Training Tom Ch. 03: Humility Pt. 02

She was stronger, smarter, more attractive, more confident, more capable, more everything. And he could feel himself as the lesser partner in her soul, contributing a tiny amount of value, while able to draw on the depth of her faculties as his own. Expanding his potential. Making anything possible.

All sense of time disappeared, and the only clock was the rhythm of her powerfully beating heart -- and the faint pitapat of his, now uncannily in synch with hers. One.

Seconds or hours may have passed (he had no way of knowing) when he felt her firm mounds roll back, freeing his ears in time to hear her speak:

"I am everything you ever dreamed a woman could be," she intoned breathily. "Aren't I?"

For a moment he was thrown off by the brazenness of her statement. Her confidence always appeared to border on arrogance. Yet it seemed impossible for her to actually cross that line -- if there was even a line at all in her case. She was a study in superlatives, the best at everything, capable of anything. He briefly recalled the heady days of his early career, when there was nothing he couldn't accomplish. Sophie was him at his best, times ten. The concept of pretension was entirely incompatible with her - any boast would almost certainly understate the truth. And truth is never arrogance.

Without considering her words further, he nodded his head slightly, squishing his nose into her sternum. He knew he should have answered properly, but he was still in the thrall of her cleavage, content to not leave his sanctum.

One of her hands moved from his back and around to his forehead. She stroked his hair and made a tsk-tsk sound with her tongue. Then she pushed his head back gently until he looked upon her exquisite face. He suddenly felt weak and incompetent. She expected so much more of him.

"Use your words, little one," she said, her condescending tone tempered by the pity in her eyes.

He felt even smaller, like a toddler being scolded. She knew every thought in his head, yet she wanted him to verbalize, to reinforce her lesson. To teach him his place and remind him of the blessings she bestowed upon him. That his newfound optimism was not happenstance, rather entirely of her making.

He tried to speak, and his lips quivered silently. She moved a finger to them and traced their outline, soothing him. Then she held the finger in front of his eyes, and he saw the darkly bruised tip.

He recalled sucking with desperation on her fingertip two nights before. He had imagined her capillaries bursting. And indeed, they had. It was the first blemish he ever remembered seeing on her flawless body. He thought of something she said that night:

Think about the sacrifices I'm making to raise you as my own, to discipline you, to nurture and feed you, to be with you right now.

And the answer came to his lips:

"No."

She turned her head and looked at him suspiciously from the corners of her eyes. Her lip curled haughtily. He knew he was either on the verge of punishment or revelation.

With calm resolve, he continued, drawing from the elevated lucidity she had bestowed upon him through the mystical nutrients of her body. His words flowed naturally, with unusual eloquence and depth of meaning, almost as if she were speaking for him:

"You are infinitely more than I could have ever dreamed a woman could be. You are teaching me to dream bigger and strive for greater, because you set the ultimate example. You define greatness. Then you constantly redefine it. I can't even tell you what 'everything' might be because it changes and grows every moment I'm with you. If I have any dream, it is that you allow me to be with you, to experience your everything, to soak it in and learn from it. And to eventually show you I'm worthy of your love."

He paused for a moment to let his profound statements sink in. Then he added with intense passion and heartfelt honesty:

"Until then, I will love you unconditionally, without expectation of reward or reciprocity. You are my everything. I love you, Mommy!"

Hot liquid suddenly shot into the back of his throat. Everything had gone dark. He was confused and disoriented.

He shifted his weight and felt his feet still on the ground. He moved his hands and felt the soft skin of Sophie's back and the top of her cotton panties. He opened his eyes wide.

His body convulsed as he realized he was attached to her left nipple, his nose buried in her areola. The last thing he remembered was looking up from between her breasts and declaring his love. It was like time had mysteriously shifted forward - as if he had issued an incantation that miraculously transported him to his feeding.

He moved his tongue to deflect the stream and capture his mother's lush taste. He still felt the emotions of his last words to her as if they were just spoken, and his fervor continued to course through him, growing stronger with each blessed sip.

Everything about standing in front of the statuesque teen while sucking her tits was so tantalizingly belittling, so deliciously humiliating. Many times he had stood eye-level with her breasts, ogling a long succulent nipple perfectly aligned with his mouth, dreaming about it penetrating his lips. Yet in their last few encounters she had worn heels, putting her suckable treasures frustratingly out of reach. Excitement welled within him as his dreams came gloriously true. Then he shivered. It dawned on him that even in his dreams he had failed to imagine the possibility of lactation. Once again, her reality far surpassed his fantasy. Redefining everything.

He recalled how Sophie had teased and tantalized him into a deep obsession with her breasts. And all with a purpose. She always had a plan and a purpose. He delighted in the feeling that he had helped her achieve it, by submitting himself so fully to her control. Into complete mental and physical dependence on her. He drank her in, profoundly hungry in every possible sense.

His hair shifted and one of Sophie's hands began to lift from his head. He only now realized that the heels of her palms were on his cheeks, and that her long fingers were wrapped entirely around his cranium. He felt miniature in her grasp.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her hand move to her right breast. Her thumb and pinkie squeezed around its circumference, while her remaining fingers covered her nipple. Then her hand dropped out of sight.

A jolt of electricity shot through him as her fingers swept across the underside of his rigid cock, entirely forgotten in his ardor. His knees almost gave out and her hand on his head knowingly squeezed his face harder into her tit to hold him up. She rubbed her milk in with two quick strokes then reached up to her breast again and returned to dampen the topside, along with his tip. Fountains of ecstasy spewed forth in his brain.

Her hand gave his rod a gentle tug, pulling him forward, guiding him into the crease between her legs. She reached up again, filled her hand, then wiped around his cock, covering her soft skin with warm liquid.

Her arm shifted to his lower back and nudged him forward, dipping his little penis into her creamy thighs, lubricated by her creamy nectar. The sensation was the most exquisite he had ever felt.

His head exploded with memories of his cock sliding between her legs -- between her calves as they worked out, between her thighs at Homecoming, between her boots just two nights before. But always with a covering - shorts, stockings, leather. And always teased. Never taken to the finish.

His arms squeezed tightly around her mid-section and his mouth sucked harder at her streaming nipple. Then he pushed his hips forward slowly, savoring the slick friction of her supple skin, taking his bare cock to the hilt.

He waited for a moment, only just beginning to accept the fact that she was permitting him such a rare luxury, encouraging him to copulate with her wondrous legs. He pulled back gradually, and his balls percolated as the edge of his tip slipped just out its warm den. Then he shoved in again, faster this time, skewering her muscular thighs. And he succumbed to bliss.

His hips bucked rapidly, and his belly slapped loudly against her solid quads. Buttery goodness gushed into his mouth.

His hands lowered and probed her giant glutes, looking in vain for any sign of give, somewhere he could grasp on to increase the leverage of his thrusts. But with each jerk of his crotch, his hands slipped back, thwarted by the curve of her rock-hard muscles. He sensed the boundlessness of her power and he yearned to savor in her strength.

He slowed his pumps and raised his right knee, rubbing up and down against the outside of her leg. Then he hooked the back of his foot behind her solid calf, applying pressure on the cleft of his Achilles.

In one motion he hammered forward with his hips, squeezed with his arms, and lifted his other leg, hitching it in the same fashion. Mounting her.

In that moment he felt stronger than ever before, clinging in the air to her steely body, relishing in her unflinching strength, feeding on her power...transferring a small amount of Her to his pathetic body. Rebuilding his physique. Remaking him of her superior being.

He felt a wave of energy and doubled his pace, using the leverage of his coiled legs to fuck her thighs with reckless abandon. The slapping sounds grew louder, echoing throughout the room.

Both her hands began stroking his hair, gently at first, then harder, skillfully massaging his scalp. Tingles ran up and down his spine, adding to his already overwhelming pleasure.

He lifted his eyes until her face came into focus. She smiled down at him serenely, her expression signaling deep pleasure -- but a relaxed pleasure, as if she were sitting on a beach sipping a cocktail and watching the sunset. He was struck by the contrast to the frenzy of his thrusts below.

Her fingers stopped massaging, and she grasped the back of his head in her left palm. Her other hand encircled the breast he drank from. Then she simultaneously squeezed her teat and jammed his head forward into it.

His mouth suddenly filled with a flood of her sweet essence, nearly bursting the seal of his suction. He guzzled as quickly as he could, taking labored breaths through his compressed nose, trying not to choke, afraid of wasting any of her precious creation.

The strong flow continued, and he was no longer sucking, rather he gulped over and over, barely keeping up, taking in air. Bubbles strained his esophagus as they traveled down. His stomach felt bloated, and each shove of his pelvis felt increasingly uncomfortable. His diaphragm compressed repeatedly, contesting each swallow. A sense of distress came over him. Just how much more milk could her giant body produce?

The moment he thought the flow would never ebb, her volume fell off sharply and he instinctively returned to sucking out her fluid. His attention immediately shifted back to the pleasure in his crotch.

He felt her milk getting sticky, adding a new depth of friction. His torso writhed as the skin of his cock clung to her thighs, tugging back and forth around his shaft. Twisting and pulling, smarting and stinging. The sharp sensations contrasted starkly with the earlier slippery stabs. Exciting different nerves. Bringing him pleasure through pain.

His loins boiled. He drew closer and closer to the edge with each jab. An immense hope rose in him, that he would finally get to finish between her powerful legs...

Ding!

A shrill bell dinged, wresting him momentarily from his rapture. His body went rigid, and his thrusting paused, just short of release.

He felt a tiny shrug in Sophie's body. Then one hand grasped under his right armpit and the other took hold of his butt. With a powerful heave, she boosted him, breaking his grapevine grip, extricating his throbbing penis and shifting his legs to straddle her left hip.

His neck craned to stay attached to her tit, his mouth never losing suction. He instinctively wrapped his legs around her waist, hooking his ankles together at her opposite hip. His arms hugged around her neck. Her left hand stroked gently on his back then cuddled him to her.

A wave of disappointment hit him as his pending orgasm subsided. But a new pleasure took hold as he experienced the weightlessness of being lifted, and the dependency of her maternal hold.

She took three strides forward and stopped. He marveled at the lightness of her steps and the effortlessness of her gait. As if he were but an infant upon her.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her pick up an iPhone with one hand and tap the screen a couple times with her thumb. A faint ringing sounded, then filled the room as she switched to speakerphone. The line picked up, and Sophie spoke first:

"Hey girlfriend!" she called out jovially.

"Hey superstar!" Tom's daughter, Lauren, answered, then with a relieved sigh added, "Thank God you're awake!"

Hearing Lauren's voice momentarily sobered him from the drunkenness of Sophie's liqueur. He paused in his sucking and released her nipple, turning to stare at the phone. Alarm bells went off in his head as he saw Lauren's name written across the screen. Even with no video, he worried his obscene exploits would somehow be exposed.

He wondered what could possibly be more appalling to his daughter than learning her perverted father was listening from the other end of the call, nursing at her best friend's breast, held on her hip like a freakish toddler. Lauren was still furious with him for biting her shoulder like a deviant animal. If she only knew the extent of his deviancy, she would surely disown him.

Noticing the interruption, Sophie's hand nudged the side of his head and tenderly turned him back into her breast. As his lips touched her nipple, a hot jet shot into his mouth, and he sucked her the rest of the way in. More of her scrumptious excretion poured forth and he greedily resumed his suckling, drifting back into the fog of her opium.

"I was just getting ready to take my morning run," Sophie responded. "What's up?"

"So, I didn't have time to finish my homework over the weekend with the party and all," Lauren answered. "Plus, I was totally hung over yesterday."

Tom recalled his daughter lazing on the couch, ordering him around, looking fresh and vibrant. He scowled at her false attempt to sound cool, and at her misplaced priorities.

"So I woke up super early," Lauren continued, "and now I'm totally stuck on a calculus problem. Can you please help?"

"Of course! Shoot!" Sophie answered encouragingly.

"Number 27 on page 82, I don't even know where to start," Lauren lamented.

"Just a sec," Sophie said, as if she were looking for her book -- but she didn't move. Then she continued, "Okay, so this one is a derivative of a logarithmic function. There's a detailed rundown on page 75, but basically what you do is..."

Tom listened as Sophie described the intricate details of the problem from memory, a faculty she had once described as photographic. He hadn't solved a calculus problem in 20 years, and her explanation sounded like a foreign language to him. Yet she was obviously expert, adding anecdotes and relatable applied examples well beyond the scope of the problem. He felt himself welling with pride at the brilliance of his mother.

As Sophie answered Lauren's follow-up questions, he noticed how patient she was. Other savants he had known were curt and condescending, unable to understand why other people didn't get it. Sophie outshined them all, displaying both extraordinary genius and a keen ability to relate on any level. She was supremely aware of her context and despite knowing her own superiority, only revealed its immense depth when necessary. He subconsciously hugged her a little more tightly.

"OMG, I totally get it now! Thank you, Sophie," Lauren gushed with gratitude. "You really are the best."

"Any time, girlfriend," Sophie responded, then before Lauren could say good-bye, added, "Hey, so I'm really sorry I couldn't talk yesterday. How did the party end up? Did your mom find out?"

"Nope!" Lauren said with a satisfied air, then she continued with a mischievous giggle, "I made my dad clean up everything. Even the nasty mess Gina made in their bedroom."

"That's a little mean, don't you think?" Sophie challenged.

"What? He totally deserved it," Lauren answered stubbornly. "Although something weird did happen. He came downstairs from cleaning up and I could have sworn he had a raging boner in his pants."

"What!?" Sophie cried out dramatically.

"Yeah, so I was like 'WTF is that?' and he pulls out this big security key thing from his pocket and says he carries it everywhere for work," Lauren explained, then paused for a moment. "I guess that may solve the mystery of what poked me in the back."

"See, I told you it was just his phone or something," Sophie reassured.

"Then again, I don't know," Lauren reconsidered. "He still did bite me, there has to be a reason."

"Lauren, all I know is your dad is a super sweet guy. He made a mistake. Maybe it's time to cut him some slack and make up?"

Tom's cheeks flushed as he internalized the warmth of Sophie's compliment, and the thoughtfulness of her diplomacy. He hugged her tighter again, this time knowingly.

"Geez, I just don't know," Lauren said, revealing her inner conflict. "I was so sure I about what I felt."

As Lauren spoke, Sophie's mammary ran dry and she reached a finger around to unlatch him. She turned his head to the side to lean on her boob, then she stepped in front of a wall-length mirror.

Seeing his small, pasty body clinging to the giant, tanned teen was an epiphany. He was truly her baby, a tiny human entirely dependent on another. His expression was placid yet betrayed a notion of possessiveness. No one could ever take his mommy away from him, his look seemed to convey.

He glanced at his body again and flinched as he noticed the scratches and bruises of her brutal punishment. They were already beginning to heal, but the incongruity with Sophie's expanse of blemish-free skin was markedly evident. He thought of the maid's shriek in the hallway, realizing that he had forgotten about his battered state in his rush to follow Sophie's orders. The woman had seen something far more macabre than just a naked man with an erection.

He flinched again as Sophie's index finger stroked gently over a purple bruise on his arm. He looked up into her eyes in the reflection and saw true remorse and real affection. But behind the sympathetic veneer he could also detect the steely resolve that she would do it all over again if his actions warranted.

"Look, girlfriend, he's your dad. He'll always be your dad. You'll only ever get one. I can only wish I had a father as kind and gentle..." Sophie spoke longingly as she snuggled him tightly to her.

Tom reveled in her tribute and adoration, hugging her as hard as he could, nuzzling his cheek into her firm bosom. Then he wondered vaguely if she was revealing something untoward about her relationship with her own father. But the thought quickly passed as she raised the phone toward his face and tapped the mute button.

"...and as weak and vulnerable," Sophie added in a diminutive voice, "and tiny and helpless."

She playfully bounced him on her hip, then squeezed the sides of his cheeks together into fishy face.

"And such a good little eater," she continued in baby talk. "Mommy's cutie-patootie little monkey."

Tom sensed he should have felt indignant at her condescending treatment. Yet all he felt was deep love for his mother as she intuitively coddled him in his infantile state. Meeting him at his level.

"I guess you're probably right," Lauren conceded. "But I'll need to think a bit more about it. He can't get off that easy."