Mama Badass

"You, but mom you're-"

"I'm what?" She asked, pouncing on the opening like a lioness on a wounded wildebeast.

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.