Ballerina crush

Amber danced like a dream, the little blonde’s 5 foot, 110-pound body lithe, limber and exquisitely muscled. She waltzed into the living room in shiny black leotard and her ballet shoes, stretching and warming up for a show that night. The apartment was small and it was about the only place she could move about, but it was right in front of the TV where Mike, her husband was trying to watch a ballgame.

 
“Hey, do you fucking mind?” he said gruffly as she stood before the TV doing standing splits and stretches, her creamy white legs smooth and well muscled, calves hard and bulging, her thighs lean and rocky. “Watching the game, hello.??” 

“Gotta warm up for the show, this is the most roomy place in the house, Mike,” she growled, continuing to stretch. “What’s more important, my job as a dancer or your game?”

 
“Right now, my game, if you don’t mind,” he snapped. 
 

“Oh, I do mind, you lazy fuck, I mind a lot,” she barked, walking up to him angrily. “I mind that I work, and you don’t. I mind that it’s MY legs making the money in this house, and you don’t do a fucking thing. I mind you don’t have more respect for me or my legs!” 
 

“Move aside, you dumb snatch!” he yelled,leaning forward to push her, or try to. She’d had it, her anger rushing to full fury now as she leaned on his back, bent him over and let fly her meaty white 24-inch thighs around his ears, capturing him in a standing headscissors. He screamed in agony as she stood on her toes, like a ballet dancer, her calves flashing into balls of steely muscle before his eyes. His hands pulled at her huge thighs as they bowed around his scissored skull.

 
“LEGGO, AMBER, DAMMIT!” he shouted, his voice cracking. 
 

“Fuck you, Mike, you WILL learn to respect my legs and what they can do!” she screamed. She pulled back and fell to the floor, taking Mike with her, lying on her side now, the scissor still on, her huge thighs looking bigger as they bulged meatily around the skull between them. He howled in pain; she arched her back, a perfectly smooth dancer’s move, and stretched her arms above her head theatrically. 
 

“Bend and STRETCH! Bend and STRETCH!” she announced happily, swinging her legs this way and that, fluidly as a dancer would in warm ups, Mike’s head burning with pain as she squeezed and worked the rotating scissor lock on it.

 
“Oh, let’s not forget my glutes!” she laughed, releasing him to lay him on the couch, head back over the arm. She stood over his face and enveloped it in her meaty, hard ass, the white butt cheeks folding in a smothering grip over his nose and mouth as she settled her steaming buns right on him. Working him in tightly, she then slammed her ankles together and combined the smother with a brutal scissors, her tireless thighs crushing his jawbones and cheeks. His face was a mask of agony as she laughed, looking back over her shoulder at it. His eyes met hers and begged for mercy. She felt his screams in her crotch. 
 

“Mmmm, about time you used your mouth for good instead of bitching all the time!” she hissed, gyrating on him, feeling her crotch brutally grind his face, bending his nose and smashing it flat along with his lips. She used his face a bit more before letting go and letting him slump to the floor where she fastened her short but exceptionally powerful thighs to his middle from behind, and secure a full nelson to boot. She hauled back, stretching him to an agonizing degree, his neck bent painfully, his ribs bending under the leggy crush of his wife’s dancer’s thighs. 
 

“I’ll pop a rib, you fuck,” she hissed, biting his ear. “I’ve done it before, with a dancer who isn’t gay who put the moves on me. I took the fucker in my bodyscissors right in the dressing room and busted a rib! He was out for months!You want that, Mikey? You want a busted rib in my scissors???” 
 

“NOOOOOOOOOOO!” he screamed. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!!!” 
 

She laughed and squeezed a bit harder before releasing him and sitting him back against the couch. She sat behind him and slammed on a brutally tight headscissors, arching her back to let him have it. 
 

“Look at the game NOW, Mike, can ya SEE IT?” she howled, pointing to the TV before them. “S’matter, not interested anymore??” 
 

He screamed in agony, hands vainly pounding his wife’s pounding thighs, finally slipping away as she scissored him so hard he passed out. She kept squeezing, throbbing her meaty white thighs on him until she felt like stopping. She let go and peeled his face off her clinging legs, returning to her warm ups. 
 

“Still wanna watch the game, hon?” she asked, bending before the TV, her huge hamstrings popping in the backs of her thighs as he groggily woke up to see it, and through the V of her legs the game on TV. “How’s the view now?” 
 

He slinked away to the bedroom to watch, as she laughed – and stretched her brutal dancer’s legs.