[The Saint]

He dropped his suitcase on the bed in the small but neat room, then examined his surroundings. Yes, this would do for T/their purpose; small, secluded, with staff that seemed neither particularly attentive nor particularly interested in anything about their clientele beyond their money.
Careful to leave the door unlocked, he walked to the small bathroom, closed and locked that door behind him and made himself ready for Her by showering in hot water, using plenty of soap, and shaving his face – his chest he would leave for waxing rather than shaving, so as not to leave coarse stubble that might irritate Her beautiful, lethal thighs.
He would shower again early tomorrow morning, not knowing precisely when She would arrive; even here, in this small, remote town in a country through which he’d never traveled and in which he bore no documents to establish his identity, he was considering Her safety first and foremost.
This is why T/hey had chosen a small, rural town where locals would not expect a foreign tourist to come; this is why he’d spent months perfecting a British speaking voice, and adopting a simple, bland mode of dress, so that when paying for his room he would be easily dismissed as no one out of the ordinary at all; imminently forgettable.
He spoke to no one, left the room not at all. He had eaten little, only dry crackers and coffee so that his bladder and bowels would remain as empty as possible. He did not venture further into the town.
Instead, he exercised, doing push-ups on the floor of the room until the absurdity of exercising on the last day of his life caused him to laugh out loud. He watched television, not entirely understanding the humor in the shows he was watching and longing for some Monty Python’s Flying Circus or A Bit Of Fry & Laurie. He read, or tried to – the excitement and terror of what was to come made it difficult to concentrate for any length of time.
Mostly, however, he waited.
Afternoon turned to dusk. Dusk became night. Eventually, with the television still on and a novel in his hand, he dozed off.

He did not awaken to the sound of the hotel room door closing. Nor did he wake to the sound of quiet footsteps padding across the hotel room floor, not even when the sound became the clicks of high heels as someone crossed onto the tile of the wash area and set something heavy in the tub, setting a slightly smaller bag on the counter beside the sink.
What he awakened to was the sensation of his spectacles being gently lifted from his face, and long, powerful fingers gathering his shirt front to pull him upright from the bed. As his eyes opened, his heart raced. She was even more gorgeous in person than she had been in Her photographs or on Her web camera.
She set his spectacles on the night stand as he opened his mouth to speak. She covered his mouth with Her now-empty hand and his eyes widened as Her eyes filled with a primal hunger. The hunger to envelop and destroy Her smaller, weaker prey.
She leaned down to stare into his eyes, and Her voice was the ominous purr of a hungry big cat about to begin the hunt: “Your life is over now.”
His surprise hardened into a seed of fear as he saw that, despite his internal preparation for this moment down all the long years, he was still not fully prepared to see in this Woman’s eyes that She truly meant to destroy him; that She would enjoy every millisecond of it; and that She intended to make it last for as long as She possibly could, to revel in his destruction, to truly savor his death as one might a succulent morsel of meat.
She turned to the shorter girl who now waited beside her, and said quietly, “Prepare him.”
The girl nodded, and She pulled him across the bed to her. The girl was stronger than she looked, taking him by the arm in a deceptively iron grip and pulled him along behind her. She spoke not a word.
When she had finished with him, his torso was utterly hairless, pale and gleaming under the harsh incandescent bulb in the bathroom. She handed him a towel and motioned for him to get into the shower, then left him to shower again.
The pain from the waxing was intense, but rapidly faded under the water’s ministrations. He could hear the two of them talking in the room – the Baroness and her girl. He heard quiet laughter, and the seed of fear rose in his mind again.
For a moment, he contemplated stalling in the shower, taking as much time as he possibly could – but, no. He’d searched this out, finally found it, and it was far too late to turn back now. There were two of them, either one alone was physically stronger than he, and both were between himself and the exit. No, there was no longer any chance, much less any point, of trying to escape his fate.
He shut off the water, the pain in his skin numbed, and stepped out of the shower, toweling off and finding that his street clothes, wallet and personal effects were gone. In there place sat an adult diaper, a pair of dark blue sweat-pants, a pair of socks and a pair of shoes – a British brand.
He put on the diaper – more than somewhat reluctantly – then slipped into the sweat-pants. God, what they would think about him when they found his… when they found what was left. Incontinent man, identity unknown, takes a bad tumble while hiking. What a ridiculous image that would make.
He put on the socks, then the shoes. Then he stared at the bathroom door, trembling uncontrollably, a sensation like a block of ice resting heavily in his gut. He opened the door and turned off the bathroom light.
The room was entirely dark. He stepped forward tentatively, hoping to give his eyes time to adjust – someone took hold of his arm again, that same iron grip from deceptively feminine hands.
“Bring it to me.” Her voice spoke, low and soft, in the darkness. He was pulled along, still not entirely able to see, still helpless to resist even this submissive girl who now tractored him mercilessly to his death, to feed his puny torso to her Mistress’s hungry thighs.
The girl turned him bodily around to face her, then forced him into a sitting position on the large, wide bed. She was nude, and she was breathtaking. He felt himself start to stir, but the constrictive garment he wore under the sweatpants turned that stirring into an exercise in extreme discomfort.
He tried desperately to focus on anything other than the girl, or the discomfort the image of her caused him. He felt a thick padding of blankets beneath him – beneath that, he could barely feel something more rigid, a plastic tarpaulin.
Then his heart leaped into his throat as a hand took hold of his shoulder from behind and an object he couldn’t discern rose into view just behind him. She pulled him to Her. She used both hands to lift him, turn him so that his feet faced toward the wall, and pulled his torso onto Her thigh, which was warm and solid against his upper back.
Then, holding him in place with Her hands, She spoke calmly and quietly as Her other thigh slowly descended toward his chest:
“I’ll give you one chance to get away with your life. If you can break free before I lock my ankles, you may go.” Her girl sat on the bed now, having changed into the same outfit as her Mistress – high heels and nothing else. Nothing to come between their bodies and the sensations they would so enjoy. Nothing to be found or analyzed later.
Although the Baroness had told him that the girl had initially been uncomfortable with the prospect of this event, months of weight training the two had done together, as well as practicing on various objects, mostly American footballs, basketballs, scales specially rigged to measure their squeezing power, had made either woman ready, willing and devastatingly able to carry out their entertainment for tonight, so long planned for, and lusted for.
Her thighs had increased in hardness as well as size – they now measured a mind-boggling 30 inches around, rock solid, with adductors, quadriceps and hamstrings that stood out in bold and powerful detail. The girl’s legs were somewhat smaller, yet no less frightening to him.
He reached up in what he knew would be an entirely futile attempt to stave off the instruments of his destruction – the girl simply took hold of his arm and forced it down flat against the bed. He struggled to pull it free, eliciting no better result than a delighted giggle from her.
Then it was too late – the top thigh closed down, warm, solid and exuding raw power merely by its sheer presence. She pulled him in tighter against Her body, Her crotch now pressed firmly against his ribs just under his arm. Her thighs were of such size and muscularity that they easily engulfed his entire rib cage, from collar bones to his stomach; Her knees were entirely clear of him on the other side.
“And now if you will take your position, girl.” She said softly. The girl turned to face her Mistress, and with one hand lifted His head from the blankets to slide her own thigh under it, pulling his face deep into her crotch before lacing her top thigh over his cheek, his mouth pressed firmly into her.
The weight alone of the Baroness’s thigh on his rib cage was uncomfortable – the sight of the thick ridges and deep valleys of deadly muscle terrifying. She meant to kill him, and she was well endowed to do just that. The reality of his impending demise finally sunk in with clutching, icy fingers, and he began to struggle.
“Mmmm.” She breathed. “Oh, that’s lovely.” Without cloth in the way, She could feel his ribs tickling Her clit as he squirmed, and both the sensation itself and the knowledge that She had made a grown man into nothing but an object for Her to use and destroy made her flush with arousal. His weakness made Her wet, her hunger fueled by is utter inability to stop Her.
He cried out in the first stirrings of panic, but the girl’s crotch swallowed the sound, loosing a gasp of surprised pleasure from her and causing her thighs to tighten painfully around his skull of their own volition.
“Didn’t I tell you this would be fun, girl?” the Baroness asked, finally beginning to tighten Her thighs on his body in tiny increments as he continued to struggle against Her.
“Oh, yes, Miss.” the girl nodded, squeezing tighter just to force a groan of pain from him into her. She giggled.
“Now, remember, you’re only to hold it still and keep it quiet until the very end.” the Baroness reminded her.
“Yes, Miss.” the girl nodded, her voice husky now.
She tightened on him further, feeling his rib bend in Her titanic grip. He was smaller than She’d thought; it would take little effort at all to take what She wanted from this. This knowledge sent a wave of warmth washing through Her; She closed Her eyes, tightening Her thighs just a shade more, until She had compressed him so tightly that he could no longer breathe. She wasn’t exerting Herself in the least.
He could no longer scream to entertain the girl – but he struggled like a dying animal, his one free hand pushing at the Baroness’s immense, diamond-shaped calves; the skin of his neck, visible where his skull was swallowed by the girl’s delectable rump and thighs, was flush with blood. The Baroness decided, on seeing it, that She would henceforth bear a unique appreciation for that color.
He was trapped, unable to move, unable to breathe – he was dying, he was absolutely certain of it. This was it, the end. The world faded from him.
He went limp in their respective holds; the girl looked up, disappointed.
“Oh, it’s not dead yet, girl. Just unconscious. By the time we’ve had our fun, killing it will be an act of mercy.” The Baroness loosened Her grip, just slightly, and the girl punctuated her own with short bursts that brought him back to twitching, sputtering consciousness.
“Take a deep breath.” the Baroness instructed him, now using only the weight of Her top thigh and the lock of Her ankles to restrain him. He gasped, taking in great greedy lung-fuls of air. When his breathing had returned to relatively normal, the Baroness caught Her girl’s eye, smiled wickedly, and said, “Listen very carefully.”
She tightened Her grip again, Her legs straightening further, the monumental muscles in Her thighs flexing, swallowing his puny body and clenching down on it like a titanic fist. The Baroness’s eyes closed, Her head tilted back as She felt his ribs bend in again – She felt his heart pounding against her inner thigh – there was a slow sound, deep within his chest, buried in the walls of Her thighs. It was the sound of the cartilage between his ribs slowly tearing as her thighs poured more and more pressure into him, flattening and stretching his rib cage and pulling the intercostal tissues apart.
“Oh, god…” the girl gasped, grinding herself on his trapped face, leaving her juices on him as her own thighs flexed with the ache of her desire.
The tearing sound grew louder as more tissue was separated between the horribly overstressed bones. Then another sound – this one like wet branches cracking, then snapping. A lone rib – at first – then two more simultaneously. His entire body went rigid, his free hand outstretched and grasping at nothing. The girl’s gyrations on his trapped skull reached a pitch, and she was moaning.
The Baroness, too, was now caught in a building climax as well. It took all Her willpower not to finish him then – every fiber of every muscle in Her body wanted to hear more. Sweat gleamed on Her breasts, but it had nothing to do with exertion. She had felt his spine bending as She squeezed.
Although they had chatted about it, briefly, She hadn’t believe that it would be possible to literally snap his spine in Her thighs as she had done his ribs – not until now.  Her breathing quickened. She released Her thighs’ pressure on him quickly – not to ease his pain, but to make it even worse, as the unbroken ribs flexing back to true again was easily as painful as bending them had been, and the sudden movement of the broken ones sent a pure white fire of agony through him.
“Squeeze down on it now, girl.” She instructed, and the girl clamped down on his skull with brutal force as he screamed into her pussy and ass, a hopeless animal wail of misery that was muffled by her flesh and by her moans of pleasure at the stimulation it brought her.
Expertly, the Baroness planned to play the man’s body like a musical instrument so that She and Her girl would begin multiple climaxes together. To that end, She relocked Her ankles, straightened Her legs and flexed her mighty quadriceps, heavy slabs of muscle that bulged on her outer thigh, blocking his few of anything else in the world. Her thigh would be the last thing he would ever see; the sounds of female pleasure the last he would ever hear.
She now rolled Her top thigh slightly back and forth to shift the focus of the pressure, distribute it more evenly and prolong the damage. Now she added the power of the steel-cable-like adductors, slowly mounting hundreds of pounds of pressure on his rib cage, sternum and spine. She forced the air from his lungs and into Her girl in a long, tortured moan as the girl’s thighs locked out straight.
The the sounds and sensations of his body breaking within Her grasp came again. Her eyes rolled back into Her head as she closed them, licking Her lips, feeling and listening as another lower rib first creaked, then splintered at the side facing away from her, then snapped wetly within him.
His abdominal muscles hadn’t been subjected to the brunt of Her thighs’ force until now. They were no match for the thickly muscled limbs surrounding and crushing them – they collapsed instantly, and after only a fraction of a second, a thick, juicy gushing sound could be heard from beneath Her thigh as something in him ruptured and burst.
He began to shake and convulse as She continued the onslaught, continuing to pour on the pressure as Her thighs flexed further – the tearing sound grew, and She felt more ribs splintering, then snapping – orgasm overtook both women.
Then it was well and truly over for him as both arched their backs, their cries of delight softly filling the room. The Baroness felt and heard one of Her victim’s ribs shatter under hundreds of pounds of force, felt the lung rupture and deflate as fragments of the shattered rib skewered it, forced Her fluttering eyes to focus as Her girl felt the spray of blood from his mouth.
The girl’s thighs clenched down on his cheeks and jawbones, and the instant she felt the gurgle of blood from his mouth, her body responded in kind. She felt and heard a loud snap – she had broken his jaw.
The Baroness continued Her onslaught, still squeezing at less than half of Her total power – four more ribs shattered in rapid succession. His heart hammered against Her inner thigh, now, and She ground Her womanhood against his rapidly breaking body. Her brain was awash in endorphins – both women’s’ were – they were lost in bliss, a literal orgy of destruction.
Without warning, his sternum cracked at the center, the separate pieces stressed, then overstressed and it broke, leaving his remaining upper ribs to take the full crush She bore on them alone. His body was a symphony of splintering, breaking bone; the muffled, horrific tearing of flesh and the wet gushing of organs forced flat and smashed against his spinal column.
And both women experienced simultaneous climax so powerful that it blotted out all further thought or even external sensation. There was no way to know how long it lasted. They continued to hold the body, grinding it in their thighs and occasionally relapsing into smaller climaxes, for another hour. Finally, sated, they released it and showered together, both smiling contentedly as they cleaned themselves.

They easily rolled the blankets and tarpaulin around the body after folding the lower part up over its feet, rolling it into something that resembled a large black plastic burrito. They bound this with rope to keep it secure.
It was still very early; the sun was not yet up. Dressed in long coats and hats, they carried the bundle around to the back of the building and loaded it into the back of Her rented truck. There would be a short drive, a modest hike through the Llanymynech Rocks, they would unlash the bundle and allow the body to roll out. 150 feet to the rocks below would eliminate any trace of doubt as to what happened here. The girl wore a pair of sneakers of the same brand those they had given him.
Even if there were questions… they would never be the right ones. Not even close. Only they two would ever know. Neither would turn on the other, and every man to admire their divine legs after this morning would find a Goddess smiling back at him… and never suspect that he ought to have preferred a slap to the face.

[Seldom]

I love it! It would be great to see those thighs in action again.

[Mermoz]

Very good story, described as if you were looking at the sene…I definitly love it!!!

[Author]

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