In Mother's Thighs

She walked around the minivan and opened it again, letting her son out of the seat and to his feet "There you go, Billy," she said, offering a hand to help him out (or rather grabbing his shoulders and insisting on assisting him.)

"Mom, I'm FINE!" he objected, pushing her away and seeing the shock on her face, "Just get over it, okay! You had beginner's luck. I'm gonna have Nari over a-"

"You certainly aren't!" His mother objected, "I know you like her, but you heard your coach, you need to rest."

"He said nothing too intense, mom! Going for a walk isn't intense."

"Well I'm your mother, and I say it is."

"Well I'm ME and I'd say I know me well enough, mom, so stop acting all pleased with yourself just 'cause you got lucky in a spar, it can happen to anyone!"

"Well it happened to you, Billy, now are you going to do what I say or do you want it to happen again?" She challenged.

He wasn't exactly in workout gear, but he had honestly had enough of this, and honestly his coach was being overprotective anyway. He could handle himself with a little intensity after a knockout, as long as it wasn't from a head blow, and he could CERTAINLY handle himself grappling with a woman more than twice his age no matter what condition he was in. "You know what, mom? Fine!" He said, "If that's what it'll take to get you to stop this nonsense, then fine, let's have a rematch!"

His mother dropped her workout bag and the KFC bag on the front lawn, and stepped back onto the grass to let him join her, "Okay, Billy, if you want to go again, come over here and let's go."

Billy stepped onto the lawn with his mother, quickly getting back into a grappling position. He'd been in enough BJJ fights to have it as an instinct, after all, and he just needed to get close to her, get her in guard or a guillotine, and show his mother what it felt like to get knocked out on the ground. She circled as well, and even he had to admit that she clearly knew what she was doing with her movements. She had trained well, and she had an instinct for it, but there was a difference between a quick learner with a good instinct for combat sports and a blackbelt in BJJ. That difference was the one his mother was going to have to learn, fast, and painfully.

He stepped forward, and their bodies slammed together once more. Muscles in arms and legs bulged as they grappled, strength against strength. Once again, though, grappling with the older woman felt like trying to grapple with a brick wall. Somehow, despite her age and his years of practice and making sure he was in the right shape for this, she was just stronger, and outmuscling him at every turn. Even as he tried to lower his center of gravity, she simply repositioned her tree-trunk thighs on the ground for better traction and pushed back, making the muscular struggle a stalemate at best. Honestly, he would have to worry that even that could be a bit too polite, as she pushed down, gripped him around his sides, and started to shove. He was starting to feel himself giving ground.

He needed to find another way to match up to her. He had to admit it, he wasn't going to beat her power to power, and one of the keys to being a successful martial artist was knowing which tools you could use and which you couldn't. Muscle mass was the least important part of BJJ, so being overpowered by his mother was far from the biggest setback to being a skilled martial artist, or so he told himself as he fought against a woman whose power seemed to have tripled in the time since their match.

He tried the same trick he had used before, pushing in on her to try to force her to compensate, use her muscles on one end and manipulate her body until he was in the right position to take her to the ground, and this time just not make the mistake of going for a trip or something else that could be blocked with the force of her thighs. To his shock, the force failed, she compensated immediately, and making matters worse, mere seconds after she blocked his attack, she pushed harder on the same shoulder, forcing him to turn and back off. Like it or not, his mother was outmuscling him, beating him with pure power, and he wasn't going to be able to avoid it.

Instead, he had to try to change up the contest. He grabbed her shoulders, suddenly, arms reaching up to the upper back, and tried to twist, trip her down and hip toss her, attack below the center of gravity instead of taking out the base. It was a good move, the first one you'd learn, and the first one any BJJ fighter, from rookie to grandmaster, would have tried in a situation like that. He should have remembered that. After all, it was the same one that had got her in position to take her opponent out in the spar... And it ended for him the same way.

His hip toss lead to her standing behind him, taking an easy back position, refusing to go down and instead twisting so she could have her arms wrapped around his midsection. It was always an embarrassing position to be in in a fight, and humiliating to happen to an alleged expert grappling a rookie. He was half worried she would try some embarrassing attack like locking him into a crushing bearhug, but of course, he wasn't lucky enough for his mother to go for a simple taunting move when she could work to finish off the fight instead.

Her leg reached out around his own, hooked the calf bone, and pulled back. His attempts to trip her was like a child pushing the foot of a statue, while hers was like driving a bulldozer into a colossus. His legs were no match for hers, it hardly even felt like she was using her body and more like just pressing back with a rock club from how hard and heavy her leg muscles were. IN an instant, he went down, unable to resist the body's instinct to throw his arms out in front of him to block himself from being driven to skull-first into the ground, even if he knew that here there was only the soft grass, softer even than the dojo's mats, to land on. Just like she had with her rookie opponent, she pulled forward, and he felt her arms beginning to close in like a deadly vice around his throat.

He might not have been outwrestling this amateur, but he was still an expert, and he wasn't going to be completely taken out with such a simple move. He managed to reach up and grab her arms, right under the wrist, stopping her from locking him into the chokehold. It took only a second of that to be sure he wasn't going to get grabbed and taken out, and then he kicked out, and back, pushing himself backward and trying to slide out from behind her, allow himself to get on top of her and show her how to really lock in a chokehold. Unfortunately for him, he had forgotten to account for her iron-hard thighs when he planned his escape, and while he did push back, he was suddenly stopped when her legs closed in around his head right at the neck once more. One calf twisted in under his neck, and he was driven down to the ground by her weight, his nose rubbing in the grass. Then she locked her legs in tighter, crushing his head and neck in a figure-four leg scissors from behind. He didn't need to see her reach in under her leg to grab herself and pull back up, he felt it, as the noose of her thighs tightened closer around his throat. He was trapped, plain and simple, by his mother's body. His only hope was to reach up and try to pull the leg off his neck and spare himself the crush, get a bit more time to escape.

It wasn't enough. He was doing his best to escape, but his mother knew just the way to counter the attack. She suddenly twisted her hips once more, and rolled over onto her back. Now he had to contend with those legs on two fronts, the calf cutting into the throat and, much more dangerously, the scissors of her thighs on the side of his head. He reached up, trying to pull the calf away, escape the bar of the figure-four headscissor hold.

He pulled on her leg, but it wasn't that effort that got him out of the crushing hold. She decided to 'spare' him herself, pulling her leg away from his neck, but only far enough away to ensure she could completely straighten out her legs, and crush his skull with the force of her thighs. He'd been in chokes before, but never this type of crush. Her legs were like two boulders being slowly and inexorably forced down on his head, and he couldn't help thinking of the videos he'd seen pop up in his recommendations of women crushing watermelons with their legs. She was still his mother, of course, she would never go far enough to do serious damage to his body... Although as sparks and flashes of light started to pop in front of his head and the sheer agony of her crushing grew greater, he was realizing the same could not be said of his pride as a wrestler, which she was crushing to a fine pulp with sadistic ease. The slight shake of her legs let him know she was laughing at his powerless struggles, although the crush on his head meant the only thing he could hear was the blood rushing in his ears and her thighs.

The agony was growing, growing at a rate and in a way that barely even processed for the young man. He didn't even have time to think about where he was or who was putting this to him, all that was already shutting down, and the only thing he was able to bring his mind to focus on was the burning desire, no, NEED, to not let this woman destroy him so easily. The desire to keep fighting, the desire to not submit, the desire to hold on with a deathgrip to the few scraps of pride that he sitll had as a blackbelt being ruined by a mere rookie.

It was fading, though, fading out like a flashlight with a dead battery. He was flickering in and out of consciousness, in and out of awareness of the situation. She wasn't even showing him the mercy of squeezing him in a proper blood choke that would let him pass out in seconds, instead, he was having to deal with the pressure until his body broke down from it. It was hard to tell if the tears that began to flow down his cheeks (or, more accurately, down the groove between his cheeks and her thighs) were coming from humiliation, pain, or perhaps the powerful woman having somehow found a way to squeeze so tight the pressure forced tears out.

It was a question he would have time to ponder for only a few seconds before he blacked out once again, only to awaken in his bedroom. The light was on, but only dimly, and his leg had been propped up on several towels to ensure he would wake up healthy and soon. He grabbed his head and rolled on his side, only to see a plate of cookies with a note on it.

"Take care of yourself, and eat these to keep your blood sugar up. Get lots of rest. No TV or computers for now, just take care of yourself. Or else.

XOXO

-Mom"

Billy sighed, and reached out for the plate of cookies. He had learned by now not to argue with his mother.