Shapeshifter's blog

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.