Making Mike a Star
By Rude Boy, rudeboi66@yahoo.com
A series of humiliations at the hands of his Mom and her friend turn Mike into a social-media star


Mike Davis dug deep as he cranked the treadmill to 12mph, finding an extra
level as he broke into a dead sprint to finish his run. The vibration in his
pocket surprised him, throwing him out of rhythm, and he had to grab the
handrails and spread his legs to the narrow runners either side of the
whirring rubber to avoid falling. Huffing and drenched in sweat, he hit the
stop button and retrieved the phone from pocket, rolling his eyes as he saw
the caller ID. "What?" he asked gruffly.

"Mike, I need you to come pick me up at the gym. The car's been giving me
trouble. I dropped it at the shop

"Fine, I'll be there soon," Mike said with an exaggerated sigh that did not
escape his mother's attention.

"Oh, don't act like it's such a big deal. You can be such a whiny little --"

"I said I'll be there soon, Mom." Mike didn't wait for a response. Hitting
"End" he grabbed his towel and wiped himself down as he headed for the exit,
and drove from one gym to the other, mildly annoyed at the inconvenience.

15 minutes later he pulled up in front of FemGym. A semi-exclusive women-only
enclave in the suddenly resurgent industrial part of town, FemGym offered a
mix of HIIT workouts, Crossfit, and MMA training for upper-class suburbanites.

There was an obvious homogeneity to the gym's clientele, women in their 30's
and 40's, mostly white, for whom exercise was the most exciting part of the
day (aside possibly from the trip to Starbucks). But as he stepped inside the
former warehouse, there was one particular similarity that struck him
instantly - whatever training these women were doing was obviously working.
Some were short, some were tall, some thin and some stout, but almost to a
woman they appeared to be in exceptional shape. It was a cornucopia of
thrilling sights - everywhere he looked there were firm breasts packed in
sports bras, stellar asses hugged tightly by yoga pants, and toned cores on
display. Mike had only been inside FemGym once before, when his mother had
signed up a few years previous, but as he glanced around the room, the
19-year-old realized he wouldn't mind spending more time here.

From across the room, he spotted a familiar figure leaning against the
turnbuckle of the wrestling ring that was the cavernous room's centerpiece.
"Hey Joan," Mike said as he approached. Unconsciously he flashed a sheepish
grin. Joan was his mother's best friend, and, like most men, Mike had longed
harbored a not-so-secret crush on her. She was clad in a pair of black shorts
and a brilliant red form-fitting one-piece that hugged her curvaceous figure
and accentuated the ample bosom which had been the subject of more than a few
teenage wet dreams. Her hair was shoulder-length and jet black, save for a
shock of silver that was a new development since he'd last seen her more than
a year before.

"Well hello Mike," she cooed, her eyes lighting up as she took him in. "My my,
sweetie, college has done you good hasn't it?" She wasn't wrong. Mike had
grown an extra two inches in his first year away from home, and, he had thrown
himself into a religious workout routine. A former middling track-and-field
athlete, Mike had taken to weightlifting. The freshman fifteen he had gained
was taut, sinewy muscle, though he remained a trim 165lbs. He blushed slightly
at her compliment.

"Do you know where Mom is at? I'm supposed to pick her up."

"She's finishing up her workout and then she has to take a shower. You know
how she is, honey - you're gonna be waiting a while." Mike knew exactly what
she meant. His mother's obsession with her personal appearance, the hours
invested in finishing her make-up and getting her hair just-so, ensured that
she had never been on time for anything. Mike groaned audibly.

"You know," Joan said, brushing some loose strands of hair from her face,
"since you have all of this time to kill... my grappling partner couldn't make
it today. Want to help me train?"

"Ummm... I don't think so Joan."

She flashed him big, brown puppy-dog eyes and batted her lashes. "Please?"

"No thanks," Mike said wryly, "I wouldn't want to hurt you."

"Oh, there's no danger of that dear." Her reply was confident, almost
dismissive, betraying no amusement. She stared down at him for a moment before
continuing. "What are you, chicken?" she asked with practiced condescension.
Seeing Mike bristle slightly, she flashed a radiant smile. "Oh, I'm just
kidding, dear. Come on, help an old lady out. It'll be fun."

Mike knew it was a joke - at least he thought it was - but somewhere deep
inside, the suggestion that he was scared needled him, triggering some macho
sense of pride. He couldn't deny the desire to prove himself to this woman who
had fueled some many adolescent fantasies. Reluctantly, he pulled off his
shoes and socks and slipped under the bottom rope and into the ring.

"That's more like it," Joan chirped. Still in her corner, she shimmied out of
her shorts, revealing the high cut bottom half of her one-piece. Watching her
from the center of the ring, Mike marveled as she flashed her sculpted ass
through the high-cut bottom of her one-piece. As she bent all the way down,
taking, Mike thought, longer than necessary, he could just see the outline of
her pussy through the thin, red lycra. Mike could have stared for an eternity,
but she kicked off her shorts and turned, bounding towards him
enthusiastically.

Standing across from her, Mike was struck by how different she also looked
since their last encounter. Mike was 5'11", only an inch taller than the
statuesque Joan, and if he had to guess he had no more than a few pounds on
her. She carried the weigh well. She had always been a curvy woman, but now
those curves were tighter, and he traced the hourglass lines of her figure
with his eyes. He wouldn't call her muscular, per se, but she was toned from
tip-to-tail, and there was subtle definition to her thick arms and thighs.

"So," Mike asked, his voice cracking slightly to his great embarrassment,
"What do we do?"

Joan laughed girlishly. "We wrestle, silly. The focus is on grappling, so
there are no pins, just submissions. The goal is to make the other person tap
out."

"Ok... how do we start."

"Just like this," she said, placing a firm hand on his shoulder and another on
the back of his head, pulling his upper body into a slight forward lean. He
was so close to her now that he could feel the heat of her breath. She
released her grip, but kept her hands poised in front of her. Mike mirrored
her position. "Ready?" she asked. Mike nodded. She reached in with her left
hand, which Mike swatted away easily, but it was a feint. With incredibly
fluidity she slipped around behind him, pulling one of his arms back and
locking him in a chokehold. The hold caught Mike by surprise. Before he could
even think of breaking free, however, she had released him, slapping him
playfully on the butt before resetting herself in front of him. "That one's a
freebie," she said with a wink. "Think you've got the hang of it?"

Mike, smiled coyly, "Yeah, I think I've got it." He squared up to her again
and raised his hands. They circled each other for a moment, each reaching in
and quickly pulling back, waiting for the opportunity to strike. This time
when Joan made her move, Mike was ready for her. Grabbing her left wrist, he
bobbed under her other arm and swung behind her, jerking her arm up behind her
back and looping his free arm under her shoulder to keep her from turning.
"Like this?" he asked with barely veiled impish glee as he wrenched her arm a
little tighter. Not tight enough to be painful, but tight enough that she was
going nowhere. Joan bucked against him for a moment, but, unable to get
traction, quickly succumbed to the inevitable. She tapped her free hand twice
against Mike's shoulder and he released her.

"Beginner's luck," he beamed with obvious pride and not a little cockiness.

Joan glared slightly, rubbing her arm. "Want to try your luck again?" This
time, as they faced off, Joan grabbed Mike's hands, lacing their fingers.
Locked tightly together they each began to push, and, for a moment they were
locked in stasis. Mike was surprised by her strength, and he wondered briefly
if he could budge her at all. Slowly, however, he began to force her back and
down, until she was kneeling, then seated on the ground. Their hands still
locked he leaned forward, feeling confident tin his position of dominance. But
as he looked in her eyes and saw the fiendish glint, he realized that she had
him right where she wanted him.

Suddenly her legs shot up and her thighs tightened around his neck. He tried
to jerk back but she held his hands tightly and he could do nothing to move.
He pulled his hands free and began to grasp desperately, futilely at her
thighs as he fell to his knees. Mike felt a gentle fog rolling in and he knew
he had no choice. He tapped his hand furiously against her steel thigh and she
released him. Mike fell to one knee, panting feverishly. "Still feeling
lucky?" Joan mocked.

As he once again rose to his feet, Mike realized that this little sparring
session was drawing a crowd. Twenty or so of the gym's gorgeous clientele were
gathered around the ring, smiling and gently tittering at the scene unfolding
before them. The last of Mike's confidence was replaced by shame, but he knew
he had to redeem himself.

Wordlessly they squared off again. This time Mike went high, and Joan went
low. Wrapping her arms around his waist she powered him up and then drove his
back down into the mat, before quickly mounting his chest. She grabbed his
arms and he struggled mightily for a few moments, but soon she had pinned each
arm under her knees. Slowly she slid forward until his mouth was completely
covered. Through her skintight suit, Mike could feel Joan's lips against his
own. He'd dreamed of a moment like this for so long. A moment like this, but
definitely not this. "How you doing down there?" Joan asked cheekily, mugging
for the crowd. Then she leaned in close, whispering in his ear, "Is it
everything you hoped it could be, Mike?"

Sitting upright atop him, she reached down and pinched his nose, cutting off
his air supply. Mike's legs thrashed wildly but he could not buck her off. A
huge smile spread across Joan's face as his struggles grew weaker. Resigned to
his fate, he tapped the back of his hand on the mat. Joan jumped up and
bounced around the ring to adoring cheers from the small audience, while Mike
lay on the mat, sucking in air.

"What do you say, Mike? One more round?" she asked as Mike climbed slowly to
his feet. "You seem to be enjoying yourself." Mike hadn't even noticed the
tent he was pitching; now that he did, he could hear more snickers from the
audience, and he was beyond mortified.

"No," he muttered, hanging his head, doing his best to cover his shame

"Ha!" Joan cackled. "I knew you were chicken."

The chuckles from the audience swelled to a chorus of laughter. Mike's face
flushed with embarrassment. He knew now that he was no match for her in skill,
but he could not stomach the thought of retreating. "Don't call me chicken."

Joan smiled as they set themselves, each waiting for their moment. Mike made
the first move, attempting to swing around behind Joan, but she was too quick.
Ducking under his encroaching arm, she planted her leg between his, tripping
him. Mike quickly rose to his knees, but as he did Joan's shadow fell over his
back and she stepped on either side of his head before clamping her massive
thighs around his ears.

The pressure was immediate and intense, and Mike could hear nothing except the
growing ringing in his ears. Joan fell to her side, pulling him down with her
full weight, and grabbed both of his wrists, jerking his arms back forcefully
as she tightened her legs around him.

Mike was helpless, unable even to tap out, as she cranked up the pressure,
digging her heels into his midsection. If he could have heard a thing, Mike
would have heard Joan calling for her friend to come into the ring and snap a
photo. He began to fall limp, and as his vision narrowed to a pinhole,
centering on a familiar face which was all too quickly obscured by a phone.

He was an instant from unconsciousness when he felt her mercifully release
him. The world came flooding back into view, and Joan leaned over top of his
wracked, heaving form. "Thanks for the training session, sweetie." she cooed,
pinching his cheek. "Stop by any time you want another lesson." She
disappeared from his view, and through his heaving, he could finally process
the sight that remained - his mother, leaning over top of him, filming him in
closeup.

Still huffing, Mike summoned all of his strength and leapt to his feet. Susan
Davis backed a few feet away, still training the camera on her son's
exhausted, disheveled form.

"Mom," he shouted, "What the fuck?" There was a time, not so long ago, when he
would never have dreamed of cursing at his mother. But things had changed.
Their relationship, once exceptionally close, had devolved during Mike's high
school years, shortly after Mike's father left them. Susan had blossomed in
the wake of the divorce, socially and physically, using the free time her
alimony payments afforded to join social groups, throw parties and dedicate
herself to the gym. But where she was once caring and compassionate towards
Mike, she had grown distant and self-interested, at precisely the time that
Mike was growing, in fits and spurts, into an awkward, gangly, acne-scarred
teen.

Susan didn't even look up from behind the camera. "Oh my god, she was tossing
you around like a rag doll," she said, more for the video than for him.

"STOP! FUCKING! FILMING!" he screamed, his voice creaking slightly and
undermining his best efforts to sound intimidating.

His pretty, blonde mother beamed at him, without ever moving the camera. "This
is primo content, honey. People will go wild for this on Facebook."

Mike's cheeks turned an even brighter shade of red, but he snapped back,
"Nobody uses Facebook anymore, Mom."

"Oh, it will go on Tik Tok too. And Instagram. Don't worry honey, I won't
forget to tag you." She laughed heartily, but Mike was not amused. There was
more at stake than family members and a few of her middle-aged friends seeing
these photos. Fueled by an incredible figure for her age and a penchant for
posting sweaty gym selfies, his mother had amassed tens of thousands of social
media followers, and he knew that his ex and at least a few of his horny,
teenage friends were among them. If this was a joke, it wasn't funny.

"Stop filming now and delete that." Mike commanded.

"Or what," she cackled, still filming, "You'll beat me up? After that
performance, I think I'll take my chances."

"Susan," Mike snarled, "Give me the phone."

He reached in, but she shoved him away, still recording the encounter. "Make
me." Her blue eyes cut icy cool daggers through him.

"GIVE ME THE FUCKING PHONE, BITCH!" he screamed. He slapped her hard across
the cheek, and a loud, collective gasp went up from the audience. Susan
stumbled, stunned, but she didn't drop the phone. The room was silent. She
reared back with her free hand, ready to strike, but stopped, composing
herself. "Ladies," she commanded, "make sure he doesn't go anywhere." She
turned and slipped out of the ring, and the crowd parted as she made her way
to the locker room. Mike turned, feeling the sudden urge to flee, but the
glaring faces in the crowd told him he wouldn't get far.

Joan hopped into the ring. "Oh Mikey," Joan laughed, "You're in for it now."
She turned to the owner, a stout woman in her late 40's. "Becky, get him what
he needs. Put it on my tab."

Soon, Mike was stationed in one corner of the ring, pulling on his too-small
pair of gloves and chewing his mouthguard anxiously as he felt the eyes of the
room upon him. In the far corner the crowd parted again, and he watched as his
mother made her reappearance. A chorus of cheers rang out as she danced her
way towards the ring and gracefully slid under the ropes before popping to her
feet.

Becky, the club owner, stepped into the ring, a wireless microphone in-hand.
She waved the competitors towards the center of the ring and then turned to
the crowd. "Welcome, ladies and..." she glanced over at Mike, "ummm...
Gentleman. In the red corner, at 5'11" and weighing 165lbs, is our challenger,
Mike Davis. And in the blue corner, standing 5'7" and weighing 170lbs,
Femgym's middleweight champion - and Mike's mommy - Suuuuuuuuuuusan Davis!"
The crowd erupted.

Standing face-to-face with his mother, what little confidence Mike had fled in
an instant. Jesus, did she really outweigh him? A quick once-over made the
answer obvious. She wore a pair of tight black trunks and a sports bra, which
held her proud breasts tightly in place. The incredible work she had put into
her figure was on full display. Her arms were perfectly toned. Her biceps
dwarfed his own. Her belly pouched slightly, not with fat, but with defined
abdominal muscles so taut that they threatened to burst through her skin. From
the waist down she might as have been a centaur, with an ass so thick he could
see it from the front, and legs like tree trunks. Mike knew he had a
significant advantage in reach, and his cardio conditioning was impeccable,
but where he was taut and wiry, she simply looked powerful.

"Now for the rules," Becky continued, walking between the two combatants. "No
biting, no hair pulling, no low blows." Her hand shot towards Mike's crotch,
causing him to jump back and drawing whistles and whoops from the audience as
she cracked a smile. "We want to see a good, clean fight don't we ladies?" A
raucous cheer shot up from the audience as Becky beckoned the two fighters to
the center of the ring. "Tap gloves." They did, then took two steps back as
Becky moved to the edge of the ring. The bell rang and the fight was on.

Mike stepped hesitantly forward, his gloved fists clenched at his chest, as
Susan moved to meet him. Peeking over the tops of her gloves, her eyes were
afire. Mike jabbed meekly at her face, but she danced away effortlessly.
Again, she came close and again he tried to jab, more forcefully this time.
Again, he came nowhere near her as she shuffled her feet and dodged. She
stepped back in, but this time Mike waited for her to make the first move. He
didn't have to wait long. She feinted with her right, then sent a sharp jab
square into his face. Mike stumbled backwards but kept his balance. She hadn't
hurt him, really, but he definitely felt it.

"Better keep your guard up," she said spitefully, "or this is gonna be a short
fight." Mike raised his hands and scowled, stepping back in with more
confidence this time. He stayed on the balls of his feet. Learning from her
first blow, he feinted. As she dodged, he sent a solid left hook into her
midsection. She barely flinched. Fuck, he thought, his fist aching as he
danced back to avoid a counterblow. It was like punching a brick wall.

She moved in now, her gloves raised. Mike kept moving, keeping her at arm's
length, blocking a high jab and beating away a body shot with his fist. He
danced around the ring as she continued to stalk toward him. He dodged one
shot, then another, moving lightly on his feet as she continued forward. He
saw her guard slip for a moment, and sensing his opportunity, sent a hard shot
towards her head. She ducked and responded with two hard punches to his
midsection, sucking the wind from him. He stayed on his feet, though, and kept
moving. She bobbed in and landed another powerful set of body blows that
reverberated through him, sending him briefly to one knee.

It couldn't be more than two minutes into the round, but Mike was already
starting to feel winded. He was a runner, but running away was taking its
toll. He realized that he could not allow her to keep chasing him around the
ring, landing punishing body blows. He had to make his move. He planted his
feet and squared up to his mother. She punched low with her left and he
dropped his guard to block her. He never even saw the right hook that
flattened him.

"Three... Four..." The next thing Mike knew he was on the mat. Darkness
crowded his vision. "Five... Six..." Shakily he stumbled to his feet. "Look at
me," Becky said sternly. Mike's field of vision retreated and flooded back in
in waves. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

"T ... two?"

Three was the answer, but Becky folded her ring finger down. "He's good," she
shouted.

Mike knew it wasn't true. She had rocked him. But he knew he had no choice
except to fight. He couldn't back down now. His strategy had to change,
though. His confidence in his boxing skills was shaken. He had to take her to
the mat.

Susan closed in again on her still reeling son, and kicked out, once, twice,
keeping him momentarily at bay. Mike dodged to and fro. Finding his moment, he
reached in, wrapping his arms around her, hoping to use the leverage of his
height to force her down. Susan met his grip. Mike poured on his strength, but
she dug in her heels, and he could do nothing to move her. "Are you scared
yet?" Susan whispered as they locked up. Her taunting infuriated him, and Mike
exerted every ounce of effort, driving her back a step. He was so focused on
overpowering her that he was wholly unprepared when she drove her knee
viciously into his stomach. He doubled over, searching desperately for a
breath, but it was already over.

With cat-like quickness she was upon him, grabbing his arm and powering him
down to the mat in a brutal arm-bar. Mike bucked against her but found himself
utterly unable to dislodge her mammoth thighs, to free his arm from her iron
grip. He writhed for a moment more, but he could not deny the inevitability of
his defeat. With no hope left, he tapped the mat.

She didn't relent, and Becky, leaning over the pair and watching intently,
didn't move a muscle. Again he tapped, this time on the strong leg holding him
tight, but the pressure on his arm increased, and fear began to well inside of
him. "Mommy, I give--" She cut him off, bucking her hips and wrenching his arm
down. Mike screamed as he felt his arm creak under the terrible pressure.
"Mommy, what? She growled. He thrashed beneath her, wailing, the pain
momentarily preventing him from finding the words of surrender. An instant's
silence was all it took for Susan to make up her mind. With one more jerk, she
broke him, snapping his arm like a twig.

"AUGGGGGGGHHHHH!" Mike screamed as she instantly released him and stood,
staring down dispassionately at her stricken son. Through his tears and fast,
heavy, ragged breaths, he whimpered, "I tapped."

He barely heard her sarcastic reply. "Oh you did? Guess it was too weak for me
to feel it, just like your punches." The last thing he recalled, before he
blacked out from the agony, was his mother wheeling away in celebration and
screaming, "Joanie, tell me you got that."

Fourteen hours later Mike returned home in a cab. He vaguely remembered Susan
dropping him at the ER, but she had not hung around to ensure her son's
well-being. At the hospital he had done his best to pass off his injury as a
play fight gone wrong, but as he turned on his phone there was no escaping
reality. The first text was from his mom, a litany of links to the videos of
his humiliation. Facebook, Twitter, r/fightporn... she had posted the videos
everywhere she possibly could, and the constant buzz of new texts from his
friends was proof enough that his embarrassment had already gone viral. He
scrolled through the likes - family, friends, neighbors, his ex, his college
crush. He couldn't imagine ever showing his face at school again.

Susan was nowhere to be found when he returned, and he slinked into his room,
slipped into bed, and fell soundly asleep.

When at last he awoke, he struggled to pull on a tank-top and basketball
shorts before stumbling down the stairs and made his way to the kitchen for a
glass of water. He had chugged half of it, when he heard a familiar voice
calling his name from the living room. "Mike, come in here." It was like nails
on a chalkboard. He wanted to run, to go anywhere else, but even if he had
somewhere to go, he'd have to go through past her get there. He made his was
tentatively to the living room.

He found his mother standing and Joan seated on the couch. Both were clad in
minidresses, Joan wore a red number that ended midway down her muscular
thighs. Susan's was black and even shorter, barely containing her incredible
ass. Her broad, rounded shoulders flared and, even relaxed at her side, her
arms bulged with the muscles that had so thoroughly beaten him.

Susan looked her disheveled, bandaged son up and down, then locked eyes with
him. "Do you have anything you want to say to me?"

Mike wanted to scream, to call her a cunt. She had broken his fucking arm for
god's sake. But her dominance, her brutality, and the utter lack of sympathy
she now showed instilled a fear in him like he had never known. In his
weakened state he dared not challenge her again. "I'm sorry, mom."

"Did you realize you were sorry when I punched your soul out of your body?
When I broke your weak little arm? Or was it when you realized that by
tomorrow everyone you know will have seen you get humiliated by your mommy?"

Mike seethed but bit his tongue. "What is she doing here? Are you two going
out?"

Susan laughed. "No baby. We're all staying right here. You gave me great
content for my socials. But we need something exclusive for my OnlyFans.
You're gonna wrestle Joanie, and those fucking perverts that put me in the top
hundredth percent are going to eat it up."

Mike's eyes went wide. "But, I-"

"Couldn't beat me when you had two arms?" Joan cackled, standing up from the
couch. In her stilettos she towered over him. "Don't worry, sweetie, you're
not supposed win."

"This is ridiculous. This isn't fair."

"Life isn't fair," Susan shot back. "You can wrestle Joan, or we can make it
more unfair and the two of us will just beat the shit out of you." Her
expression told Mike she wasn't kidding.

"But I apologized. You beat me. You broke my arm for God's sake. What else do
you want?"

"I want you to suffer. I want to make damn sure you know that if you ever lay
a finger on me in anger again, I will fucking kill you." Her eyes burned with
terrifying rage. Suddenly her expression changed as she produced her phone,
raising it to her face. "Hey all you bitch-ass beta cucks out there," she said
with a sadistic smile, "We've got something special for you tonight. You
remember my friend Joan." She turned the camera and Joan waved giddily. "This
lioness has some prey in her sights, and she's about to eat him alive."

Before the words had left Susan's mouth, Joan was closing in on Mike. She
stepped close, clasping his shoulders. Mike struggled, mustering what little
resistance he could with his good arm as she tried to drive him towards the
ground. He held firm, planting his legs, not allowing himself to be
overpowered.

Suddenly her knee arced up into his crotch. He screamed in pain, his legs
buckling. But Joan's grip now held him aloft. "Whoopsie," she cooed, mugging
for the camera. Again, her knee shot up, crushing his balls. And again. And
again. "Oops, I did it again." And again. Mike was reeling from the pain
erupting from his swollen balls, unable to even think. As he wobbled in her
grip, Joan looped her arm under his and powered through her legs, lifting him
and then slamming him to the ground on his back.

She reached out and flipped him onto his side, wrapping her legs around his
midsection and a strong arm around his neck. She sat up, crushing his ribs
with her thighs as she choked the life from him. "Someone's enjoying himself,"
she laughed, noticing the obvious bulge in his shorts. "You love this don't
you." She tightened her thighs around him. He was not fighting back. There was
no fight left in him. He was simply being abused. She reached her free hand
down, allowing his meager 5" cock to lurch free. "Oh my god," she cackled,
"Would you look at that pathetic thing?" Her hand closed around his dick, and
she began to stroke as she continued to crush him. Almost immediately he
erupted, spraying cum across her hand and his own shirt. She held her
jizz-slicked hand aloft for the camera. "Look how much fun he's having." He
was barely clinging to consciousness as she raised her hand to his slack,
reddened face and smeared his own cum over his nose and mouth.

Finally, she released him, and he fell to the floor, gasping for air as she
stood. She placed the heel of her stiletto firmly on his chest, applying
controlled pressure. "I could plant my heel and end you right now. Would you
like that, worm?"

"N...no," Mike whimpered.

"Are you a pathetic little worm?" she asked, digging the heel deeper into his
flesh.

"Yes, yes, I'm a pathetic worm," Mike sobbed.

She raised her foot and placed the thin heel at his mouth. "Show me how
pathetic you are. Suck it." Mike did as she commanded, taking the thin point
in his mouth and sucking at the tip. She pushed her heel down slowly, forcing
every inch inside his mouth. As he suckled at it, she knelt and reached in,
slipping her foot from the heel, leaving it still buried in his mouth. "Don't
stop," she demanded, as she pulled off her other shoe.

She hiked up her skirt. She wore nothing beneath. For a long moment she
watched her humiliated opponent suckle at the heel still wedged in his mouth.
Finally, she knelt, hovering above him. She pulled the stiletto agonizingly
slowly from his lips before tossing it theatrically aside. She crawled over
top of him, dipping her hips low enough that her neatly shaved snatch gently
brushed his face as she passed, smearing his cum further over his face and
leaving a snail-trail on his nose and forehead.

She sat on the floor just behind his head and spread her legs. Mike was
conscious of his mother circling, still filming, leaning between her friend's
legs to get a money shot. She rose and panned, filming her son's heaving,
beaten form. Tears rolled softly from his eyes. His limp dick hung free of his
waistband, gently dribbling the last remnants of cum onto his boxers. "He's
had a rough couple of days, hasn't he?" Susan asked her friend, her lens still
trained on him.

Joan leaned over Mike's face, looked deep into his eyes, and laughed heartily.
"He sure does!"

"Should we give him a reward?"

"Why not," Joan said, smiling brightly. She scooted back a foot. "Come get
your reward, Mike." She spread her legs even wider. Mike rolled onto his
stomach, finding himself face-to-face with her perfectly pink pussy. He
hesitated. "Come get your reward," she repeated, "Unless you'd prefer more
punishment."

The threat snapped Mike to attention. He crawled slowly towards her, pulling
himself with one arm, inch by agonizing inch. Eventually he arrived at his
destination, laying his head in her crotch, his nose and mouth nestling at her
lips. "Lick me," she commanded, and he obeyed. Slowly he dragged his tongue up
the length of her lips, then back down. Suddenly her legs snapped shut,
clamping painfully on his head. Mike shouted in agony, finding his cries
muffled as her legs forced his mouth tightly against her cunt.

"Put some effort into it, worm" she demanded. Her legs relented as Mike began
to lap furiously at her gash, then suddenly snapped shut again. Her meaty
thighs tight around his ears, he could barely hear her next words. "Stop
licking, and I'll snap your fucking neck." Mike quickened his pace as she
relaxed and flexed her thighs in staccato bursts. His head felt like it might
explode each time she poured on the pressure, but he could not move fast
enough to escape her and dare not stop licking her. As lapped wildly at her
gaping maw, he began to feel her first shivers. Her legs flexed again, and
this time they did not relent, squeezing tighter and tighter, turning his face
a brilliant red. Still he licked, as blackness encroached upon his field of
vision. With a last, desperate effort, he swirled his tongue around her clit,
driving her over the edge, sending her into throes of orgiastic ecstasy.

Her whole body was shaking now. Mike, still trapped between Joan's thighs, was
being tossed around now, flopping like a fish as she quaked violently around
him. She was gushing now, flooding his nose as her thighs tightened further.
Needing air, Mike clawed at her leg with his good arm, but his efforts were in
vain. He could do nothing to free himself from her iron grip. As she came
violently against him, Mike's tenuous grasp on the world slipped away.

When Mike awoke, he was still on the living room floor. He was alone. Battered
and exhausted, he struggled to his feet. He fought through the fog, the urgent
pain in his ribs and neck, and made his way gingerly to his room. Shutting the
door behind him, he collapsed onto his bed and fell deeply asleep.

OOOOF! Mike was roused to life as his mother slammed her ass down atop his
stomach, winding him. By the time he had opened his eyes, she had already
pinned his good arm down and was looping her legs around his own. She was
obviously fresh from the gym, her body slick with sweat, still clad in her
sports-bra and a pair of tight, pink shorts. He lay helpless on his back as
she spread her legs slowly, locking him in a grapevine. "Why?" he pleaded.

"You know," she began, contemplating the question as she held him easily
beneath her, "When your father left I was lost. I built my life around that
marriage, around you. And suddenly every time I looked at you I saw a reminder
of my biggest failure staring back at me. I didn't feel any love when I looked
at you, just obligation. A sense of motherly duty. But when you slapped me, it
freed me from that. You aren't my little boy anymore. You aren't anything to
me anymore." Her legs spread wider.

"Mommy, he pleaded, "No more, please. I'm sorry for slapping you." She spread
her legs further, stretching him to the breaking point. "FUCC--" His cry was
cut off as she clamped her hand over his mouth.

"Sorry?" She laughed. "That pansy-ass slap was the best thing that ever
happened to me. It's got over half a million views across all platforms. My
Insta is up over 100,000 followers." She constricted more, as he screamed into
her palm. "And last night's video was an all-timer, baby. More than 1,000
purchases already, at $9.99 a pop. Whatever "it" is, you've got it, and my
audience is hungry for more. You should see my DMs - these guys are just
desperate to see you abused, and they have some really twisted fantasies.
We're going to make their dreams come true." She paused a moment, watching
with glee as Mike absorbed her words.

"I guess I lied when I said you're nothing to me - you're a paycheck, a
fucking winning lottery ticket. Joanie's coming back over tomorrow night for
another session. Three nights a week we're going to break your body and your
mind, until there's nothing left. And we're going to get it all on camera. And
those horny fucks that follow me are going to pay through the nose to beat
their dicks to it. You're gonna make me rich, baby." Her huge breasts hung
only inches from his face as she tightened her legs. Against his better
judgment, against all conscious thought, the feeling of his mother's powerful
frame pressing him into the bed and the sight of her majestic breasts stirred
something in Mike. His cock swelled, straining at the band of his boxers. It
did not escape Susan's notice. "Oh, you like the sound of that, do you? Of
Joanie putting you in your place again?"

"Watching you two last night, I got to thinking," Susan continued, enjoying
her mastery over him, "why should Joan have all the fun?" She pressed herself
against him, grinding her crotch over his raging cock as she spread her legs
even wider. The pain was unbelievable, but her constant gyrations were driving
him closer and closer to the brink. With wild abandon she thrust against him
again and again until it was too much. Mike came hard, feeling a warm, wet
pool spreading up his belly with each successive spurt of his cock.

When he was spent, she untangled their legs and rolled off of him long enough
to peel off her shorts. Beneath them she wore a pair of white cotton panties,
which barely contained a wild thicket of brown hair. She straddled him, her
sopping, sweaty panties dangling precariously over his face. ""Get used to
this view baby." She settled herself atop his face, feeling his nose pierce
her, his tongue obediently lapping at her, as she began to ride. From between
her thighs, Mike could barely make out the sound of a camera shutter. "Mmmm,
that's it, baby. You're going to be a fucking star!"