Shapeshifter's blog

((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”.