Bobby made me his faggot with his legs. My smooth-skinned, skinny-legged 18-year-old high school buddy wrestled me one day, dominating me totally in his brutal scissor holds and "forcing" me to have sex with him. I say it that way because I was just waiting for the chance to be his and in wrestling and squeezing me half to death in his powerful young legs that fateful day, it happened.
Once that dam had broken, there was no holding him back, enslaving me every chance he got, wherever he could. At the end of one school day, prior to us both heading out to track practice later, he came to history class and dropped a note on my desk, taking his place in the seat right behind me, smirking.
"I'm gonna scissor the shit out of you later with these," the note read, as I looked to my left behind me at Bobby's left calf, bared as he pulled up a pant leg to scratch it, a slender creamy smooth leg with a sexy hint of muscle. "Meet me in the equipment room after practice, and I'll scissor you until you pass out, as many times as I want, and then make you suck my sweaty asshole. And eat this note, right now, or I'll put these calves to you right fucking here and now."
I gulped -- and gulped the note down, hearing Bobby's squeaky giggle behind me.
It was torture at practice, watching him run long and hard, his skinny, sinewy legs gleaming with sweat on that hot afternoon. Just to torment me further, at one point during the practice, he ran and jumped on the back of a shot putter, Gene, a big, muscular kid who never lost a fight, but who, with Bobby's impossibly strong, slender legs clamped on his sides in a bodyscissor, went down in a howling heap, Bobby laughing behind him leaning up on one arm as he put a brutal squeeze on the much larger boy.
"Give up!" Bobby squealed, and Gene madly tapped his surrender on Bobby's slim, muscular thigh.
We made our way back toward the locker room, Bobby and I peeling off to the equipment room, a smelly, dark place with football gear and other junk that had been there for years. He locked the door, spun me into it and rammed a thigh into my balls, over and over, making me scream in pain. He muffled it by pulling me to the floor and lacing his legs around me from behind in a bodyscissors, trapping my mouth in his very sweaty, slightly hairy armpit in a reverse facelock. I was also 18, and fairly flexible at the time, but he stretched me badly, cracking my back while bending my ribs in his little, rock-hard thighs. For good measure, he took to slamming his locked feet into my nuts, where my cock betrayed me by going into full alert.
"Fucking faggot," he hissed, throbbing his thighs on my bending ribs and forcing the stinky wetness of his armpit into my mouth. "You're fucking hard again, you ALWAYS get hard from my scissors! And now I guess from my stink! Lick that fucking pit, you fucking queer, lick it clean!"
I moaned and obeyed, slathering his soaking wet sweaty pit with my tongue, relishing the salty flavor of his hot, stinky flesh, feeling my ribs ache in his leggy embrace, those sneakers rubbing my cock and assaulting my balls.
"Now the calves, as I promised," he hissed.
He let go both holds and lashed up to snare my neck in his muscular young calves, locking up tight and squeezing hard, and then jacking them back and forth with savage snapping motions. He jerked my head with them as the muscles of those hairless, smooth tubes of meat crushed into my carotids, making me groggy.
