He and his father had gone to watch her playing tennis the previous week. Simon shifted about uncomfortably in his seat, watching her leap into the air to send a high one back – her large breasts bouncing enticingly – or sprinting to catch a clever shot at the far end of the net. Then when she sent a reply, her agility as she swung her strong arm into action would make his eyes pop. And all the while, her naughty, round bottom would swing away vigorously with her movements.

As if that wasn’t enough, she taught ladies’ self-defence at weekends. The idea of her "in action" against a man unsettled and excited Simon. She would go down to the basement gym to train every evening and he would fantasise about it. This time, though, he didn’t need to fantasise: his father was away, and he could have a crafty look round the edge of an internal wall.

He couldn’t help it. Watching her got him so aroused that he took his clothes off and began to masturbate. She put her lithe body through its paces. She worked on her legs, "cycling" in the air, then stretching them. She did one-arm push ups – no wonder she was so strong playing tennis. But what really got Simon gasping was her practice kicks. Imagine being on the receiving end of one of those!

He watched her swaying in a suspended hoop absent-mindedly, while imagining himself up against her in a fight. She would destroy him with kicks like that! He could only wonder …

"You dirty bastard!"

Being a young man, he had only considered one thing – spying on his sexy stepmother as she worked on her body. It didn’t occur to him that she might sense someone else was there and peer round the edge of the wall. Yet here she was, seething with anger. She slapped his face. Hard.

"So, you like strong women, do you?" she asked, feeling him threateningly under the chin. "Okay then, come with me, and I’ll show you what a strong woman can do!" He had no choice, seeing she had a hold of him by an ear, which she proceeded to twist.

"Down you go, my lad," she told him, forcing him down by the neck. "You know what this is called?" she continued, snapping her thighs shut around his neck. "You probably do, seeing you’re a pervert, but I’ll tell you anyway. It’s a standing head scissor. For added interest, I’m going to lock your arms behind you. I’ll just grab your wrists. Feel that firm grip of mine!

"Actually, I thought you might have a fetish for me," she went on, eliciting a muffled cry from him by heaving on his arms and squeezing with her thighs. "I noticed you gaping at me the other week, playing tennis, and I half-expected you to spy on my training. What’s the matter? You don’t like it when I wrench your arms like this? Shame!"

Leanne grabbed his ribs and brought him half-up, blundering about like an ape, and still within the trap of her thighs. He thrashed about for some support, and found himself holding her buttocks.

"This is your idea of heaven, isn’t it?" Leanne sneered. "You have your head through my thighs and your hands on my arse. You must be in paradise! No?"

With her hands still securing him by the ribs, she scooped him up and held him upside down, still maintaining the scissor. He ineffectually clasped her thighs. She moved her hold lower on his body, with her arms around the base of his stomach. Her right hand was so low, in fact, that the back of it brushed his towering erection (intact since he had been slyly observing her). She took it in her hand, making him shudder.

"It's a hundred times better with a woman’s hand on it, isn’t it?" she rather needlessly asked. "Far better than wanking it yourself while watching her from behind a wall, like some creepy coward."

Leanne had a good grip on it and began to move her hand up and down. She could hear him panting.

"But no, you don’t deserve it, so here we go!"

She suddenly let herself drop so she was sitting on the mat, piledriving him. The jarring travelled from his head through his neck, then along his spine. Before he had absorbed the pain, she seized his left wrist and dragged his arm into a half Nelson, while holding his other arm securely. Then she dropped further onto her back – and all the while his neck was caged in that warm-yet-hostile prison of her thighs.

Leanne increased the pressure of the half Nelson, at the same time pushing him forward and bending his back the "wrong" way, so he took on a grotesque shape. Then she swivelled round so she was above him, facing in the opposite direction and looking up at the ceiling, while supporting herself with her hands on the mat. Meanwhile, his neck and head were going nowhere.

She stretched sensuously, deliberately giving Simon a view along her front. It was such an alluring sight that it temporarily took his mind off the need to free himself from her grip. Did he, in fact, at that moment even want to be free of it? For his eyes took in the muscular contours of her upper thighs; the way her leotard nipped in abruptly from the breadth of her hips to cover – just – her sex; and then along her flat stomach to the wondrous semicircles of her generous breasts. She progressed down his body, until her sex met his chin, her breasts wobbling with her movements.

Then, with a sort of flick of the body, she spun him onto his front. Drawing her legs up, she kept his chin in its same position. This way she was able to look at him and view the results of her teasing. It also brought his eyes to hover just over her breasts, which she knew fascinated him.

But Leanne didn’t keep this position for long. Sitting astride him, she managed to wring yet another variation out of the head scissor. Looking down at him, she asked:

"Were you watching me and wanking all the time behind that wall?"

Simon made some sort of affirmative sound.

"I see. Like father, like son, eh?"

"?"

"Oh, yes! Your dad likes a strong woman too. He loves to watch me exercising, just like you. The only difference is, he doesn’t have to hide and have a furtive wank when I do it. I beat him at arm wrestling the other day. Hmm, I must admit he found that a little bit hard to come to terms with," she concluded, looking absent-mindedly at her hand, as if recalling the arm wrestle.

Then she ramped up the pressure of her thighs, enjoying Simon’s grunting and futile struggling, before shifting so she sat directly behind him. She crossed her legs over his chest, marking something like variation 52 of the scissor. He tried to free himself with a forlorn attempt to prize her legs apart. But he was no match for them.

At last she freed him of her own accord – but only to body scissor him instead. Supporting herself with her right hand on the mat, she held his near arm by the wrist in case he had any notions of counterattack, and squeezed the breath out of him with her thighs. They never seemed to tire. The pressure was now on Simon’s ribs, spine and stomach and his pained looks told Leanne all she needed to know.

Was she going to extract as many variations out of this scissor too? It certainly seemed like it, because she now scissored him from behind, while securing his arms at his neck. They both lay on their sides. But not for long, for she moved underneath him. Keeping his arms locked at his neck, she used the scissor to push the small of his back upwards, placing further strain on his midsection.

But this lasted only a moment, and she brought him back down into a hold that resembled a sleeper, with her arms encasing his head and face. The way she now had her legs crossed could loosely be called a body scissor, but in reality it was more like a penis scissor. Yes, and she used her boots, socks and skin to irritate and stimulate it for a little while.

But she was never content with the same position for long, and she returned to lying across him for a more conventional body scissor, while locking his near, left, arm. Back came the torment to his midsection, still sore from her recent constrictions of it.

However, Leanne soon returned to what must have been her favourite hold, the head scissor. Or rather in this case, a head/penis scissor. She sat behind him again and imprisoned his neck between her thighs. Stretching her long legs, she crossed her feet over his cock and resumed her irregular foot manipulation of it.

But again, it wasn’t for long. Using the scissor, she whisked Simon onto his side and trapped his right arm under her hip. She had weakened his other arm, and now she determined to do the same to this one, multitasking by keeping the head scissor going.

Extracting even more changes from the basic scissor, she now lay above Simon, facing upwards and in the opposite direction, so she could cross her feet over at the back of his head. She dragged his neck up painfully, and he made another (pointless) attempt to free himself by pulling her legs apart. It had all the effect of a puppy trying to drag a bag full of weights across a floor.

Leanne’s efforts, on the other hand, had the effect of an experienced, resourceful, strong wrestler, heaping the pain and misery on an inadequate, unworthy, opponent. For good measure, she sat on his cock all the while, increasing his already raging erection. She spent longer with this hold, no doubt enjoying the extreme teasing she was inflicting on his cock, while at the same time, forcing him up by the neck with her feet.

Still, all good things must come to an end, she thought, and she returned to lying behind him and sandwiching his neck in those tireless thighs of hers. Again, she dragged his head up by the neck. Anyone who has ever hurt their neck will tell you that if you have a painful neck, that pain travels in darts throughout the whole body. So anything she did – and she did a lot – Simon could feel as far down as his heels. A pull here, a push there, or a swift sideways movement caused pain to radiate in waves along his taut nerves and tendons.

Leanne decided it was time for a little more teasing, just for a bit of devilment. Lying to the side of him, she locked his left arm and held it by the wrist. This meant that his hand clasped her beautiful right breast. Simon fairly sobbed with desire as his hand felt the friendly, inviting flesh through the wispy material of her leotard. He could, of course, have sobbed with pain; but if there was any competition between Leanne’s breasts and his pain, the serious betting would be on her breasts.

In her most ambitious move yet, Leanne dragged Simon’s left arm into the scissor, twisting it viciously behind him over her right thigh, while her free hand did the same to his right arm, over her left thigh. Three holds for the price of one. What a gibbering, contemptible state she made of him, too! But then, wouldn’t we all be if someone did that to us? By contrast, she was at ease and smiling as she went about her work.

She spent a little longer over this triple hold too, extracting any resistance that may have remained within Simon out of him. But at length, she gave up his far, right arm. Lying below and beyond his head, she kept his left arm twisted in the head scissor so that the hold had the effect of an arm triangle choke. She shielded her eyes, as if she mockingly couldn’t bear to look at him. (She was a mistress of psychological combat as well.)

Then it was back to her good old head scissor, without the frills -except one. Lying on her back, she pulled him by both arms so that his face was right up against her sex. Putting his hand on her breast several minutes previously, was mere nursery stuff compared to this.

"I know you like strong women," she began, "but I suspect you have a fetish for mature women too. It’s not surprising, really, after all those silly girls you mess around with at university. You’d want to experience a real woman, one who knows everything about men – and I do. Every little weakness; and every big one. The one between your legs is your biggest weakness of all, all of you, but more of that later. For the moment, explore me. Use your tongue." She breathed in sharply, "That’s right, like that."

Laughing, she used the scissor to scoop him up so that he was in the crawl position, except that his hands were holding onto her thighs, which encased his neck and face. She pulled him by the hair so he didn’t neglect the task she had given him.

It’s doubtful that she felt any sympathy for him, but she let him drop to the mat, moved him onto his back, then knelt over his face. She still scissored his neck in the crook of her left leg and held his right arm securely. But the main event had shifted to the face-sitting. She pushed down into him, all the while pulling him up by the hair. Pulling his wrist, she moved his hand over her breast again.

"Go on, feel," she urged him.

If there is such a thing as a standing face-sit, this is what Leanne now imposed on him. She had him on his knees and pulled him up by the ears so that his face was once more up against her sex.

Then she sprang up, taking him with her, so that she sat on his shoulders. He clung onto her thighs, to avoid toppling over, while she kept his mouth in place by pulling him from the back of his head. But her movements were so violent – perhaps deliberately so – that they did indeed have him over and onto his back. She didn’t seem to miss a beat, though, and remained wedged against his face. She joined in her stimulation with her hand, while his right hand strayed onto her lovely breasts again – until she stretched out so her reluctantly had to give it up.

Kneeling up over his face now, Leanne’s left hand inched down his body until her fingers were underneath his erection. Then she moved her hand over it. Simon moaned as she felt his underside and balls.

At last she relented and turned round. Still kneeling over him, but now in the "69" position, she applied herself to his cock.

"I said there’d be more of your cock later, and I always keep my word," she murmured. "You’ve made amends for your bad behaviour earlier, so now you deserve a little reward. I’m going to show you how a mature woman handles a cock!"

She did, too. She used as many variations on his cock with her hand as she had done with the scissor earlier, each one making him work that much harder with his mouth. Feeling him get close, she gave up with the subtle approach and gave it the good old one-two. He exploded, giving as much of a shout as he could, bearing in mind his position. Leanne stood over him, utterly exhausted and aching all over as he was, and posed.

"Well, you’re a lucky young man, aren’t you?" she spoke down to him, both literally and metaphorically. "You’ve enjoyed my fighting and a fraction of my love-making skills. We must have another fight the next time your dad goes away! But he doesn’t need to know, does he? It can be our little secret."