Diana the Valkyrie

Diana the Valkyrie's scissor reviews

A hard head is good to scissor

Kandor Krushed: one man's life and headlong dive into all things legged

Moths are drawn to the flame. Lemmings leap from the cliffs to their death. Politicians are incapable of telling the truth. These are a few of the givens of life, certainties upon which we may depend. Variation from them could spell disaster. Especially for the politicians, who really don't know any better and would implode upon telling the truth.

Here is my truth: I am inexorably entwined with legs, figuratively, literally, emotionally, physically, sexually, sensually. I love legs, pure and simple. I love all manner of legs, from thin and sinewy to huge and pumped; somewhere in the middle works best. I love bodybuilder legs, but also love, perhaps more so, the "average" leg you see on the woman next door, a shopper at the mall, someone who dabbles in just enough exercise perhaps to give her tone, definition, a style of leg, a leg that makes you wonder the squeezing potential contained therein.

Give me a supple feminine limb, gently turned at the ankles, swelling to a silken bubble of calf muscle in the back, sweeping around the front to a crevice of muscle on either side of a hard-lined shin, cascading to a slender knee and thickening into thighs that pulsate with power, defined quads, ropy adductors, head-spinning hamstrings.

Give me a slender leg, thin, even, but roped with tendon and sinew, dangerously formed with visible muscle unhidden by thicker pads of skin, bulging and rippling as she walks. Is there anything sexier than a thin woman with huge calves? Anything? Well, yes, those calves strapped around my head like a tight belt on a fat man's belly, but that's another one of those givens.

The dichotomy of the scissors is interesting: As humans, we involuntarily fight pain, our bodies rebel against it, we seek to avoid it. Yet as scissor afficionadoes, we search out pain, deliberate pain, excrutiating pain. But it is unlike other B&D pain, S&M pain. There is no bondage, not usually; our hands are free to roam the muscled iron bars of our leggy prison. There is no sharp pain of whip or crop or cat o'nine, just the slow building of the pressure in our heads and faces, the blunt cutting of calf or thigh on our necks or throats, the thickening power of thigh on our ribcages and chests, squeezing the air out, letting nothing in. It is a building process, this scissor thing of ours, something that starts slow and builds gradually. There is something to be said for the sneak scissor attack, of suddenly finding yourself embraced by a savage pair of legs that are brutally squeezing at maximum force. But unless you die or pass out, two very distinct possibilities, it passes quickly. The slow scissors lasts much, much longer, and allows for a steady build of pressure and passion and can end as brutally as the savage scissors, with the woman, up on her elbows and smiling down upon her thigh-wrapped victim, quivering those thunderous thighs, the meat of her leg slapping against his face and head like a meaty, fleshy wave. Ah, 'tis heaven on earth.

How does this begin, our fascination with scissors? Usually in childhood. A relative, a friend, captures us in their legs usually in complete playful innocence, and the erotic lamp is unwittingly lit deep within us. Forever more, as we tread this mortal coil, a glimpse of stocking is not shocking, but a trigger to a memory we cannot surpress. We see leg, we want leg, we want leg to hurt us. Neanderthal, perhaps, but the die is cast, there is no turning back.

As to why we continue to want to be scissored, I'm at a loss. I know it is an immense turnon, from both the physical angle of being squeezed in sexy, strong legs, and the emotional aspect of being held completely helpless, perhaps at the point of death, by "mere" female legs. That is at the core of femdom, is it not, that we big strong males can so easily be captured, dominated, held "against our will" (yeah, right) by "just" a woman? That it is legs doing the dominated is most erotic for us leg freaks, but it is the overall sense of being captured that is the turnon. Better still when a woman forces us to perform sexually for her. I have been ordered to lick a woman's delicious rumpus delectus while being scissored, to smell her, to inhale her essence, and I have obeyed. What scissor freak wouldn't?

But other than that, to explore any deep-rooted reason for wanting to be squeezed in a woman's legs, ask your shrink. I think the look on his face alone from the telling would be interesting. Better yet if it makes your mind work in imaginative turns should your doctor be a woman!

Enjoy the pictures, gentlemen, or ladies if hopefully any view these. I took them with a tripod, obviously, but the Heather Fine scissor shots were taken by the lovely leggy lady herself as she grabbed my camera and pointed it at my terror-stricken, puffed-out face laced between her quads of heavenly iron. There will be more pix to come, I assure you, which leads me to:

KANDOR'S SCISSORED SKULL REVIEW

In the future, I will be meeting with other women, testing their scissors, enduring their leggy agonies, loving it - and reviewing it. I think this is a fair way to let other scissorphiles out there know what awaits them, should they have the money to plunk down for an hour of scissor-induced euphoria. I will use a fractured scissored skull rating system; one fractured skull is not good, five is best (cute idea, huh?). I will also describe in detail the experience, her legs, her technique, etc.

The three women in the photo gallery I am reviewing: Lora Ottenad, Cheryl Harris, Heather Fine.

Lora Ottenad (contact through IronBelles).

When it comes to muscle and beauty, Lora is one of the best, and as importantly, she's a sweet kid, personable as all hell. She has sexy blue eyes, that mane of sultry blonde hair - and thighs like beer kegs, cut, ripped, dangerous. She says she doesn't like her calves, they're not cut enough. They look just fine strapped to my face, don't they (see gallery)? My experience with her was tentative, but that was my doing, it was the first time in a long time I'd done it and it ended up "just" being a testing of her scissors, no role playing, no scenarios, no dressing a certain way, all of which Lovely Leggy Lora said she would have gladly done. So in that light, Lora gets:

3 1/2 Scissored Skulls

That's mostly my fault, as I said, she probably could have done much, much more had I approached it differently. Next time. I recommend her, just don't be afraid to tell her what you want.

Cheryl Harris (Owner/operator/main squeeze of IronBelles:). I met Cheryl at a video shoot in Norwalk last year. She was professional to a fault, a total, shrewd businesswoman - and undeniably muscular and sexy. When she came to Boston some months later, I had to see her - and was glad I did.

If you like competitive wrestling (and I don't, I'm a pure fantasy schmoe, just scissor me, darlin', and maybe sit on my happy face for a spell to break things up), you'd love her. She is extremely flexible, athletic and nicely muscled. She isn't huge and thick, but lined and cut, adductor muscles like ropes, calves smooth and rippling. Perfect legs, actually. Perfect woman, more to the point. We chatted, we wrestled, I screamed in pain. It was that simple. Cheryl took me in a straight headscissors with the warning, "I'm gonna start slow and build up," and she did, the cords of her inner thighs warming to the task, bulging under the layer of smooth, dark skin, cutting into my jaw and skull. She squeezed harder and harder and amazingly, I took it. I think she remarked on my ability to withstand, from what I could hear with those luscious thighs packing my ears. And then she'd switch, from scissor to scissor, body, neck, head, chest, those iron limbs crushing, crushing. Sometimes I'd give, like when she'd have me around the carotids and it was give or pass out, sometimes I wouldn't, like in a bodyscissors. But I was struck by her remarkable variety and enthusiasm, as she bounced from hold to hold, be they scissors or grapevines (I didn't give to those) or headlocks or chickenwings or one scissor/surfboard where she crushed my arms behind my back with her legs, stretching me to submission (see pix in gallery). All in all, Cheryl is a delightful lady, a class act, and a scissor applicator extraordinaire.

4 3/4 Scissored Skulls

Same reason as Cynthia fell just shy of top rating - I want her to do it harder next time! OK, that and I'd like a little more dominance, in attitude and physicality. But again, that's probably my doing, I didn't say it explain it outright. And that's the thing with most of these girls: you tell them what you want, and don't be shy about it, you'll get it, and then some (No, not sex, guys, sorry...would be nice, but don't go there). What also makes Cheryl special from a marketing standpoint is she has some of the biggest and best muscle babes in the world in her corner: Nicole Bass, Karla Nelson, Lora, the list goes on and on. Visit her website and cruise the photos; she even has videos for sale. Amazing stuff.

Heather Fine (phone number: 212-316-2503). I've said it before around these sites, I'll say it here again: Heather Fine has THE most painful scissors I've ever felt. I've not been forced to submit faster to a scissor hold than I have with Heather. I've never seen more outrageously large quads on a woman of her size and structure. That's it in a nutshell. And she cracked my nutshell a lot, believe me.

Heather is, in a word, unreal. She has the attitude of Cynthia (though not quite as darkly domineering, which is OK, dominance comes in different packages and I love both Cynthia's and Heather's). She has a great body, though not huge (save for those quads). And she has a playfulness about her that lulls you into thinking you are not a dead man.

Then she works those quads on you, engulfs you in thighs that cannot possibly be that big on so otherwise relatively small a woman, she cords up the adductors, ripples the outer meat of those upper legs, and you know you ARE a dead man. I'm serious. Ten minutes into this, I was sure I was dead, positive the Boston police would be investigating one of the more unique slayings the city has seen in some time, hardened detectives amazed and amused that a fully grown middle-aged man would willingly put his head in such a deadly meat vice. But then she let me go. And not for long. Heather wraps you in thigh, makes you submit, then traps you in calf, makes you submit, then smothers you in deeeeelicious ass, makes you submit...and all these submissions best be accomplished by handsignals, me mateys, because she has the ability, as many of these women do, to squeeze your voice away.

I wrote this somewhere else; I am NOT a foot man, but I'll be damned if at some point Heather didn't have me on my knees sucking her toes as I massaged those dangerous calves. I couldn't believe I was doing it, but I was doing it, more out of fear of scissored reprisal than sexual excitement. Didn't matter, five minutes later I was sentenced back into her legjail for another bout of prolonged capital punishment. And throughout, that husky, sultry voice was admonishing me, "S'matter, baby, that hurt? Hmmm? Don't say 'oh God', honey, he can't help you now...feel those quads, baby, massage my big quads..." And at the end, when I looked in the mirror, I couldn't believe what I saw: A completely distorted face (see one of the photos, I mean it when I say I'm not THAT ugly), puffed eyes, very reddened and swollen nose, lips that look like they're dripping collagen, throbbing head veins at the bursting point. No shit, the pressure from Heather's scissors totally distorted my facial features. And get this: She was squeezing like 30-40 percent, she said. She doesn't mind mounting pressure in your face, she says, that's not fatal. "But I don't want to scissor anyone full strength," she hissed. "I don't need dead bodies in my room."

5 Scissored Skulls

I only give her the full Monty, as it were, because not only is her scissor that good, that painful and that totally debilitating (I was literally in a fog the rest of that day), but I'm really afraid she'll kill me next time. And there will be a next time. There always is. It is our curse.

That is all, my friends. Until next time, keep putting your head where it belongs - in the legs of a dominant woman! And by all means, if any women out there who do this sort of thing want to be rated, you know where to reach me. My skull awaits....