“Come here, slave.” Mistress Eve was standing near the fireplace, hands on Her hips, legs spread. I crawled the distance and looked up at Her. “Get inside,” She grinned and pushed my head between Her never-ending legs. The trap snapped shut and the squeeze was on. Thank God for being empty headed, otherwise She would have squeezed the brains out of my head. The wooden paddle landed on my ass and I wriggled like a snake with hives. Then the door opened and I heard footsteps approaching. “Let me help you with this,” a voice said. And I recognised that voice. It belonged to Lady Mia, also known as Merciless Mia. Well, She sure as hell lived up to Her name that day, because She smashed my innocent, defenceless ass into smithereens. And all this time my poor head was trapped in the vice of Female beauty. It nearly cost me my buttocks, but what a glorious punishment it was!
“I deeply apologise,” he sobbed. His arms waved through the air like sails of a windmill. His head was trapped between Her legs and She could clearly see the despair in his eyes. She loved to see him like this, so helpless, so scared. He whimpered: “please don’t choke me to death.” She laughed. “Famous last words, uh?” His eyes nearly popped out of his head as panic drenched his voice: “I will do whatever You want.” She smirked and said: “I know you will, buttercup, but for how long, that’s the question.” He didn’t think (he seldom did, as a matter of fact): “a week!” She frowned and anger slipped into Her eyes. “One stupid week? Are you serious?” He panicked: “a month!” She shook Her head and tapped Her finger on his forehead with each and every word: “do you know what I think, pumpkin? I think you should sleep on it for a while.” She took a squeeze at him and his cries for mercy slipped away into darkness.
Having a leg-fetish from here to Tokyo and back, means I love head-scissors as well. It’s amazing to see how powerful legs can be, even untrained legs. There’s an unwritten law that says there’s no way out once a Lady locks Her ankles together. The trap snaps shut and She can pretty much keep you there for as long She wants. It’s like being hugged by a Anaconda they say, and even a professional escape artist can’t get out. I always believed it was a myth of some sorts until I ended up in a leggy lockdown myself one day. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get out. It was overwhelming, embarrassing, humiliating and extremely exiting at the same time. My poor empty head looked like a jawbreaker, turning from orange to red to purple. So here’s to Scissor-Foxes, Scissor-Vixens, Dunefeet and all the other sites that celebrate the beauty of the head-scissors.