Just Like Old Times

A loud, pained grunt that quickly was turned into a whimper came from me.

It was all thanks to her legs.

Three years later, just when I thought graduation would send us on our merry ways and I never had to think about Gabby, I instead found myself back where I belonged.

Her toned, product of many years of gymnastics and dance, thighs compressing my waist inwards as she flashed that grin at me, making sure to look into my eyes with her own as the energy was being drained from my body.

“I know you’ve missed this, Danny.”

Another groan, in my head a defiant plea to the contrary, instead I was only able to produce a sound about the pain and discomfort her thighs were squeezing from me.

The first day in 10th grade, sitting in Mrs. Rogers class, we both just happened to choose seats next to each other, no prior acknowledgement of the other’s existence.

As the years rolled on, we were friends, be it more forced because of how...persuasive Gabby can be.

It’d be an understatement to say that she was attractive. A mix between Jamaican and Trinidadian, long straight black hair, a toned body from years of exercise overall, and that smile. Most boys who knew her, knew that smile meant you couldn’t say no to her.

That’s how I ended up here. Back in her dorm room on campus, her thighs locking me in tight against her, as she picked right where our last encounter left off.

I don’t even remember how this ritual between the two of us came about, agreeing to sneak away from class in 11th grade, and hiding in the abandoned “mini-gym” our school wasted taxpayers dollars on for a project that only captured their imagine for barely four months, and then turned into a skipping paradise for kids. That was where she enclosed her legs around my waist for the first time.

The rest was history.

History that was filled with her giggling ever so innocently as her legs slowly sprouted out for my waist, and I knew I had no choice but to let her do as she pleased.

Now, in my junior year of college, she was doing that exact same thing again. Trying to keep myself upright over her, but her thighs making it feel like I was struggling to carry boulders on top my back, and eventually I went limp, falling right onto her frame as she let out that laugh of hers.

If she ever got into acting, she’d be able to give the perfect cruel villain’s laugh.

“Poor little Danny.” The fake remorse just dripped from her tone, as well as the ever slight brushes to shove my hair back, to give her the ability to make sure our eyes were locked in again.

Why did I agree to catch up with her? I knew eventually it would lead to this, to her thighs making up for lost time by making sure she knew that I knew she had me right where she wanted me, just after one evening of bumping into each other at a campus party.

The continuous pressure around my frame made me slump even further into her body, inadvertently resting my head just above her chest, feeling them pressed against my own body.

I don’t even go to this college. I agreed to show up with Zack since the idiot had a weird almost relationship going and he needed backup.

Last time I did something nice for someone, agreeing to do just that has led me to being back in a fleshy prison thanks to Gabby.

She was generous enough to give me some breaks. They didn’t come often, or last that long, but it was probably the only thing keeping me from passing out cold, but that just meant more time to be subjected to her torture.

First it was a powerful flex of her thighs compressing towards one another, the pressure caused my mouth to only squeak out a low moan, then she’d slowly ease her legs up.

It was so gradual and slow, I was barely able to notice it at first, just focused on the state I was in, but eventually she’d ease up to be firm enough to keep me from squirming anywhere, but no power in them.

That’s when she’d taunt.

“Just like old times, huh Danny boy?”

“God, how my legs have missed my favorite squeezetoy.”

“You’re so adorable when you’re limp.”

That was my night, hours upon hours placed in her own scissor, a sweaty, broken, limp mess on top of her own body on top of her bed in her dorm.

I didn’t even know what time it was when she finally continued to squeeze away that I faded into unconsciousness on top of her, and finally put the torture to rest.

[teotroi]

you are one of my favorite writers