Mama Badass - Mother/Son Wrestling Story

[LeFarr]

A commission I got after my latest (and so far ONLY) post on Literotica. Hope everyone here enjoys. More sex than the last one, but still not outright fucking.

==============================

The young man known to his friends as “Baron Badass” was, at least in most people’s minds, the top prospect in the nation when it came to highschool wrestling. The very small media world that approached it had taken a liking to him, charmed by his smile, his easy nature, and of course his left-over-from-middleschool nickname. He tried to ignore it. He didn’t like to think too much about things like that, although the number of recruitment letters, offers, and even personal visits from college coaches made the fact in and of itself hard to ignore. Not that he hadn’t earned it, of course. Throughout his school career, from 6th grade to 12th, he had lost perhaps six or seven matches, and those were typically either close results, flukes, or had occurred on days when he had some illness or another issue that prevented him from performing at his best. Put quite simply, he may not have liked to think about the fact that he was the best| in the country, but that was just because he didn’t like to get distracted from his training. Think about it or not, he WAS the best highschool wrestler in the country.

Of course, the key thing about being a highschool wrestler, even a very GOOD highschool wrestler, is that it didn’t change the fact that you were, nevertheless, a HIGHSCHOOL wrestler. There were certain things that came from being in highschool, wrestler or not, and the most notable one was the fact that you still lived at home. And, unless you were very lucky or very wealthy, you had to share the car with your parents.

Which is why Zigismund “Ziggy” Baron, the greatest highschool wrestler in the country, was pacing impatiently back and forth in his wrestling coach’s office, listening to his mother drone on and on in conversation with the coach. For the last couple years, ever since the pair had started talking, his mother had taken to ‘accidentally’ buying track pants that were a little too small for her, and then having ‘busy days’ on days her had wrestling practice, which meant she had ‘no choice’ but to show up in an outfit that hugged her thighs like bodypaint.

It annoyed him, and not only because as a young man with raging hormones the sight of a woman, any woman, in pants that tight was exciting in ways that were not appropriate when it came to one’s own mother. It also annoyed him because it meant that half the time when he had a meet or a practice or even just a bit of personal coaching after school, he was stuck like this, waiting to be able to just get on with the day, go home, maybe review some tape and then SLEEP, but instead his mother had to continue to talk to the coach, crossing and uncrossing her legs and laughing at the non-jokes that adults liked to tell each-other wh-

“Ziggy. Cut it out. I’m trying to talk to Michael, and all your pacing is distracting me,” his mother instructed him.

He sighed, “Mom, I just want to go home.”

“I just don’t want to sit here listening to you and Coach go on all day.”

“I’m not making you, you can go sit in the car, we’ll only be a few minutes.”

He sighed and took a seat on a bench, watching his mother and the coach continue their pretend non-flirting conversation. A few minutes was fine, perhaps, but even one minute was hours too long when it came to having to sit through - Or even think about - Your mother trying to get in the singlet of your wrestling coach. He just sat and watched, glaring at the pair, as they continued their conversation about... Whatever the hell it was they were talking about, he consciously tried to avoid thinking about the content of their conversations. Who would want to think about that?

To his relief, his mom finally started to stand up, “Okay, Michael, it’s been wonderful, but I really have to take Ziggy h-” and then she stopped, “Oh, wait! I completely forgot, I was going to show you those photos I took from his last meet!” She exclaimed, reaching into her purse and pulling out her phone, “here we are. So I took th-”

“Dangit, Mom!” He yelled, “Can you PLEASE just GO?”

“ZIGGY!” She glared at him, “I’m showing Michael the photos, just a MINUTE!”

“It’s been an hour! It’s enough minutes, can we please just GO?” He asked.

“Come on, Baron,” the coach said, “Just a few.”

“Please, coach, I just want to go home.”

“Just give us a few more minutes, Baron, I asked your mother to do this for me, and she was nice enough to do it.”

“Come on, Coach, can’t she just email them?” He asked, growing exhasperated.

“She’s here right now, there’s no need to wait around. So just wait, unless you want to solve things the way we normally do around here.”

“What, you want me to wrestle you?”

“Of course not, Ziggy. I don’t wrestle anymore. And this is between you and your mom.”

“Oh, you told me about this!” His mother laughed, then raised an eyebrow and looked back at her son, “How about it, Ziggy, do you want to wrestle with your old mom~?” She teased.

He rolled his eyes, “Come on, Mom, no, I don’t want to wrestle you.”

“Oh, I understand that,” she smiled, “I wouldn’t want my mom beat me up either, if I was a big time top seed recruit~”

He gave an amused smile, “Mom, come on, you can’t beat me.”

“You sure~? I have before.”

He blinked, trying to figure out what she meant. Then it dawned on him, and he sighed. “Mom, you beat me like ten years ago. I’m not 8 anymore.”

“8, 18... Still not too old to lose to your mom~” She laughed. He glared at her, trying to avoid losing his cool, but quite frankly, his mother had been bugging him for far too long, between her flirting with his coach and her still treating him like a kid... Yeah, sure, he didn’t want to wrestle his mom, what guy would? She was attractive for her age, she kept herself in shape, sure, but she was still his mom. On the other hand, what other chance was he going to get to finally shut her up somehow? Sure, no highschool guy would want to grapple their mother, but at the same time, no highschool guy could turn down a challenge from their mom either. And what teenager HASN’T thought about strangling their mom now and then?

“You know what, mom?” He finally asked, “Fine. Let’s do it. Let’s get on the mat.”

“Oooh, this’ll be fun!”

A few minutes later, they were on the mat. She had taken off the light black leather jacket she had worn, leavin her only in the clinging excercise pants and a white tank-top that was made of far-too-thin material. He tried to not look at her breasts, but averting his eyes from them meant looking down at her beautiful thighs. At first glance, it would have been easy to think that the pants were baggy, or at least a little loose. He knew from how she talked about how tight they were and showed off her body for the coach that they had to be tight, but he never thought about the implications of that before now. He especially never realized that the way they were pressed to her body meant they weren’t serving the same purpose as an old woman’s silk hose. They didn’t hold flab inside them, but pure muscle that strained against the heavy fabric.

“Come on, Zigzag,” she teased him using his old pet name, “You gonna lock up with your old mom, or are you going to just forfeit and let your coach see how scared you are~?”

The young man shook his head, clearing the bit of embarrassment and nervousness out, and stepped forward. He didn’t have any need to try to circle around, feel her out, try to get ready. After all, he was in damn good shape, he was a state champion, and he was wrestling a forty-something in a tank top and sweats.

Which is why he found it so surprising when he started to push on the older woman, and found it was like trying to outmuscle pure iron. He looked down her body, trying to make sure he had a good grip and his hands were on the right place, and saw that her legs were bulging and stretching out against the fabric. Her body was svelte and feminine for the most part, but her thighs... They were incredible, like no set of thighs he’d ever seen. They were like tree trunks. He growled, trying to push harder, but by just repositioning her mighty pillars of power, she made it so that he might as well have been trying to outmuscle pure iron. He grunted and repositioned, but so did she, and once again those mighty legs were planted and she stopped his attack.

“F-fuck...” He grunted.

“Don’t use that word in front of your mother!” She responded immediately, stepped to the side and threw him down. He hadn’t been powered down like that since... Honestly since ever. It wasn’t a twist, it wasn’t a trip, it was just her using pure muscular force to send him careening to the ground. He didn’t even have time to throw his arms out and try to catch his fall, she just propelled him to the ground like she was spiking a football, and left him flat and crushed against the mat.

He didn’t have time to react, but she was already reacting. With a smoothness and agility that would have been impressive on a woman half her age, hell, a THIRD of her age, his mother quickly took his back. He was still trying to deal with the fact that his mother had his back, especially considering NOBODY had been able take his back in his entire highschool career, when he felt her mighty legs slip in under his shoulders. Somehow she had transitioned to lying flat back against him as she eased her arms in under him. Then she twisted and rolled to her back, wrenching him around with her thighs and managing to lock her ankles and heels around the back of his head.

Then she tensed her legs and stretched them, pulling together and pushing his head down. His arms got yanked behind him, his head forced down, and worst of all, he got to find out the pure power of his mother’s leg muscles. Hard as rock barely did her powerful thighs and calves justice, they were hard as diamond. As she crushed and squeezed down on the back of his head, he found himself struggling to comprehend how this was a product of human power. Only the striations of muscle, somehow felt even through the fabric of her pants, reminded him that he was being crushed by a human body and not some sort of twisted steel-cable torture device.

“AAGHHH! FUUUUUUCK!” He cried out as she tensed her thighs and squeezed his head down, pulled his arms back.

“I TOLD YOU NOT TO SAY THAT!” She responded immediately, and tightened the hold even harder, cranking up the torture to destructive levels. He’d never felt anything like this, not on a wrestling mat, and only pride stopped him from submitting to pure pain.

He had to find an answer, a way out, since she was simply crushing him with her mighty leg muscles and he couldn’t allow that. The ability to think under pressure was a key skill of any grappler, the ability to separate the mental calculations from the physical sensation of the match, and he strained but it did occur to him that the legs didn’t have the ability to finely maneuver and manipulate that the arms did. That would work to his advantage. He leaned forward, and let her stretching legs pass over his head. With her calves in front of him, now he had gone from a psuedo-full-nelson to a body scissors, a hold it would be a lot easier for him to-

“AAGGHHHHH!!!” He screamed in pure agony as she squeezed down with her thighs, forcing them into his sides. He had thought her legs felt strong before, but he had only been experiencing the very beginning of his struggles against the might of her muscular legs. He felt like a modern-day Giles Corey (thanks, Senior US History class, great time to think about that) as he was being slowly crushed to a helpless pulp between the great boulders of her thighs. As mighty as he was, he had never felt such pure power, such incredible force, as she was bringing to bare against him here.

It was sheer agony, and on a level he had neither experienced nor even imagined before. He’d never been submitted by a bodyscissors (hell, since starting highschool, he’d never been submitted by anything, period,) and the idea of being forced to give in to a hold that was so basic, so untechnical, just sheer brute force and coming from his MOTHER, of all people? He would be shivering at the thought if he weren’t already shuddering from the pure unadulterated agony of her squeezing thighs bending his ribs, crushing and bruising his muscle.

It was all he could do to avoid tapping out, to keep the last little bit of pride that came from at least not submitting. Skilled as he was, though, at keeping the mental and physical aspects of the match separate, the sheer torment of her mighty legs, her thighs, her crushing calves all coming together around his midsection and shattering his pride. Of course, not tapping out didn’t mean the same thing as not losing. As she crushed, he realized his lungs weren’t fully expanding, he wasn’t getting the complete breath... His world was starting to spin, and soon, it would fade out.

“Come on, Ziggy, I know enough about wrestling to know you shouldn’t lose to a bodyscissors. You having trouble?”

She was right. On the other hand, she was also crushing his chest, turning his face purple and bringing tears to his eyes. The fading of the blood from his face meant the whole world was turning cold, and he couldn’t even come up with a thing to say in response. He simply, slowly faded out in her grasp, broken down by her might.

He awoke with his head pounding, as if from some sort of foggy and unwanted dream. Every inch of his body ached, his muscles felt weak and sore, his vision a little blurred. He felt sick, covered in a beading, burning sweat, like waking up in the middle of a blazing, humid night after only three hours of sleep, too tired and weak to stand up and get to training, but unwilling and unable to go back to sleep either. His mouth was dry, like he had been sucking on cotton balls the entire time. There was a ringing in his ears, slowly lowering in pitch to a low rumble, and his whole world was unsteady as if it was consistently subjected to a moderate vibration, like a purring cat. He was sat in a plush if not overly pleasant leather seat, and something was pushing him backwards as well, some sort of long, flat rope holding his slumping body as he raised his head and tried to clear his eyes.

It took him a few seconds to put the clues together and figure out where exactly he was and how he got there. The rumbling, the strap, the small vibration, the seat that was somehow too firm and too soft at the same time. He was in the passenger seat of his mother’s car. It took him a few more seconds to realize how he got there, what had happened to him before, and he acknowledged it with a low groan, leaning forward just slightly and grabbing his still pounding head.

“Good morning, Zigzag~” His mother said, her voice high and teasing, and musical the way it had been when she talked to him as a small child, “Did you sleep well~?”

“Ughhh, Mom...” He groaned, still holding his head, “Don’t call me that.”

“I think I’ve earned the right to call you whatever I want at this point,” she laughed, “That was fun, earlier, knocking you out like that. It’s good to know that your old ma still has what it takes to keep her little boy disciplined.”

He blushed bright red, “Ugh, Mom! I’m not your little boy!”

“I’ve told you before, you’ll always be my little boy. But it was nice to get a chance to remind you of that fact.”

“Mom...” He grumbled.

“I haven’t made a guy scream like that since your father.”

“MOM!” He yelled out again, disgusted (and insistent to himself secretly that it was ONLY that) at the thought of her and his father.

“I don’t mean like that, Ziggy!” She objected, “I just mean it was fun back in the day when I would get him between my thighs and just squeeze.”

“MOM!” He yelled again.

“WITH THE THIGHS!” She continued, laughing, “I don’t mean like that. I just mean we used to wrestle.”

He didn’t answer that, not wanting to think about the implications, or about his mother’s beautiful, yet incredibly muscled legs wrapped around his father’s midsection. Or around him, crushing the life out of him. No, no, he DIDN’T want to think about that. He’d just get home, and ride out the rest of the journey in silence.

“You know, you really take after him a lot,” his mother observed after a few more seconds driving along the street.

“Yeah?”

“He could never handle me either.”

He didn’t answer, just trying to ignore her comments.

“I wonder if that’s why he left me,” she mused, and turned to him, “You wouldn’t leave me, Ziggy, would you?”

“Mom, I-”

“Oh, of course not, I know you wouldn’t,” she answered quickly. He nodded.

“My legs wouldn’t let you,” she continued.

He didn’t answer, folding his arms again, head down as she drove.

“I used to make him cry, too, you know,” she said after a while.

“MOM!” He objected again, growing increasingly frustrated with her comments, “You didn’t make me cry, I...” He felt the distinct sensation of dried tears under his eyes and on his cheeks, “Okay, I... Look, it’s a natural physical reaction to not being able to breathe, okay? It wasn’t me. We learned that in health class, you didn’t make me cry.”

She didn’t answer, continuing to drive. The silence was, if anything, worse than if she’d answered back.

“You DIDN’T!” He said again, insistently.

“Okay, dear. I believe you,” she answered simply.

“Good, I...” He trailed off, “Well, good.”

She continued the ride, and after a while, chuckled, “Look at my little boy. Becoming a big strong man like his father.”

She paused for a few seconds after that, “Well. Big anyway~”

At this point, he didn’t even want to answer back. He lapsed into silence for the rest of the drive, letting her make whatever snide comments she wanted to, trying to tune her out. It wasn’t easy to keep from rising to her taunts, even phrased as they were as idle musings or even compliments, but he did manage to keep his mouth mostly shut for the remainder of the ride, staring out the window and just making idle noises of acknowledgement whenever he recognized the tone of her voice was asking for that. He’d learned to do that as all people his age did, pretend to listen to the parents without actually doing so. He just stared at the window, trying to keep his thoughts on the next meet, or tomorrow’s practice, or his morning run. On anything except his mother, her mean taunts, and the sensations he’d felt when she had her thighs wrapped tight around his midsection and squeezed. How every little striation and strand of muscle had been hard as a carbon-fiber cord. The agony and helplessness of being trapped by her, the humiliation of being held in her legs.

Damnit, he didn’t want to think about it, but it was hard not to. How could he, a national-level highschool wrestling star, have been submitted between his own mother’s thighs? How had he let her take so much control of him. How could he have been... Been beat. No, more than just beat, overpowered. Utterly overpowered and crushed by her muscles.

After what seemed like days of driving, the car finally pulled to a stop in the driveway of the large mixed-style home.

“Thanks mom,” he said instinctively, reaching around his chest to unbuckle the seatbelt, “What’s for dinner?”

“Oh, I didn’t feel like cooking today, so I bought something from McDonalds while you were out.”

“McDonalds?!” He asked, his frustration with her mockery and domination now replaced by frustration with her choice of dinner, “Mom, you know I can’t eat that, I have to stay in shape to wrestle!”

She held a red cardboard box in her hand, waving it a little in his face “Come on, honey, I got your favorite, I even got a toy!”

“A HAPPY MEAL?!” He asked, “Mom, I’m 18! Not 8! And this stuff is TERRIBLE for you!”

“Is it?” She asked, “I eat it all the time, and I’m still in shape. Or do I have to remind you again~?”

“You, but mom you’re-”

“I’m what?” She asked, pouncing on the opening like a lioness on a wounded wildebeast. s

His mouth opened and closed like a fish, trying to think of an answer that wouldn’t make him look too bad or weak compared to his mother.

“Stronger? Tougher? In better shape? Just naturally more gifted?” She prodded him, as he struggled to find an answer.

“You’re, uh... You know... Bodies... Metabolisms and... Muscle growth and stuff.” It was a weak conclusion, but it was all he had.

“Well listen,” she leaned in, her face inches away from his so he could feel her breath on his face, “I’m not going to make you any more food, and I’m not going to let you waste food either. So if you want to eat it, eat it, and if you don’t, then you don’t have to eat dinner tonight.”

Whether it was the fact that it genuinely was late, the exhaustion of a day at school, practice, AND an (admittedly brief) match, or some sort of lingering psychological weakness coming from his defeat, Ziggy couldn’t bring himself to argue. On the other hand, as the smell of the greasy chicken wafted up into his nose, he couldn’t bring himself to actually eat that food, either. He knew enough to know that switching directly to something that greasy and oily after several years of maintaining a balanced, healthy diet would be hell on his digestive system. He was silent for a few more seconds, and his mother leaned in.

“What’s it going to be, Zigzag?” She asked him, her midwestern ‘Karen’ accent taking the threatening tone of Harry Callahan asking a punk if he felt lucky, “Are you going to eat it, or does your mother have to remind you why she’s in charge?”

He considered arguing back, but her knew it wouldn’t do much good anyway. His mother was downright mean when she wanted to be, and while he was still sure (or at least hopeful) that he could handle her, he had no desire to push that right now. His body was still aching and feeling weak from the damage she had inflicted with her mighty thighs. He backed down.

“I’m not that hungry anyway,” he finally grumbled.

“That’s about what I thought,” she smiled, “If you’re not hungry, go to bed. You got pretty beat up earlier.”

He sighed, stepping out of the car, and heard her voice add “By me,” from behind him.

He climbed the stairs to his room, and crawled into bed without thinking about it or even bothering to undress. He’d been through far too much today to even care, he just wanted the day to be over, and to do that he, he would have to get to sleep, dinner or not. It took a while to do that, though, tossing and turning, but he wasn’t willing to get up and try to sneak downstairs. His bedroom was next to his mother’s room, and he didn’t want to risk her waking up and scolding him for getting dinner. He wasn’t sure what was getting into her, but the way she was acting, pushing him around with the food, well... Well maybe it was just something about the way that she had felt so good knocking him out, maybe it was something else, he didn’t know and it didn’t really matter anyway.

Eventually, at some point and he wasn’t even entirely sure what it was, he faded into sleep. His sleep was restless, painful, and full of images of ropes, steel cords, giant vines and crushing anacondas wrapped around his midsection, squeezing in on his chest. They were vague, disjointed, just images and sensations, but the one thing they had in common was that they all featured some mighty THING squeezing in on him, stopping his breath, weakening him with pure force.

And they somehow, none of them quite matched the power, intimidation, fear, and... And something else he couldn’t quite name... Of being trapped in his mother’s thighs.

He woke with a start. The sun shined through his window, letting him know that he must have slept through the night, but in his tired and still-aching state, it felt like he’d managed closer to an hour, maybe two. In his restless sleep, he’d somehow managed to twist his blanket around his chest. That explained the dreams, just a product of the sensation, the feeling of having the blanket wrapped around him seeping into the world of dreams.

He was thankful that it had been a friday night, and before a week of winter vacation as well. It meant he didn’t need to bother with changing his clothes. He had been too tired, both mentally and physically, to strip down when he got home, meaning he had ended up going to sleep still wearing what he had worn in their match. His hunger, which had been merely a very present frustration when he had been trying to get to sleep, now ached like he had been stabbed in the gut and then had the knife twisted around. At this point, much as he hated the idea of it and knew he would regret it, he’d even be willing to eat the greasy nuggets. He might even play with the toy if she insisted, he just wanted SOMETHING.

His eyes bleary and half-closed, he walked to the door of his room, stepped into the hall... And bumped right into his mother. Some cold liquid splashed over him as he started to walk past her.

“ZIGGY!” She yelled out, her voice stern and angry. He looked up at her, eyes still half-lidded with exhaustion.

“There’s MILK on my JEANS” she announced, “I went all the way out of my way to make breakfast for you, bring it up to you in bed because I know you’re still recovering from what I did to you, and you repay me first by bumping into me, sending the milk splattering everywhere, and you don’t even offer to clean it up?”

He sighed, and shrugged, not wanting to deal with her or her attitude right now.

“Fine, mom,” he shrugged, “I’ll go get a towel, okay?”

“You most certainly will not!” She answered, “I don’t want to have to do an extra load of laundry this week. There’s no need to get your cereal all over a nice clean towel, when you have something right there that you can use.”

“Something right there?” He asked, looking up at her, then down at the wrestling team T-shirt that he’d worn to school yesterday. Then back at her.

“Mom, I can’t-”

“Can’t isn’t a word in this house,” she cut him off, “The only thing you CAN’T do is beat me in wrestling. Now clean me off so I can get back to work.”

He was still too tired to argue with her, so he did what she told him, kneeling down in front of her and stripping off his shirt. She was wearing very short jeans, short enough that a girl at the highschool would be kicked out for them. The frustration of the events of last night and her suddenly more aggressive nature had him too out of it mentally to even realize how strange the moment was. He was too exhausted to even really think about how embarrassing it was, but his face blushed all the same as he ran the cloth up and down her thigh.

“Ooooh, look at that,” his mother coo’d, “Your chest is still purple. I wonder if I broke a rib. Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve done that,” she said proudly, and flexed her legs. The milk splashed on his face, and in an instant her calves went from relatively soft and normal to marble hard. Without even thinking about it, he gave a low groaning sound as he felt them under his grasp, and continued to wipe them down, wiping his hand in a circle on her lovely leg as if he was polishing a statue. He didn’t even need to look up at her to know she that self-satisfied, confident smile on her face. His face was flush red, the same as it had been when he had been trapped in her legs. Red, then purple, when he faded out under her. He tried not to think about it as he rubbed her down, nor think about just how powerful and awesome her thighs were.It was a vacation week, and if she kept up this attitude the whole time, well... He just didn’t want to deal with that. Maybe she would calm down.

She wouldn’t. And it was hell. He tried to deal with her, to be polite, to shut up and smile, but she would never stop reminding him of what she would now insist was ‘his place,’ and the more he objected to it, the more she would push him on it. She chose his meals, told him when to sleep and wake up, kept him inside the whole time and didn’t let him hang out with his friends, insisting he would have to keep training if he wanted to get stronger, to be strong enough to beat ‘a silly old woman’ like her.

She made him work out with her, run on the treadmill just like she did. He had never done cardio that way, he had enough for a wrestling match, but not for hours and hours of running, but she made him. Pushed him until he was dripping with sweat and panting, then mocked him as he had to step off, sweat dripping from his face and heart pounding through his chest. She adjusted his diet, mostly kids foods and sweets that she, somehow, was able to enjoy herself without losing her figure. Again when he objected, she reminded him that she had already proved well enough that it wouldn’t make him a worse wrestler, and she clearly knew more about it than he did.

The time she was at work was a brief break, of course, but even then she would find ways to taunt him, leaving him messages around the house or sending him snapshots of her thighs with an instruction, reminding him what would happen if it wasn’t carried out.

The exhaustion and frustration was getting to him like nothing else, and by thursday night, he was more exhausted than he had been on the worst of his weight-cutting hell-weeks. For the sixth night straight, her taunting and tasks lead him to collapse into bed without being able to bring himself to even change his clothes.

Once again he dreamed that night of being crushed by a boa constrictor. No, not a boa, more specifically, a woman, with the lower body of a snake, and the upper body of his own mother, completely topless. He shuddered and twisted while her tail coiled tighter around him, and cut off his breath like her thighs would. As the monster crushed him, he begged for mercy, for release, for anything to end the destruction. Ultimately he simply begged her to get rid of her tail, to take the form of his mother and crush him with her thighs.

That would turn out to be the biggest mistake, as the switch to his mother’s powerful legs turned the squeeze of the dream monster into a torturous crush. He thought it had been bad before, but he would see then that he hadn’t seen anything even close to the worst of what he could experience. He suddenly felt like his body was being sliced in two by her thighs, while the monster laughed.

“YOU SEE, LITTLE ZIG-ZAG?!” She taunted, as her thighs crushed in on his hips and his waist, squeezing his own bulge against his body, “YOU CAN NEVER CHALLENGE ME! YOU ARE NOTHING TO MY THIGHS! YOU ARE A LITTLE HELPLESS TOY! YOU ARE POWERLESS NEXT TO YOUR MOTHER’S MIGHT! SUBMIT! SUBMIT YOUR BODY, YOUR SCREAMS! SUBMIT EVERYTHING! YOUR BODY KNOWS WHO RULES YOU, STOP DENYING IT!” He shuddered, but she was right. He wasn’t able to fight, tears were rolling down his cheeks, and her crush got worse, and made it harder to breathe. Agony rolled through his body, agony and a small, horrific bit of pl-

He woke up with a start, as bad as he had on the first day. Once again, the blankets were wrapped around his body, coccooning it not just around the chest, but around the groin as well. He shuddered when he looked down and realized that they were wet as well. He had had a wet dream, no, a wet nightmare, about his own mother crushing him...

He had had enough of it. No more nightmares like that, no more dealing with her taunting and her cocky attitude... He would take her down, he would beat her, and he would be prepared to treat it like a proper wrestling meet as well. Train for it not as an impromptu fight against his mother, but as a full-on proper match, the sort that had brought him national championship after national championship, and made him the talk of the town as far as the amateur wrestling magazines were concerned. He was the hottest prospect in his sport, the best in the nation and probably one of the best in the world at what he did. There had been profiles in magazines suggesting he might be a future Olympian, and now here he was being pushed around, mocked, and having erotic nightmares about his mother. Just because she got him in one tight hold, once!

He didn’t have tapes to study, so he just tried to relive the moment in his mind. Tried to relive it, and not get too excited by it easier. Somehow that nightmare had put him in the mind to think of her and, more importantly her legs, like that... He tried to consider weaknesses, ways her lack of technical skill would be able to be used against her. He got limbered up, stretched, and ready for his mother to come home from work. Ready to take her on. It was friday again, the week was over... And he was going to make sure her dominant taunting would end as well.

By the time she got home, he was ready. He’d even changed into his singlet. Limbered up and focused, even if she was a trained athlete she wouldn’t have a chance. And she wasn’t. She was just a woman with a nice set of thighs on her. Powerful, a powerful set of thighs on her. Not nice. Strong.

She opened the door, and her eyes opened wide to see him ready to wrestle.

“Ziggy, why on EARTH are you dressed like that?” She asked, still in her jacket, blouse, and skirt from her work at the law firm.

“I’ve had enough of your taunting me about beating me, mom,” he answered.

“Clearly you haven’t, if you want me to do it again,” she replied.

“No, Mom, I want to show you that you just got lucky.”

She hung her keys on the coat hook, and then stepped forward, shrugging off her jacket and leaving her only in her skirt, blouse, and stockings.

“Alright, Ziggy,” she said, as she walked into their living room, “If you’re so intent on showing me that I just got lucky, by all means. Show me.”

It was a little bit intimidating once they were actually in the room together. He’d been thinking a bit about this, but now that he was here, even in his own gear, it was a whole different matter. He began to remember how her beautiful legs had crushed his chest, how he hadn’t been able to breathe, how it felt like she had been about to dislocate the ribs. He’d never been beaten that badly by anyone, to have it happen not from an opponent on the mats, but from his own mother? That had been too much. He wouldn’t let it happen again.

He raised his arms to lock up with her, and she did the same, accepting the grappling challenge just like she had the first time. He had been surprised by her strength when they had first grappled, he had expected her to be an old and out of shape woman, but she had turned out to be powerful. It had been a mistake, he had treated her like a joke and not an opponent. He wasn’t going to do that again. He tensed his arms, his legs, and pushed...

And got nowhere. When he pushed hard on her, she didn’t even have to push back, just plant herself on the ground, and her awesome legs did the rest. She was immovable, solid rock compared to him.

“Did you forget how this doesn’t work already?” She asked, lowering her arms to grab around his back, pushing herself in, pushing back against his arms and easily getting all the way past his resistance. He felt like she was bearhugging now, and felt her breasts, still covered by her blouse, pressed against his chest.

He couldn’t allow her to do this to him. Fortunately, now he was ready for her to have power, and he reached down between her legs. Not to grope, of course, just to try to get a good grip so he could lift her and then slam her down again in a classic bodyslam. He slipped his hand between her thighs and...

And in one smooth and honestly unexpected, even shocking motion, she clamped her thighs shut instantly like a vice on his forearm. He gasped in pain when she flexed them as well, the mighty thick muscles in his mother’s legs pulsing down on his arm and crushing against it like boulders. His eyes were wide with surprised, and he looked up, into hers, only to see her giving him a confident smile in return. Smug, even. If there had been any doubt in her mind beforehand that she truly was the superior, it had faded away, and she had gotten meaner for it.

“Having some trouble~?” She laughed at him, and shimmied her hips back and forth like a dancer. The action ground his arm back and forth in the mighty chasm of her thighs like two great rocks were being twisted along them. In surprise and pain, he fell to his knees. Fortunately, it lowered the pressure somewhat, since she now was only wrenching and crushing the arm, but not keeping it in the awkward bent position he had been in when he tried to lift her and slam her on her back. Unfortunately, though, it allowed her to shimmy up until her legs were capturing his bicep rather than his forearm, the mighty muscles crushed flat to the bone by the pure force of her legs. He looked up at her in helpless agony from his knees, and she just laughed at his helpless position between her thighs, then started to pulse on his arm, torturing the muscle, dominating it, until he felt isure she had inflicted serious damage on his arm just by crushing with her incredible legs.

“Mmm, poor little baby boy. Just can’t stand up to mommy, can you?” She teased him, and then pulsed her arm more, squeezing and releasing repeatedly to torture his pinned biceps. The might of her legs was in stark constract to the smooth silk of her stockings, which meant that as she shimmied her hips and pulsed her thighs, that smooth soft fabric allowed just a little bit of slide along the surface, adding an extra torturous force to the attack, sliding along and making sure there wasn’t even a single inch of arm muscle that wasn’t being crushed by her legs.

“Now, honey, what is it you kids like to say these days?” She asked with a taunting tone in her voice, “You’re going down?” She chuckled, “Well, Zigzag... You’re going down!” She laughed, and twisted, jumping a bit off the ground to take him to the floor. Well, more accurately, to take his bicep and arm to the floor. He could have tried to stay up, but the tug he felt in the arm socket let him know what an awful idea it would be not to simply follow her, and the grip that she had on his arm, and the perfect position of her legs, forced him to choose between going down willingly, splaying his legs out wildly as he did, or having his arm simply pulled from the socket by the pure power of his mother’s incredible, overwhelming legs.

His back hit the ground with a thud, his arm still a little twisted out of position but nowhere near as bad as it could have been. He looked up in her eyes again, starting to be afraid as the pure agony of having his arm ground in her legs was starting to get to him.

“Aghhh, mom, that hurts!”

“It’s supposed to hurt, honey, it’s a submission hold~” She ansewered, and reached down to ruffle his hair condescendingly, “In fact, here, let me show you how bad it can REALLY get!”

When she said that, she hooked her ankles around themselves, and pulled her calves tighter, crossing them over his arm. He couldn’t speak back, he could only scream as it felt like she was trying to slice straight through the arm. He began to feel the muscles in his arm start to tense and release at random, both the crushed biceps and the others beyond it. It felt like his whole body, his whole BEING, was being subjugated to his mighty mother. She didn’t have any mercy for his plight, either, as she just laughed and kept it up.

“You’re not going to submit, are you Zigzag?” She laughed at him, clearly seeing the tears that were starting to well up in his eyes. He wasn’t, he wouldn’t, he couldn’t... Or at the very least, he wouldn’t allow himself to admit just how close he was getting to being forced to give in to her completely. All his preparation, all his planning, and it was all coming to nothing. He may have more experience at a higher level, be better trained and prepared, know holds and counters with an ability that could impress even some of the greatest coaches in the world. All that was irrelevant, though, just so much empty boasting in the face of the monstrous force his mother could inflict with her thighs.

“Are you having trouble? Are you going to give up?” She laughed, “Just a fluke, did you say? Is what I’m doing to your arm just a fluke?” she taunted, and started to pump her legs back and forth. The attack was pure sadism, wrenching his already bruised muscles and stretching the joint as if she wanted to yank his arm clean out of the socket. He didn’t know any sort of counter for this sort of attack, nobody had even tried one, and he was helpless in the face of it. Not that his mother seemed to care, as she just laughed at his helplessness while she tortured him.

He couldn’t think of any way to try to save himself, even trying to pull back was useless, since the crushing force of her legs was enough to compensate for the slick feel of her silk stockings. All he could do was grab the shoulder helplessly.

“PLEASE!” He cried out in pure searing pain.

“Please what~?” She asked in response, laughing at his feeble struggles against her might, “Please let you go? Do you submit?” She laughed, “Are your mother’s thighs too much for you to handle, Zigzag?” She laughed.

“Aghh, I...” He started, but she didn’t let him finish what he had been about to say.

“I know!” She announced, “You were going to say it’s not fair, right?”

He didn’t want to admit it, but right now, it felt it wasn’t. There was no counter or method of dealing with such destructive raw force.

“Well you’re right. How can it be a fair fight? My legs support my gorgeous body all day, your arms just lift weights sometimes. Arms versus legs can hardly be a fair fight.”

He shivered at the sadistic tone in her voice as she continued, “How about we do Thighs vs Thighs instead?”

She rolled off his arm, and slid her body down, then opened her thighs wide. He wanted to back away from her, but he was in too much agony to even think of that, and besides, it would mean raising his leg, which would put the appendage in prime crushing position. Then she lowered her hips... And started to squeeze once more.

If he had thought the pain in the arm was bad, it was like a light tickle compared to what she did when she latched her mighty legs around his calf. Instantly it felt crushed flat. His thigh muscles were large and impressive, they had to be considering he was a professional athlere. All that mass, though, did nothing to save him from her body. If anything, that fact made it worse, the size of his thighs gave her that much more to squeeze down on. He let out a helpless scream when she started her attack, his legs instinctly trying to kick, which just meant that the twitching and releasing muscles gave her legs exposed the thighs to more torture, little shifts against the silk that allowed her that tiny bit more room to destroy his legs.

“AGHHHH! OH GOD!”

“Still can’t take it, baby?” She asked, laughing as she cranked the pressure and twisted his hips, reducing his once-mighty thigh muscle to too much hamburger. He felt her hand on his bulge for a second and looked down in surprise, but she wasn’t massaging him... She was just using an extra place to rest her hand as she leaned over him until her face was only inches from his.

“If it’s too much, you just gotta say it. Won’t even end the match, just say it,” she taunted him. He bit his lip and tried to resist, but the resistance was blown away with a simple pulse of her legs.

“SAY IT” She repeated, her voice commanding now, a tone he would have instinctively obeyed even if he wasn’t suddenly feeling the worst pain in his life on his largest and now weakest muscles.

“I CAN’T TAKE IT! YOUR THIGHS ARE TOO GOOD!”

She laughed at that, accepting his submission and releasing... But as she said, it wouldn’t end the match. She didn’t even fully stand up and get away, she didn’t have the mercy to give him even that minor reprieve. Instead, she just slid forward over his hips, twisting to lie perpendicular around him, and wrapped her legs tight around the lower body a second time. The V of her legs was pressed right up to his pelvic bones as if she was planning to hump him like a stripper would a pole on a particularly crowded night. That fleeting thought demonstrated the second problem of the position she had chosen for her legs... The way that it brought them in body-to-body - Or, more accurately worse, body-to-spandex-to-silk-to-body contact - with the bulge that had been stretching his singlet to one extent or another the entire match. Considering the destruction she had just wreaked on his arm and his leg, two other once-hard fleshy parts of his body, he didn’t even want to think of what she could do to that particular piece of his anatomy. Of course, thinking wouldn’t be a problem for too long anyway. When it came to the types of torture that could be inflicted on his body, his mother seemed intent on keeping the thinking and imagination to a minimum, and the experiencing and suffering to a maximum. In other words, she tensed her thighs, and in an instant, he got to feel exactly what those mighty muscles could do to a man’s... Well, manhood... When given the chance to squash it against flesh and bone.

It was horrific, but to his shock - And disappointment - It wasn’t even only pain. Instead, the slick sensation and the pressure made his shaft fill out against her leg muscles. Now he didn’t have to deal with merely the bone-crushing pressure of her mighty legs against his body, he also had to deal with the boner-crushing sensation of such powerful, firm, and destructive pressure surrounding his shaft and letting him know just how helpless he was. And the worryingly NOT boner-crushing knowledge that it was his own mother doing this to him, that some of the most incredible sensations he had ever experienced was coming not from a girl his own age, but from a woman who was not only old enough to give birth to him, but who actually had. He bit his lip, trying to avoid screaming for fear that it might come out as a moan rather than a cry. She, meanwhile, either didn’t notice, or thought that encouraging that type of humiliation would go beyond even her twisted tastes. He could only hope it was the latter, since he didn’t know how much longer he would be able to disguise the disturbing pleasure that was coming from the way the inner thigh repeatedly rubbed up against his shaft. It was pleasure almost great enough to make him forget just what incredible damage her mighty thighs were capable of doing to him, and frankly the fact that it was only ALMOST seemed to make it worse. Images of his nightmares flashed through his head, the helplessness, the weakness, and his mother’s dominance and control. Despite his best efforts to hold it back, he let out a light whimper at the thought of just what she was capable of doing with her thighs.

“Aww, what was that, feeling weak, baby?” His mother teased, “You having trouble handling mama’s legs? You not tough enough?”

The honey-sweet tone of her voice conspired with the feel of her thigh to spike his arousal like heart chart, and he suddenly gasped “Mom! Mom get off let up I give!”

He didn’t know if she knew exactly why he had done it, a woman of her age surely would know the tones, but she didn’t. In fact, she kept up the attack, but turned the vicious crush into a series of slow pulses, almost teasing him. If anything, it was a sign that she not only knew why he did it, but was encouraging it.

“Aww, giving up? My poor helpless boy giving up?” She laughed, “Oh, surely not. I thought that I had raised a tough boy who would fight through the pain. You’re not going to tap out to a hip scissors, are you?” She laughed, her voice getting lower, as his shaft got harder and twitched faster. The pleasure was rising, the sensations getting wilder, and he was completely at her mercy... A trait he was rapidly discovering she seemed to not even have, as she leaned in and he heard her whisper in a low, taunting voice, “There isn’t some other reason that you want to give up, is there?”

And then she repeated it, “IS THERE?!” This time, the question was accompanied by a hard squeeze with her thighs.

And it all became too much for him. He had ended every day too exhausted to even masturbate, which had left him pent up. That was likely the cause of his nocturnal emission, or at least he hoped it was, but that had taken the edge off, which meant the orgasm that completely rocked his body was, worryingly, all her doing. The edge being taken off may have made it completely her work, but the pent up time meant that her work netted her awesome amounts of cream that pumped heavily out of his shaft, spraying down her thigh like he was trying to re-dye her silk stockings pure white. Helpless against her mighty legs, he was completely hosing her thighs down. His seed was pumping from his cock like it was a super-soaker, spraying the silk and just making it worse. For her part, she didn’t hold back or stop... In fact, she just squeezed more, pumping her thighs back and forth to make sure she dragged out every drop of seed that she could force him to provide.

“Ooooh, helpless little boy,” she taunted, keeping him going, “Mommy made him all messy. Mommy made him wet his singlet. Mommy made him do a naaaauuuuuughty~” She laughed, continuing the heavy pumping assault on both his metaphorical and literal manhood. He couldn’t even respond to the taunts anymore, with how she continuously pumped and pulsed her hips over him. He was too busy continuing to spray seed, make a mess of her thighs, her stockings, and even her skirt. It was the hardest orgasm of his life, cream pumping out for what felt like a full minute, shaking and shuddering beneath her, and she just laughed at him.

It took far too long for the orgasm to end, but eventually, thankfully, MERCIFULLY, it was over. And he heard laughter from his mother. Not the confident taunting laughter that he had heard from her up to now in her teasing, either. It was absolute genuine amusement at his plight. She had made him cum. Hard. Like a toy. She had made him fill his singlet with his seed for almost a minute, and she laughed like it was the funniest thing she had ever seen. He could only moan, helplessly pinned down, coming to face his weakness

“Ohhh, poor baby~!” She laughed, her thighs continuing to pulse and rub over him, making his helpless cock twitch from the overstimulation, “You got me sooooo messy~” Then her voice took on a new, darker tone. “You’d best clean it up.”

“Wh-what?” He asked, not really processing the phrase in his post-orgasmic haze.

“I said,” she answered quickly, “Clean it UP!”

She moved like lightning, and before he could even really see what she was doing, she was already on top of him, settling on his face. His cum dripped down off her thighs, wetting his face with the messy liquid. Her legs closed tight on his skull, so tight he could hear the bone creak under the pressure of her pulsing thighs. He couldn’t breathe under the silk stockings, especially not with his own cum dripping into his mouth. He gasped for it, but found himself trying to suck down silk and seed, shaking beneath her.

There was no air for him between her legs, nothing to breathe but the scent of her power and his failure. He could barely hear her talk, but her hold was just short of too tight for him to hear through the meat of her thighs.

“I told you to clean it up, Zigzag. That’s more than once that you’ve made a milky mess on mommy’s leg, and this time it’s warm, too. You’re a disgusting, weak little toyboy getting all excited like this from being defeated, and at the legs of your own mother, no less! To think, that my own son would be STAINING my STOCKINGS with CUM!” She gasped, and then her legs pulsed once more, repeatedly, like an earthquake, and he could only shake and shudder, thankful that, at least, if she kept this up, he would be out in no time.

She didn’t have enough mercy for that, though. She controlled his breath, and not just by stopping it, either, but also by allowing him little slivers from time to time. She would release her thighs from his head just enough that he could breathe, and take the moment to shower him with degrading comments, before she wrapped her legs around him once more. It kept him week, squirming, panting deep for every bit of oxygen she was willing to provide him, and feeling as if his mind was gradually slipping away to a realm of pure humiliation. His body was weak, his arms limp, his heart beating helplessly in his chest. He felt controlled, completely and totally, gasping and his heart beating wildly under her. And to make matters worse, a certain part of him - That same part that had already humiliated him once and got him into this mess - Seemed to be starting to enjoy it. He could only hope that she didn’t notice the physical response he was having to her dominance.

“Aww, still having trouble, ZigZag? You can’t get out?” And then there was a pause, long enough for her to look back, and he bit his lip when he realized that the evidence of her complete and total dominance would be obvious, undeniable, even, at this point.

“Or is it ‘off’ that you want to get, honey?” She asked.

“No, I-” He started to give an answer, one not even he could be entirely sure where it was going, but that didn’t matter anyway. She silenced his objections by settling herself on his face, squeezing her thighs closer to his head, muscles pressing in on the sides, crushing.

There were stars in his eyes, now, as he got close to fading. His lungs were completely empty, he tried desperately to suck down more air, but the emptier and more desperate his lungs got, the fuller and more eager his shaft got in response. It was a disturbing, humiliating dance as she pressed her body down against him, her thick musclebound thighs crushing the side of his head like steel plates, and his world fading down to nothingness. He would squirm and try to scream, but his body could barely send any energy to the muscles. Though he couldn’t see his face, he was sure that by this point, it had flushed a deep purple.

Then, at the very last moment before he passed out, she would release him, and the air would rush back into his lungs once more. He would get the tiniest amounts of strength and sensation back in his body once she allowed him the breath, feel his lungs fill with air, his body with power... And then feel just how stiff his shaft had grown, and bite his lip, trying desperately to deal with the humiliation. Then just before he felt strong enough to try to push her off, she would clamp down once more. Three, four, five... Then after that he lost count, but time after time she would do this, nearly let him pass out, release, let him feel his own arousal, then crush down before he could fight back.

After what could have been the tenth time, could have been the hundreth, could have been the millionth for all he knew, it certainly felt like its, she released again.

“I have you now, little ZigZag. And it seems like I have both your heads under control, too~” She laughed.

“M-mom...” He whimpered.

“Hush, boy~” She cut him off, “I don’t want to hear anything from a pervert who gets hard when his own mother crushes his head. You have a thing for thighs, is that it? Maybe you only got into wrestling ‘cause you wanted this to happen?”

“Please st-”

She didn’t let him finish, simply clamping down on him again. “Alright, little zigzag~” She laughed, “Time to finish up this little dance. Tell me you like it, and I’ll end it~”

She pulled her hips back from him, giving him enough room to breathe. He couldn’t bring himself to it, though, as horrible as it was. He had no more illusion about being able to beat her, at least not right now, but he couldn’t make himself admit his weakness.

“SAY IT!” She growled, and he only whimpered.

“Looks like you need more, then!” She announced, and squeezed down again. His lungs, tortured for god-knows-how-long by her overpowering legs, had struggled to fill even halfway as he was whimpering. Soon he felt himself fading again, spots coming in front of his eyes, and his cock swelling out like a baseball bat in his singlet. She released him again, letting him breathe deep, comforting breaths.

“Alright, baby. You ready to admit it?”

He still couldn’t, much as he wanted, much as he felt his cock pulsing as the precious oxygen brought back sensation to his body. She let him breathe for longer than before, if only by a half-second, before squeezing her thighs in on the side of his head again. This time, he had had just enough breath to get all the feeling back, and his cock twitched like it was on the edge of orgasm. The sensation crushed any last bit of pride he had had, and as soon as she released him once, more, he cried out “I ADMIT IT! YOU WIN MOM YOU WIN I LIKE IT!”

Or at least, he cried out part of that, but as soon as he got out the “I admit i-” part, she clamped down again, and harder than before. It was too late to try to deny it, or to salvage even a hint of pride. His cock put an end to any thought of that, as soon as she squeezed down that last time, one he knew she wouldn’t let up on, he felt himself burst. The orgasm wasn’t as hard on his body as the last, but it was far more destructive to his mind. He found himself squirming around, shaking, and his whole body breaking down in total submission. Tears flowed freely down his cheeks as he felt the cum splash onto his body, and the world slowly, helplessly fade out until even the sensations of her thighs were gone completely.

He wouldn’t wake up for a while, but he felt the whole time like he was floating in a sea of bizarre pleasure, fear, arousal and dominance. When he did awake, he was still on the floor. She hadn’t even done him the small favor of carrying him upstairs and putting him to bed. Instead she had left him helpless on the ground, marinating in his own juices in his stained singlet. He could barely even think about what had happened, how hard he’d lost... Hell, lost was even the right word for it, been completely destroyed and subjugated by his own mother. She had dominated him, he hated it... And his cock twinged like it was eager to pour out more seed at the thought of her mighty thighs. He whimpered, shivering like he had been dragged from freezing water. He couldn’t face the world right now, the thought of what she had done to him. He didn’t want to stand up and try to climb up the stairs to bed, he didn’t even have the strength for that anymore. She had crushed him, totally, left him broken. With tears in his eyes, he lay his head back, and allowed himself to fall back asleep.

He woke up in bed, she had carried him there apparently, with an already prepared protein-shake on the bedside table. Beside it, folded half-closed, was a note. He dreaded the thought of opening it, but eventually he had to.

“I made this for you. You need to keep your strength up, we’re going to have a rematch next Saturday,

XOXO,

Mama Badass”

Next Saturday. Something about the date gave him a jolt. Something important would happen then, but he just couldn’t remember what. What was it. Something, someone, a visitor...

Oh no. Saturday was the home visit from the Stanford wrestling coach. And to make it worse, the whole weekend was a family reunion. He shuddered at the thought. Surely, she wouldn’t...

But what he had learned in the last month was that surely she would. He whimpered, tears welled in his eyes... And his cock stained the sheets at the thought.

[nadiablack]

Hey just wanna say this is an amazing story

[dragoness' wrestling fan]

Really awesome commission

[RK2017]

Amazing story.