met by cranking up the already crushing pressure building around my waist.

One feeble hand pushed against the thigh which was slowly squeezing in my right side, but it didn’t budge, and I heard a small laugh from behind before he rolled on to his back and his legs shifted, keeping me held firm but now encircling me, cinching in my waist as they formed a figure four bodyscissor.

He let the thickness of his legs and natural tightness of this position work their squeezing magic, before he began slowly flexing and relaxing his thighs and calves, causing rhythmic, pulsating waves of incredible pressure.

“You’re locked deep in my coils now, boy” he whispered, the tip of his tongue gently touching my ear as he licked his lips “There’s no escape from this”.

The sincerity in his voice grew as his legs - did they never tire?? - began to squeeze down in prolonged bursts, bearing down and forcing me to involuntarily groan from the rush of air that my weak attempts at flexing my abs, my last defence in this position, created.

The groans soon became chokes as his arms began to match the pulsing rhythm of his legs “I’m going to squeeze you limp” he promised “I’m going to take my time crushing you and sapping every last ounce of energy you have” a prolonged squeeze now, equal parts both scary and exhilirating, I moved to tap, but the pressure eased just enough to bring me back from that brink “Don’t tap, I’m not letting you submit. You’re mine”.

((Thank you Zivolo for your preliminary and ongoing feedback with this 😁))

“Pick your pressure, Princess” my opponent mocked as he turned to catch a glimpse of my expression whilst I worked to resist a prolonged squeeze from the thick, granite-hard thighs currently locked tight around my neck.
“You want it enough to hold you locked in? Or enough to make you pass out?”
I don’t know quite how, but the overwhelming force his thighs were already delivering - some of the strongest I’d ever experienced in my years of wrestling and scissor-subbing - actually cranked up a notch, causing my face to contort and, unseen to me as my eyes reflexively closed, causing his face to smile.
In this reverse headscissor position, a manoeuvre which my opponent happily confessed was a favourite of his to apply, I found I could barely stretch my arms around his huge quads to perform the feeble attempt of my hands trying to scrabble and grip at whatever leggy purchase they could to try yet another exercise in futility of prising apart these thighs. I pulled with all the arm shaking strength I could muster - but they didn’t budge, and instead all I got was more out of breath and to hear his pleasurable moan.
“I love it when guys try to escape my thighs” he near whispered “Do it again, I want to feel you struggle”
I felt his legs uncross and cross again behind me, shifting the lock from left foot over right to right foot over left.
Up until this point, with him laid atop me with his muscular weight partially pressing down to add to my entrapment, he’d been supporting his upper body on his elbows, but now he moved, positioning himself on to his hands, an immediate increase in crushing power came as the result of this minor adjustment and I squirmed and bucked but he refused to let me move.
“You didn’t pick, Princess!” he chided gleefully “So as your captor I’m picking for you, and I’ve decided you’re going night night” and with that, he raised fully on his arms, initiating a top-down chain reaction of muscular flexion that worked to rob me of consciousness: his traps flared, his back arched, his glutes squeezed and his thighs bore down fully on my neck. I witnessed this impressive spectacle from my arse-row view for only a moment, as within seconds, I was out.

I came to only seconds later, but he’d already moved to lay beside me, his head propped up casually on one arm, one huge leg - still hot from its efforts of locking me between and beneath it - lay draped across my abdomen; the weight of it alone enough to keep me in place and remind me precisely who was in charge this match.
“You’re back” he smiled, looking me over as my brain quickly remembered where I was, who he was, and what had happened “You did good, you held out longer than most” he patted my chest “But my legs must remain undefeated” he stretches the leg atop me out straight, flaring his incredible quads, the muscular definition catching and accented perfectly by the soft light of the bedside lamp that was our only illumination “So I chose to put you out. You need to learn your place good and early” and with that, he raised and climbed atop me, one mountainous thigh settling either side of my head, his weight coming to rest as he took seat slowly upon my chest, steadily displacing almost all of the air in my lungs “And that place is right here”.

A little more of the same, you can tell what my favourite holds are 😂

My domination of my friend began with nothing more than his hand brushing against my thigh as we watched a documentary. I was already longing for a match, so when out of the corner of my eye I noticed a cocky grin form on his lips and his mouth part as he whispered “Chicken legs” - giving my thigh a light squeeze at the same time - I knew I’d found my opportunity.
I turned to him fully, grinning now myself “Chicken legs, eh? Why don’t you stick your head down there then?” I invited, parting my legs a little and suggesting said location with a nod.
His reply came like music to my ears:
“Make me”
It was all the invitation I needed, in a flash my left arm was around his neck, his head pulled into me tight as I worked my headlock takedown - he resisted well, but I have a great sense of weight and balance, and knew just how to tilt him - and thus the odds - in my favour; he landed on his back with me partially across his chest, his head still mine, though not in the limbs I wanted. He struggled and I countered, keeping my weight at just such a point that he was unable to dismount me. I used my free arm to clear a little space, I’d been ACHING to get this boy between my thighs, those consecutive days of performing 100 squats had already begun to sculpt new definition in my legs and I was long overdue putting them to the test. Releasing the headlock but keeping him down with my hands, I shuffled quickly into position with my knees either side of his head, clamping his cute face in position as I laid out on top of him and used my legs - in a more than well practiced manouevre - to coil up around and behind his head and draw him deep between my thighs. His view must have been incredible as he saw my naturally curved glutes work to play their part in the capture of his head. There was a brief second where I just relished the feel of having him in this position, then with a smile he couldn’t see I began squeezing down, my legs going straight and locked at the ankle; the pressure built slowly and it felt SO DAMN GOOD to be delivering this pressure to him, I heard a quiet gasp as it mounted to the point he couldn’t take it and he tapped, I released then went straight back to building it up, enjoying the feel of his warm hands feeling the very thighs that were working their way closer together to deliver my squeeze; another tap, and this time with the release of pressure I worked my legs again and laced him up in a reverse figure four, his face to my arse, and held it there as I delivered slow pulsating squeezes; never enough to make him tap, just enough to show he was trapped and he was mine.

Veeeery brief story I found on my phone that I’d written out on a quick tea break:

Nick had dry swallowed as Justin had thrown his t-shirt to one side and stripped out of his jeans. He had the thighs of someone who'd been heavier when younger, whose legs had built to support their weight and then developed disproportionately as the weight had been lost and their true size could be appreciated. Justin caught his opponents reaction and grinned, he LOVED when guys got nervous of his legs. Through the profile pics and pre-match messages he was always wary not to reveal too much, he liked to show them off to bait future victims, but he didn't want them to be fully seen until they were opposite him and ready to wrestle.
And now, as he felt himself being turned onto his back, his arms helplessly trapped by his sides and those muscular glutes and thighs moving into position to swallow him up, he made that same dry swallow - half anxious, half excited - of what was about to happen. From this position, with Justin's right leg snaking around the back of his head and drawing it up into his muscular vice, he couldn't see how Justin grinned, and the look of satisfaction in his eyes as he applied his favourite move. Nick's nose came to rest a mere half a centimetre from Justin's glutes as the walls of his thighs closed in and his right foot locked behind his left knee, sealing his fate. The sheer girth and weight of Justin's legs were already applying pressure before he begun his squeezing torture, and how much he LOVED to squeeze his guys when he got them trapped. He releases Nick's arms and relaxes on top of him, loving how his opponent's hands flew straight to his thighs, vainly seeking a way to unlock the leggy prison.

Found this while visiting an old online group I'm a member of that's quietened down over the years, it's a very brief scissor story I posted back in 2010 simply titled "Two minute teaser" and was something that at the time just came to me and I wanted to share it. I thought I might as well copy/paste it here since I've never written a blog entry before. I have others there as well I could bring over, but anyway, this was the first one:

It wasn't the fact that the full thickness of his thighs resting purposefully either side of my enveloped head made me deaf to his taunts that pissed me off. It wasn't the sheer futility of my full attempts at escape that pissed me off. Nor was it the way he casually laced his fingers and rested his folded hands behind his head, controlling me with only the prison of his legs that pissed me off. No, of all things, it was his grin, that single, smug expression. To say I was competitive was an understatement, I'd started this match envisioning my shorter opponent enduring nothing but total defeat at what I'd deemed my greater strength and skill, but this single manoeuvre of his had had me trapped and restrained for the past full fifteen minutes. My heated arguing and thrashing had worn me out after the first five minutes of entrapment; I'd rolled, knelt, even stood, trying every means possible to break the grip of his thighs from about me, but each time it ended the same, and right between his thighs I remained. The next five or so had been taken up with sudden and intermittent bursts of escape attempts as my energy returned, each deftly met with a measured dose of his pure skull crushing power as his stifling (though gloriously THICK) thighs went from flesh to marble in the space of a heartbeat, bearing down and draining my pent up reserves. My taps had never been so frantic, he knew this, and this empowered that grin all the more. Made it that much more unbearable.
"I know you give" he'd simply shrug, not relieving the pressure an ounce "That's never a question"
And then there I'd been for the remainder of this quarter hourly lesson in defeat and humility, laid full on my front, the weight of his lower body pressing me into the mat as it spread from my shoulders to my waist. His feet were crossed, the heel of one making its own mark on my flesh, its own red brand of dominance. My arms had grown tired of trying to pry his thighs apart, and lay useless on the mats, resting now from their latest morse-code dance of `I surrender!', the only communication I had as my mouth was misshapen beyond its ability to form words once those living walls began to harden and close. I lay there seeing nothing but his crotch, and beyond that, when he raised his head, his grinning face as he looked down at me.
It seemed he'd never tire, seemed he'd never relinquish this hold….