Bobby's Fucing Faggot

I'm a scissor freak. Not the cutting kind. The crushing kind. As in the hot, muscular legs of a young stud, a wrestling hold used to control and punish an opponent.

It started when I was just over 18. Bobby was one of my best friends, same age, same class, a skinny kid but sinewy, lean, athletic. We used to wrestle a bit from time to time, and the stirring in my loins resulting from it was overwhelming as our bodies rubbed against each other, but I hit it from him, waiting to jack off later, thinking of submitting to Bobby as he sat on my chest, pinning me, his cock in his shorts just inches away from me.

But one Saturday afternoon, my fate was sealed in Bobby's skinny, strong legs.

I was sitting on the edge of my bed, Bobby laying behind me, we'd just gotten out of my swimming pool and were in my bedroom watching Saturday afternoon wrestling on my small grainy black and white TV. This was in the '60s, long before video games, and as he lay behind me, I felt a stirring in my groin eyeing from the side, his long, creamy white and smooth legs. I'd always had a thing for legs since puberty, boys and girls legs, just so long as they were smooth, hairless, strong looking. I got hard thinking about the legs of either sex, and granted, this was a time of confusion to say the least, and not having had a bit of sexual contact with either sex, I wasn't sure which was I was leaning.

Then, in the flash of a pair of flying thighs, I was.

Bobby launched his legs up and around me, catching my around the throat with his beautiful, skinny thighs, and we landed on the bed, he on his side, me on my back, Bobby's legs crushing my throat. I looked to the side at him, fire in his eyes as he leaned up on his arms, violently thrashing his locked legs around my neck, calves entwined, ankles locked securely. Instantly, my cock hardened in my bathing suit as he squeezed me harder and harder.

"Give up! Give to my scissor hold!" he squealed in a high-pitched squeal, snapping down hard with those incredibly strong boy legs, practically taking my head off.

"I GIVE I GIVE BOBBY PLEASE!!" I screamed, my hands trembling as they cupped those smooth legs, trying to pull them apart but not wanting to.

He laughed, and let go, only to get me on the bed on my hands and knees, straddling it with his thighs and scissoring me again, locking his ankles and then slamming his calves up into my face over and over and over, the fleshy smoothness of them battering my eyes and nose until I screamed in agony again. I submitted and he laughed and fell to his side, still with his boyish thighs latched to my ears, except now locked out straight, squeezing so brutally hard they quivered on my, crushing my ears flat to my head. I looked down the length of those sexy young legs to the smooth, locked calves and nearly came in my bathing suit.

Then silence. Stillness. He squeezed me hard, but quietly as he leaned up on his elbows and looked over my waist. To my cock, sticking straight up in my suit.

"You...you've got a boner?" he growled. "My scissors made you have a boner? Are you a faggot? Are you?"

"No..no, it's just....please, Bobby..no...stop squeezing me..I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..." I babbled, trying to cover my cock.

"Fucking faggot!" he screamed, letting me go to slip on the floor where I knelt at his feet as he stood.

"Please, Bobby, it's not...it's just that..your legs...I don't know why..I just..." I cried, tears running down my face in shame.

He didn't say a word. I looked up, slowly up those gorgeous calves and shins and supple thighs – right into his crotch. Which bulged with his own hard cock. He looked angry, very angry.

"Fucking faggot," he groaned, grabbing my hair and falling to the bed.

Again I was caught in his tireless thighs, squeezed to the point of pain, but now with my face right into his crotch, him pulling on the back of my head with his hands, grinding my face into his balls and stiff prick, moaning as she thrust his legs out harder and harder, pounding them into my ears, pumping his package into my face. I moaned in pain and pleasure, looking up over his slim belly and hairless chest to his face. His eyes were closed, he was moaning, growling, pumping into my face harder and harder, crushing my nose with his hardness.

"Fucking faggot..." he moaned, more and more as he neared orgasm only seconds after he'd locked me into his punishing things. "Fucking...fag...oh fuck..oh FUCK!"

And he came in his suit, thrusting his legs out savagely hard, squeezing me harder than ever, making me dizzy as his thighs sliced into the sides of my neck. Through blurry eyes I watched the front of his suit get wet as he came, felt the heat of his cum on my face, his balls right at my mouth through that bathing suit, and he came, long and hard, until the entire front was soaked with his jism and I could smell the bleachy smell of it and felt moistness soak through the fabric and into my mouth. It tasted like heaven, I opened my mouth, wanting more and started sucking the material, slurping it into my lips, tasting it, savoring it as I came in my own suit. And then, from the sheer emotion of the moment coupled with Bobby's relentlessly scissoring thighs, I passed out cold.

I woke moments later, in a heap on the floor, ashamed and uncertain. I looked up. He sat on the edge of the bed, head in his hands.

"Fucking faggot," he snarled, glaring down at me. "You made me cum, you fucking queer fucker!"

"Bobby, no, please.." I started to say.

He lashed out with a foot, kicking me across the face, knocking me to my back, and stood to kick me more now, screaming "FAGGOT!" at me over and over until I rolled into a ball, protecting myself. And loving the abuse he was putting me through, as my cock refused to go limp, despite his beating me with his feet.

"And you came too, you fucking homo!" he screamed, pointing to my wet crotch.

He was an animal now, pulling my legs out straight, tugging off my bathing suit, holding it up and slipping out of his own, his long, gorgeous cock still stiff, dripping cum, his belly and balls smeared with his load. He pulled me to the bed again, pulling my face to his crotch, scissoring me, filling my face with his huge, hairless balls as his thighs punished me.

"Lick those balls clean, faggot," he snarled, jerking his cock. "Clean them up!"

I was delirious with pleasure, moaning as I ingested his big nuts into my mouth, feeling the soft warmth fill it, my tongue slathering them, sucking the cum off them, swallowing, watching his hand in a blur pound up and down his stiff dick, eyes closed, moaning. Moments later he stiffened, squeezing me harder and harder in his thighs, then releasing just enough to point his cock toward my face.

"Suck me," he hissed.

And I did, reaching around his powerful boy thighs to pull his about to pop dick into my mouth, sucking it deep, letting his legs do the work now squeezing and releasing, the motion forcing his dick in and out of my mouth, hips snapping as he fucked my face. He came and his load was huge, hard and hot, a thick lumpy cum wad that filled my mouth then blasted down my throat, sweet and tangy all at once. The look on his face was dreamy, his eyes still closed, lips pursed as he unloaded his nut into me. I hastily swallowed to keep from drowning and then popped the head out, the last few jets of his sweet boy cream lacing over my face, soaking me. He jerked it himself now, slowly, looking down through heavily lidded eyes as he used his wilting cock like a brush, painting my face with his spew.

"Fucking faggot," he growled.

He released his scissor hold on me, pulling me up on him, over him, laying atop him to now scissor my ribs, holding me to him, my stiff cock rubbing his and his smooth belly as he pulled my face to his, lapping his cum from it, kissing me wetly, forcing his cum into my mouth and sucking it out again, furiously snowballing the load between us as he squeezed his thighs to make me rub against him. I couldn't last and in seconds, blasted a load onto his belly as we rubbed together, thick strips of it jetting up to his chest as we made out like teenagers on a date.

"Fucking faggot," he snarled, unlocking his legs from me and forcing my head to his chest where I hungrily licked my own load from his flat pectorals and sucked his nipples like a baby on his momma's teat, licking and chewing and devouring my cum, then moving down to lick our combined cum on his gorgeous cock.

He scissored me again, loosely now, laying behind me, me sitting on the floor, his thighs around my head again as he forced the cummy cold load on his bathing suit into my mouth to lick clean, which I did, hungrily, then my own as he jammed my own bathing suit into my mouth until my lips and entire face was a gooey smear of our loads.

"Fucking faggot," Bobby growled, madly rubbing both suits all over my face. "Clean that shit up, I can't go out with cum on my suit..."

He released me from his beautiful legs, pushed me aside and pulled on his suit. I did the same, in silence, and we walked out of my room and back out to the pool, my eyes never leaving those legs that changed my life. We never spoke of that afternoon again – but repeated it, as often as possible, wherever we could, right through college and beyond.

And now, as middle-aged men, married, with grown children, careers and "normal" lives, we still find ourselves together from time to time, in our occasionally empty homes when our wives have left for the day, our offices or the random hotel room, and I'm still a slave to Bobby's thighs and cock and cum, as I am and have been for other men all these years, living it all in secret.

I am still Bobby's "Fucking faggot." And always will be.