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Old 23-Apr-17, 20:53
luff316 luff316 is offline
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Default Wrestling With Mom (Patreon teaser)

one of the possible long-term stories to show up on the Patreon, based on popular opinion. A boy who's mom is a brutal champion of a wrestler in the ring, but a loving and affectionate ditz outside of work. they explore each other through various venues as their feelings for each other bubble to the surface one night. Can view more stuff on my Patreon for as little as a buck, and vote or request more for higher donors.
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Mom always came home the same way: sweaty, bruised, and satisfied. As soon soon as she set eyes on me, she would grab me in a big warm hug, burying me in her muscles. Then she'd start laughing and talking about how she chokeslammed a bitch through a table (or whatever that day's match involved). She'd always ask how my day was, which was always nothing special, then she'd comment on how good dinner smelled and try to guess what it was. She was always wrong. Mom was a wonderful woman, but she was much more about brawn than brains.

It was part of why I still stayed home. Mom was a champion pro wrestler, and I'd say it was all the blows to the head that made her so forgetful if she wasn't always like this. She made plenty of money as "Barb the Berserker," but she'd forget about her bills or to do laundry. She was out all day, either at the gym or the arena, so she usually didn't feel like making actual dinner. It wasn't your traditional family, but becoming mom's "little housewife" just felt... comfortable. It was rewarding to be there for her whenever she needed a hand; even if she was almost a foot bigger than me and had biceps the size of my head, she couldn't cook and lived like kind of a slob when I wasn't around.

She always told me I was the only man left in her life since dad left. I was so little when it happened, I remember asking about him when I was seven. Mom just smiled and said he went away, but always said the same joke about him. "He only ever gave me two good things: my baby boy, and teaching me how to take a punch.

...I didn't really get the last one until I was older.

I was going through college when things got their deepest. My mom was one of the oldest women in the league at 43, but a long-time champ for almost a year at the time. The XFWKVDWL was one of the wrestling leagues that was made when they made "real wrestling" legal. All the realism of boxing with the theatrics of pro wrestling. They kept the staged stuff around, but people ate up the real violence like the coliseum of old.

Barbara Sanders had been a wrestler for most of my life and a lot of her own, so I was sort of jaded to a lot of the world. I didn't bother watching these days unless mom was on or if she wanted to watch it. She was my absolute hero for as long as I could remember. She was a huge woman, built like a tank but with this sweet, beautiful face. It was a shame for her to hide it behind a mask, even if it just covered the top half and ended right above her nose, drawing the eye to the inch-long scar that trailed from her left cheek down past her jaw. She had straight blonde hair and a big chest held up but piles of muscle; muscles that bounced when she laughed and rippled when she tried to get comfortable on the couch. I think that was part of the magic between us; I knew this side of that no one in the world got to see. The shit-talking giant in the arena was the affectionate woman who needed me to make anything more complicated than toast and ate like a horse. It must have been how she kept her feminine curves despite those beefy arms and legs. I inherited her hair and eye color, but apparently turned out lean like my dad instead of a natural linebacker.

The night that things got complicated, she came home still in her wrestling gear. It was that trademark black spandex that clung to her every curve, and a flame pattern along her breasts right below the cleavage. She had calf-high boots with matching colors and a big gym bag over her shoulder. "Hey there, handsome," she chimed, squeezing me in a hug. I could smell her from across the living room, let alone when she engulfed me in her powerful arms.

"Couldn't even change, could you?" I chuckle, but I hug her back as she lifts me off my feet. The only other people she does that with end up getting suplexed.

"Sorry. Match went long. That Warhead bitch doesn't know when to take a hint and stay down. Then I had to sort of limp part of the way out of the ring when she got in that cheap shot on me." I saw mom casually rub at her crotch and wince before flashing me another smile.

"You do always say the locker room showers are shit," I smile, my hands lingering over her hard side and abs for a moment. The contrast of how soft and how firm my mother can feel has been a constant point of interest.

"That and I couldn't wait to see you," she smiled, kissing me on lips. I don't know if she held it a bit too long or if it was just something about her smell or mood today, but it sparked some thoughts in me. I had never dated seriously, even now that I was a year out of highschool and starting to take college courses. I checked out girls, sure, but none of them were as tall, strong, busty, or hot as my mom was. It was a pretty high standard, I guess, but I felt like I was already living with the ideal woman. It made watching her matches when I was alone... pretty intense. I'd cracked years ago and started masturbating to them, a mix of admiration for her body and the bizarre taboo of watching my mom get her ass kicked. Win or lose, she always made it look good, and the crowd loved her. But never in the way I did.

We eat the dinner I made for her once she's changed into some shorts and a tanktop. Mom was never big on a lot of clothes, and with a body like that, it's hard to blame her. We end up in the living room in one of her favorite positions; her sitting cross-legged in front of the couch, tv on while I rub down her muscles. I've been at it for years, so I've gotten good at tending to her muscles. Her shoulders are always stiff from all the heavy lifting, and she hisses and moans when I hit the right spots. I'm lucky I've given her the rubdown enough times to do it blindfolded, because I keep getting distracted by her noises. They're all just like the noises she makes in the ring from a particularly nasty submission hold.

"Mmmm, fuck," she groans as my fingers press into spots just between her collarbone and breasts.

"Warhead got you good, huh?" She nods a bit listlessly and I take on a mock-scolding tone. "I told you to watch out for those cunt busters."

"Too bad you can't massage that one, eh?" she giggles, leaning her head back against my chest. I wonder if she feels my heart racing. As if the spandex wasn't tight enough on her when she wrestled, I lived with her long enough to pass her in her underwear or in just a towel. I've play-wrestled with her when I was little, and she let me pin her on her queen-sized bed. My mom is built like an absolute goddess. She's dated once or twice, but I think she scared them off pretty quickly with her bulk. It's all I've ever known, and I absolutely love her just how she is.

"Too bad," I agree, and I wonder if I could sound any more non-committal. The heavyweight champ is putty in my hands from the back rub.

"Fuck getting married," she eventually sighs. She rolls her head back enough to look upward at me, smiling with that beautiful, mature face on top of her thick body. "We got along fine without your old man, right?" I smile back and nod sincerely. Her smile softens a bit as she takes one of my hands in hers. A calloused thumb rubs over my palm delicately, tickling the skin. "You're the only man in my life, you know?"

"Yea... I know." I've been physically closer to mom than I was now. I've kissed her a thousand times, and I used to fall asleep on her hard body when we watched movies together on the sofa. Everything about the moment felt perfect, especially her. With her long hair tossed back messily from the tilt of her head, I leaned over her and kissed her full on the mouth. I used the moment of courage to lean into it, making sure it was clearly no simple mother and son kiss.

Whether it's out of surprise or acceptance, her mouth opens and I explore one of the few spaces I haven't on the woman. My tongue presses on and touches hers, so all I can hear above my heart pounding is her heavy breathing and the soft sucking and moaning coming from her covered mouth. She squeezes the hand that she was holding, as if the strongest woman in the world was afraid of the intense kiss. I couldn't have remembered how long it went on, but when we break up, my mom is blushing and breathing heavy as she stares up at me.

"Oh, my brave little boy," she mutters softly and keeps on staring with the gentle blue eyes that I've seen swollen shut on some nights. She rubs a hand along my neck before she pulls me back into another kiss. This time she uses the hand she's holding to guide it to her breast. It's one of those few soft parts of her body, but her nipple is a hard little pebble at the tip. I squeeze her big chest in a way that I'm sure is clumsy and amateur, but she doesn't object. She just thrusts her chest into my hands. I have to wonder if the dry spell she's had without dad has made her as pent up and desperate as I am, or if she's just tough enough to take some virgin groping her. She returns the favor with her free hand running over the crotch my pants, which is absolute diamonds by then.

"C'mere." She finally breaks the kiss and lifts me up in her arms. The woman who lifted the Goth Sisters in a double torture rack has no trouble lifting her son whose idea of a workout is a long walk around the neighborhood. She still calls me "little boy" and "baby" after highschool for a reason, I suppose. I rub my hands over her breast and lean into her, trusting her guiding touch as she cradles me so easily. We share intimate and loving (if extremely so) touches and kisses as she carries me into the bedroom. She sets me back on her bed and lays on top of me, her breath breezing over my face and her dense, warm weight pressing against my hips. "I know I've been busy," she says softly, even though she's ensured that we spend some time together every day. "But I ought to see that my good little boy grows into a proper man."

Some small part of my mind wonders what triggered both of us to cross this line today of all days, but the rest of me doesn't care. She kisses my mouth from all these different angles, overloading my senses as I try to keep up. She undresses me in what she probably meant to be careful and intimate, but she loses patience and just rips my shirt over my head and undoes my pants so quickly that I lose a button. I could give a shit as my champ of a mom takes out my cock and wraps her big strong hand around it with ease.

I gasp and tense up as she giggles knowingly. "There's my sweet little man," she teases. Probably not the kind of words you want to hear when a woman has a handful of your dick, but I'm in no position to argue. I feel all the strength in her capable hands used to start stroking me slowly. It's the farthest I've been with a woman before, mother or not, and I'm already dripping precum on her fingers. She either doesn't notice or doesn't care as she leaned beside me and lifts her up top. Her big breasts spill out, and another small scar runs down the side of her right tit. She gives me an inviting smile and braces her arm under my head, hugging me to her tits.
I instinctively latch my mouth onto nipples, sucking and rolling over with with my tongue. The champ moan loudly, her chest flexing and pushing her tits further into my face. I bury myself in her warm, soft tits while her hand pumps tirelessly around my dick. It's all so wildly different from all the time we've spent together that it's like she's another person.

"Come on," she whispers to me. The house is empty apart from us, but she still treats it like our dirty little secret. It just makes it that much dirtier and sexier, but I can't even say so with her big body greedily trapping my face against her. "Be a big boy for mommy. Nice and hard and big now."

I see her softly smiling face just above her jiggling tits. She looks so pleased and proud, even if I'm just fumbling my way through a handjob from my mother. It's as if she wants this as much as I do. I start to think of how brave and strong she is and how vulnerable I get to see her at times like this. I white out for a second I cum in her hand. As my body shakes, she hugs me tightly like a headlock against hers to hold me steady. The only mobility I have, I use to hump at her hand. She keeps stroking until I'm done, my dick locked in her firm grip. I must have shouted or something, because she shushes me gently. "Easy now, tiger. You did good," she assures me as if I had just got done with a teeball game.

I catch my breath leaning against her, rubbing my hands over her breasts since I'm not sure what else to do with them. I can feel my cum running through her fingers and over my dick as I stare up at her, the reality of the moemnt catching up with me. She smirks and raises her eyebrows. "That was pretty fucked up, huh?" she offers.
"Yea. Kinda," I pant. She laughs at my overwhelmed surprise and finally loosens her grip on me, wiping the cum casually on the leg of her shorts.

"I didn't want to rush you," she says, holding me as I'm just floating in afterglow. "I always wanted you to make the first move. Always knew you had the guts to do it some day." She runs her hand over my chest in return, like we're exploring each other after having first met rather than being the woman I had come from. "When your daddy left, you were all I had. Good riddance to his sorry ass, but I meant what I said. You're the only man in my life. Of course, beating up bitches in spandex on TV doesn't exactly draw guys in."

"Really?" I smile, running a hand lower to rub her muscular thigh. It tenses in response and I hear her breathing shift. "Because I jerk off to your wrestling all the time. You are a fucking beast, mom, in the best way possible."

She's charmed by the honest and laughs it off. "Well, now you have a real front row seat to the show," she says teasingly. She rolls over to swing a leg over mine. Her hips rest on top of mine, and my softening dick now has 200+ pounds of woman balance on to of it. She puffs up her naked chest proudly and flexed both of her arms. "So ready for a rematch? Bet I can pin you this time..."

My dick twitches as if trying to spring back to life, but I can only laugh a bit weakly, feeling exhausted. "Maybe... in a sec. I'm no wrestler like you, mom."

She chuckles and runs her hands through my hair, but stays on top of me. "Poor baby. Down for the ten count, huh? It’s alright. We got all the time in the world." She leans down to kiss me, and then seems to think for a second. "That reminds me... ever think of getting into the family business? They’re always looking for new refs, and I could use a manager to watch my back out there.”

"Can't take a chair to the skull like you used to," I grin and kiss her back, lingering there to let the question hang for a while. "I'll... think about it. I'm just kind of overwhelmed right now, mom."

"Your first time'll do that to you," mom smiles. Barb the Berserker slides off of me to lay next to me and let me spend the night in her bed, our relationship changed forever in that one night. "You'll get the hang of it before too long."

I chuckle and rub her thigh. "Yea... rematch."
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