SKY-HIGH SCISSORS

By Kandor

    Hi. My name is Kimmy, and I'm a flight attendant who has a rather unique way of dealing with air rage: I scissor the shit out of assholes who are trouble in the sky. Let me explain.

    I'm a dirty blonde, tall at around 5-8 or so, lean and mean at 120 pounds with these legs that any guy would go nuts over. I work out a lot and wear my uniforms a little short to show off my muscular thighs, and also wear shoes with heels to pump up the calves. I got legs and I know how to use 'em, to quote the song.

    Case in point: Last week, this businessman was flying first class, real asshole, demanding, half in the bag, wanting to know why we're not getting to Boston on time, what's taking so long, really busting my chops. I tried to be tactful at first, but it didn't work. And the angrier he got, the more my thighs and calves felt pumped and ready for action.

    "Sir, if you don't behave yourself and sit down," I ordered him as he stood and approached the cockpit to find out why we were circling Boston so much, a big no-no in the air, "I'll have to restrain you."

    He turned and laughed. He was big, over 6 feet, and 200 pounds, but I've never met a neck yet I couldn't tame with these legs.

    "Fuck you, cunt, you think you own the plane," he growled, turning to put a hand on the cockpit door. "Fuck you, I own the plane, I'm the paying customer!"

    His hand never touched down, but my legs did. I gripped an overheard compartment ledge, swung my legs up and wrapped my nylon-clad legs around his neck from behind, powering down and locking up my dress shoes in front of his face. He gacked out a yelp and I squeezed harder.

    "I got 17 inch calves, buddy, those are bodybuilder size calves on a fitness model body," I hissed, thundering my legs out straight until I bulldogged him to the floor and slid down to stand on crossed feet, my iron calves slicing deeper into his neck. "If I wanna knock you out, you WILL go out!! Now, you gonna behave??"

    "F......uck.........yo......" he gagged, his big hands pawing at my chiseled calves, trying to pull them off.

    "I was hoping you'd say that," I cooed.

    I fell back into a seat - his seat - and pulled up his head to my thighs, ribboning the sinewy adductor muscles onto his ears, locking up my feet and powering down, lifting myself off the seat as I did. He screamed in pain, screams drowned out by the drone of the plane's engines. Other first-class customers peered around their seats - and burst into applause.

    "Bout time somebody shut that asshole," one middle-aged woman said. "Hurt him, honey, really put the squeeze on!"

    I laughed and redoubled my efforts to knock him out, crushing hard with my inner thighs. I motioned to the woman to stand in front of the man. She did.

    "Mash his balls," I growled. "Just haul back and waste this fucker's nuts!"

    "Gladly, sweetie," the woman smiled.

    She cocked her leg and let her loafered foot fly, toes first, into the guy's balls. He screamed in agony, only to have his cries cut off in mid-scream by a 100-percent squeeze from my scissoring thighs. The ropy inner meat of them instantly sliced into his arteries and he was out cold. I quivered my thighs off his face and stood up to the applause of the other first-class passengers. I did a cute little curtsy, then hauled the sleeping man into his seat, buckling him in.

    He never gave me a second more of trouble after that. I'm telling you, I have a way with people, maybe that's why I'm such a good flight attendant.