Shapeshifter's blog

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….