Training Tom Ch. 05: Humility Pt. 04

But the moment was short-lived. He may as well have been pulling against a locomotive.

In a final act of desperation, he lifted his feet and continued his trek up the remainder of her torso. Then he swung one leg, then the other over her upper arm, wrapping himself around it like a koala bear. He hung his head backwards and dropped down with the full mass of his body, bouncing and yanking, feeling like a little girl hopelessly using deadweight as her only defense against her demanding Mother.

He sat up and dropped again, startling as his surprisingly stiff prick poked her solid tri. He lifted and fell back again, adjusting so it slid up along the damp skin of her bulging bi. Enthralled, he began humping as fast as he could: yanking on her fist, wanking on her guns.

After a dozen futile drops, yet joyous stabs, Tom could feel his heartbeat in his ears, and he was miserably out of breath. His spirits fell as he realized he would never have his wish.

"Look on the bright side," Sophie said with a snort. "You couldn't have managed that a month ago."

With a faint sense of satisfaction he realized she was right, yet the temporary gratification of his climb paled in comparison to the opportunity he had lost.

But the thought was quickly swept aside as her arm started to move, not down, but up...bending at her shoulder...tipping him vertical until his legs clung to her humerus like a fire pole...then miraculously unbending and extending...pressing him into the air as if he were Lady Liberty's torch.

His grapevine grip on her arm suddenly faltered and his legs swung down, his entire weight shifting to his hands - and her single hand - as his feet dangled in the air.

"Be careful what you wish for," Sophie chided. "You might just get it."

And to Tom's astonishment, he heard a splurch and felt his tiny cock sucked into her mouth like a strand of spaghetti. His entire body convulsed with shock and elation. Her tongue swirled and every nerve ending sizzled. Every minute detail of her glorious mouth shot like lightning through his axons, burning into his cortex, branding his mind with a permanent scar of her Perfection. His wish come miraculously true!

And yet...he couldn't fully bring himself to suspend disbelief. It made no sense. He didn't deserve it.

And just like that, her hand abruptly opened.

Tom tried desperately to hold on - just a second more and his semen would flow! But, alas, his weak grip faltered, and he went tumbling down into the tub, banging his other shin, hammering his hopes and aspirations. He burst out sobbing, like a toddler deprived of a lollipop.

"You wouldn't have been able to handle another second anyway - your little mind would have blown," Sophie said with a disdainful shake of her head. "Besides, you're just lucky I didn't bite down as you fell...imagine Me one-stroking your little boy-meat like a drumstick - except boneless - leaving nothing but an emasculated void..."

Tom hyperventilated, propped on his hands and knees, his pelvic muscles suddenly aching as he visualized her chomping him off and consuming him. Then he recalled the sensation of her tongue slathering his sensitive prick and his neurons again blazed, woefully ruing what might have been as he stared at a mound of bubbles popping and disappearing in the water.

"Anyhow...the bathtub simply won't do for washing my hair, so we'll move to the shower," she said, shifting gears once again. "But watching you strain so hard has made Me kind of tired. I'm not sure how high I can lift my legs."

Tom sensed some sort of suggestion that he couldn't interpret, and almost looked up at Her to show his confusion, before quickly looking back down at the water.

"Furniture," Sophie declared in a stern voice.

Tom froze, clueless how to react. Sophie huffed with frustration.

"Isn't it obvious, Sherlock? When I demand furniture, I expect you to make yourself useful - as furniture for me. My need was clearly telegraphed. Furniture!"

He puzzled fearfully for a moment. What in God's name was she asking for? Can't lift her legs...Aha! She wants help stepping out of the tub.

He thought about standing up and giving her a hand. But that wouldn't be 'furniture.' Then it finally clicked in his brain, and he caught her drift.

Dejectedly shrugging and resigning to his fate, he crawled on his hands and knees, then shimmied up to the side wall, bracing himself to be her stepstool.

"Too high," she snapped.

He spread his arms forward and his legs back, lowering his body with trepidation. He had no idea how much she weighed, or if he could hold her. To his chagrin, her foot planted on his back. He could feel its massive length spanning his entire torso. She slowly pressed down.

"I've got a little something to confess, er, well more of a big something," Sophie said with a note of conspiracy. "Even at your heaviest, I always weighed more than you. Way more."

Tom twitched with surprise. He assumed women were naturally lighter, like graceful birds next to men's bearish constitutions. Her pressure continued to grow, and he could feel his spine arching uncomfortably.

"And oddly, for the past two years, regardless of my vertical growth... irrespective of the time of day, what I've eaten or what I've expelled...before and after the gift of lactation...I always weigh the exact same number..."

She paused, and Tom held his breath waiting for an answer.

"240 pounds."

His hand suddenly slipped on the tub floor, not from the pressure of her weight, but from its uncanny value and the precision of her equilibrium. Always 24.

"It's certainly true what they say, muscle weighs more than fat," she continued as she curled her toes to pinch his love handle, inducing a squirm. "But my mom worried so much about my weight that she had my bone density checked. Unsurprisingly, it's off the charts, 99.9999th percentile. My skeleton is like one of those Terminator robots, practically made of titanium. The doctors wanted to study me, but my mom wouldn't let them. She said my unique gifts were mine alone to enjoy...and exploit."

It suddenly felt like an anvil dropped on Tom's back. His arms and legs gave out and his whole body flattened to the bottom of the tub, his nose and mouth dragged underwater.

Her weight grew, smashing his rib cage and crunching his vertebrae. Even if his face were above water, he couldn't have expanded his lungs to draw a breath. The pain became excruciating, and the fear of suffocation took hold.

Just when it felt like his bones would break or lungs would pop, her weight shifted, and he felt her other foot probing around his head. Then his neck spun hard, and his cheek mashed into the tub floor. Her weight partly transferred from his back and her heel became a giant pestle grinding his jawbone into the mortar of the Jacuzzi bottom.

He issued a pained cry underwater, his expulsion bubbling out, leaving little air from which to draw oxygen. He panicked and his muscles attempted to writhe, but he remained locked in place by her 240 pounds. Her body seemed to relax, and she stood steady on her stool, as if casually contemplating her next move, unconcerned as he drowned below Her.

The next thing Tom felt was his hair pulled and his head extracted from the water as he sputtered and coughed to regain his breath. The haze began to clear, and he heard the sound of a shower.

"Present yourself!" Sophie's voice echoed through the din of falling water.

Awoken from his stupor, he jumped to his feet, his back and jaw aching. He clambered over the edge of the tub and slipped on his way to the shower, stumbling through the glass door that Sophie held open, then landing on his aching knees. He leaned forward with his forehead to the wet floor and placed his palms in the air. Water rained down on his hands and back from the ceiling-mounted shower head.

"Demonstrate your devotion!" Sophie snapped.

Tom automatically crawled forward and found her feet, then kissed across all ten of her toes.

"At my service!"

He raised to his knees at her side and looked ahead to see her handing him a shampoo bottle.

"Stand at attention!"

He jumped to his feet and put his hands behind his back, still grasping the shampoo.

"Good boy," Sophie congratulated him on successfully completing his motions. "Now you'll learn the art of washing my hair. You'll start by scrubbing my scalp thoroughly, using your full strength to massage my roots and encourage healthy and vibrant hair growth."

Tom glanced up and quickly back down, hit by a deep sense of inadequacy. How could he possibly put his strength into shampooing Her when he could barely reach the top of her head?

He brought the shampoo bottle from around his back and nervously opened the cap, then stood still and uncertain.

"It obviously won't work from all the way down there," Sophie said with contempt.

Tom immediately felt small and inadequate, shifting between his feet uncomfortably. After a moment she continued in a tone of resigned pity:

"Being weak of body and mind, not to mention vertically challenged, you'll often need my support."

Her hands reached forward. One took the bottle from his hand while the other tipped up his chin. She bent forward close to his face and her eyes gathered him in as water streamed down between their bodies.

"As you recall, I agreed to fulfill all your base needs, among which was providing the motherly comfort, attention and approval you instinctually crave," she continued as the back of her hand tenderly stroked his cheek. "That includes the mental and physical assistance you'll need to succeed as a part of Me, particularly given your many...shortcomings."

He flinched as her hand brushed past his rigid stub of a penis.

"As such, when you are in distress and the need for my care or assistance arises, you may look me in the eyes, raise your arms parallel in front of you with your palms facing up, and request 'uppie.' I will then decide if and how to offer support."

Sophie stood back up straight and looked down at Tom expectantly. His thoughts flickered to the growing list of humiliating requests she had taught him and the verbal limitations they imposed. He couldn't help feeling resentment at his abject debasement.

Then strangely, a switch flicked inside. His mind filled with a deluge of the many times She had lifted and held him, comforting him in her arms and on her lap, showing him the strength of her Mountain and the deep empathy of her Discipline and Motivation. And suddenly in her strict limitations he saw a horizon of opportunity: the potential to fulfill his most desperate impulses as and when he desired.

Until now, Sophie had entirely dictated the circumstances and timing of his various forms of fulfillment, holding him in anticipatory thrall. But now She was handing a part of the power to him, in exchange for what? His ability to speak freely of anything else?

An alternative logic moved to the fore: what talk could possibly be more important than the list of things She was allowing him to request? It was suddenly obvious: Everything else was just drivel.

Tom took a deep breath and looked up into her eyes. Then he resolutely raised his arms straight in front of him and turned his palms toward her shoulders.

"Uppie?" he asked in a pleading, child-like voice.

Sophie smiled and gazed upon Tom proudly, causing his heart to flutter. Then she bent slightly at the waist and held still, expectantly.

For a moment, Tom was confused. He had assumed She would bend down, grab him by the ass and sweep his legs around her waist as She had done many times before. But now it seemed the work would be on him.

He reached up and tried to grasp around the back of her neck, but she hadn't bent far enough for him to clasp his hands behind. Instead, he grabbed at her shoulders, but he was quickly thwarted by the thickness of her brawn and the slickness of the cascading water.

He looked at her face again, searching for an answer. Her lip curled up in a half smile. Then he watched in surprise as her trapezius muscles flexed and erupted, rising beside her neck like twin tidal waves. Each one broad at the base, slimming at its peak to a rounded rim. Like handlebars - molded just for him.

With deep recognition and gratitude, Tom reached up, curled his fingers over her taut sinews and held on with all his strength. Then Sophie's torso snapped up straight and his feet catapulted off the floor. Instinctively he pulled with his arms, bent his knees, and spread his legs, using her powerful momentum to swing his feet around her sides. His thighs dropped onto the sturdy platform of her hips, as if saddling a mustang. Finally, he hooked his ankles behind her back, then let his grip on her traps relax.

"All those nightly exercises are finally paying off," Sophie said with a brief chuckle, praising Tom's successful climb.

Then to his delight, she pulled him in and embraced him in a tender hug, guiding his head next to hers. He whimpered with the elation of achievement and the joy of being held high in her arms. Any semblance of pain or humiliation melted away. She spoke quietly in his ear:

"But the real progress is from your new diet. I know you can feel Me inside you...my maternal nutrients and superior DNA flowing through your veins, treating your malaise, mutating and transforming your body, giving you a modicum of my strength and vitality..."

His mind hummed as he envisioned his veins flowing with Sophie's miraculous milk, repairing the damage of disuse, fortifying his muscles with her potency, building a better him to her grand blueprint. He squeezed Her as tightly as he could, intent on demonstrating his progress. She squeezed him back harder.

"Yes, Miss," he gasped. "I can feel it. I can feel You inside me!"

"That's my special boy," she cooed.

She kissed him lovingly on his temple and he felt her electricity surge from his head to his extremities, causing his arms and legs to jolt.

"You know I hesitated to teach you 'uppie' today, as I know it's your favorite and you would be prone to abuse it. But I'll let you in on a little secret: it's my favorite too. I just love how you swoon under my Power."

She squeezed him even tighter under the hot streaming water, and her tongue abruptly slipped into his ear canal.

And suddenly he was floating, flowing, caught in the current of her Control...engulfed in the torrent of her arms, awash in the deluge of her body, barreling over the precipice of her Niagara...

Swooning under Her Power.

Tom felt light-headed and his crotch tingled. His heart beat like the wings of a hummingbird. He couldn't tell if she had held him for ten seconds or ten minutes. Time was rendered irrelevant, his capacity to orgasm infinite - blissfully liberated in her bondage.

Her grip lessened and his body tipped back away from hers, extricating her mouth from his ear. He felt something between them and looked down. The shampoo bottle.

Reminded of his duty, he settled back into her solid arms and released his grip on her traps, then took the bottle and squirted a glob into his palm. She gently took the bottle away.

Raising his hand, he slathered the soap on the top of her head, then began kneading strenuously with his fingers, biting his lip to compensate for the sharp twinge in his wounded joint. He took note of the size and shape of her skull, clearly larger than his and perfectly ovoid. He briefly imagined himself a 19th century phrenologist, finding answers in her cranial contours: demystifying her dominance, rationalizing her maternal benevolence, explaining the origins of her beautiful mind.

He worked his way around her scalp, twisting and lifting his body to change angles, taking care to apply the same motion and pressure to every square centimeter, keen to promote the health of her vibrant meadow of tresses.

"Good boy," Sophie praised. "Now gather up my long hair and mix in the suds, taking care to run your fingers through without twisting or knotting."

Tom tensed his quads and raised himself to reach over her shoulders and collected her long slick hair. He felt his cock slide briefly between her luscious breasts and he shuddered, then reluctantly pulled out as he settled back onto her hips with her hair piled atop her head. He followed her instructions, gently spreading the shampoo with his fingers, careful not to create tangles.

"Good. Now let it down and rinse, allowing the water to do most of the work," Sophie said hypnotically as she stepped directly under the falling stream.

He ran his hands gently over her hair, letting her locks meander down her back as the shower streamed through. Even while wet it was incredibly soft to the touch, smoother than silk. He breathed in deeply, savoring the surprising peace and intimacy of hair washing. His nose delighted in her freshness, reminiscent of a floral garden after a spring rain.

Tom's moment was interrupted by something touching his chest. He looked down to see a bottle of conditioner.

"Fill your hand and wipe it over my head and down, smoothing it over my strands, outside and underneath," Sophie explained. "Then let the water do all the work."

He followed her instructions, starting with a full cupped hand, then spreading it over her head and down. As he progressed, her hands lifted him by the rear until he was almost standing on her hips with his cock near her lips. At the last moment when he thought She may take his penis in her mouth again, she shifted him to the side, enabling him to bend over and reach down her long cascading mane.

He carefully wiped conditioner in alternating brushes with his hands, painting it down her back. Upon reaching bottom, he bent himself back up and reached behind her neck, gathering her hair in a ponytail. He was struck by the immense girth of her locks in his hands. He recalled tying up Lauren's hair in her youth and noted the stark contrast to the volume he now clutched.

He bent forward again, sliding her mass of fibers through his hands like a thick rope, wide enough to fill his entire fist. Just as he reached the bottom, Sophie spoke:

"Now raise it up and slap it down as hard as you can onto the center of my back, so it spreads out evenly to rinse."

Initially doubtful of his abilities, Tom held the end and whipped his arm up and back down sharply, causing a loud slap. To his surprise, her individual strands separated in perfect symmetry, bouncing with a distinct springiness, then flattening and spreading like an oriental fan. It reminded him of a hair care commercial, too perfect to be real, yet evident before his eyes - like everything about Sophie.

She hummed her approval. Then her arms gently lowered him down her frontside, centering him again on her hips. She touched his cheek and pressed him to look up at her face. Her body moved back, and the water streamed over her head. White creamy suds flowed evenly down her cheeks, past her neck and through the vale of her breasts.

Her body seemed to tense, then oddly, something curled around the bottom of his erection. She nudged him from behind. And he moaned aloud as his shaft glided up the deep groove of her flexed abs, tantalizingly slick with conditioner. His body dropped and his cock slid back down like a greased sled on a toboggan run.

"Ah-ba-ba-ee-ah," he whimpered spontaneously in a high-pitched voice.

Succumbing to impulse, he grabbed her traps and jabbed his hips forward. His stiff pole bent at her unyielding core, then mercifully slipped upward, skimming rapturously through her six-pack, eager to plant its seed in her muscled furrow.