You Couldn't Handle Me Ch. 01

(This story is posted on the Literotica website. Do not repost anywhere else without the author's consent. For fans of my stories, they know what kinds of things to expect. This story deals with similar themes as the stories by wannabeboytoy, seducedHylas, and Dark Betrayal, namely cheating, betrayal, and heartbreak. If stuff like that isn't your cup of tea, then you probably shouldn't bother reading it.

A few warnings before going forward. This story is a little different than my others, taking a different approach than I usually do, though at the end of the day, it veers more towards the type of story you have all come to know and expect from me. But, all the same general themes are present, with all my typical hallmarks. But this is a teasing story, and in my opinion, that type of story needs a slow build. So this complete story is quite long, practically novel-length, so keep that in mind. This story will be released in smaller chunks to make it more manageable.

This story is split in 8 parts of varying lengths. Not all of them will have sex, but some will, but don't worry, the high-level of sexual tension will be consistent throughout. Some parts of this story have action, and some have that dreaded back-story and character building. So, if you just want to get to the sex scenes, you might have to skip around a bit. But, I think the full story is the best way to consume this.

On top of all the other themes I stated before, this is an incest-themed story, if that's not already clear. This is a mother-son series featuring a big-titted, sexy mother and a studly, big-dicked son. If that is not your favorite flavor of mother-son story, by all means walk away. I just want to state again I do not condone any of the actions within this story in real life. This is just a story. Enjoy.)

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Prologue: The Confession

It was pretty safe to say that my relationship with my mother changed after I told her I wanted to fuck her. To be honest, it'd be weird if it didn't. And that was just the tip of the iceberg in my relationship with my mom. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

My name is Thomas McGee. I go by Tom typically. I try to stay pretty humble, but that can be pretty difficult sometimes. I was born lucky in a lot of ways, and to most, that would go to their heads. I did my best to keep cool about it and for the most part I succeeded, but sometimes that side of me would emerge. I could admit I was a good looking guy and I never really had a problem attracting girls. I'm sure some of the other guys at school resented how easy it was for me. I had a lot of friends, and a lot of girlfriends. I'm sure a lot of the other guys wanted to be like me. Some guys had trouble around girls and would get nervous around them, but I never really did. It always came naturally to me. I don't know why. I wasn't the type of guy who leered at the girls around the school and dogged them for dates. I don't know if I was necessarily even that good at flirting, but I must have been doing something right to have so many girls making gooey eyes at me. Like I said, I was a pretty good looking guy. Some girls are willing to look past the negatives in a guy if he has a pretty face. I'm sure I'm better at it than I give myself credit for, but it just was second-nature to me. Girls just sort of came to me and it would take an idiot to not realize they liked me. I tried to be pretty cool about it and never show off the fact that my dating life was pretty active. And I like to think that any person who resented me for how active my dating life was came to at least like me as a person. I tried to be a cool, friendly, affable guy, even hanging out with people that most of my peers would deem to be below my social circle.

I play football in high school, so that got me pretty built. I wasn't always that way though. When I was about to enter my freshman year, I was kinda scrawny, but I hit a huge growth spurt right as I started school. I filled out and grew a foot taller and I didn't feel as much apprehension going out for football. I got on the team and it was the best experience of my life. I made a ton of great friends, and it certainly assisted in girls taking notice of me. This spurred me on to get in good shape. I became a fiend in the weight room. I remember the competitions me and my buddies had in the weight room about who could bench the most. At first, I was not close to winning, but as we reached our senior year, I overtook all my friends. It wasn't really about being the top dog or anything like that. I just kinda thrived on competition.

I had developed strong muscles all over without being too over the top. I was strong, but lithe and lean. I'm sure most would think it was good genetics, but I had to work hard. I had a lot of blessings in life, most out of my control but my body was the one thing I took total pride in. The first time I ever saw a girl look at my body with lust in her eyes was all the motivation I needed. And it was worth it, as far as my love life went. Like I said before, I had a few girlfriends, and a lot of them were eager to get physical with me. It certainly didn't hurt that, accompanying my muscle growth, my cock had sprouted generously, till I easily had the biggest cock of anyone on the football team. When I was in action, I was a good thick 10 inches. Once my body filled out and I started packing some serious heat I was able lose my virginity quickly. I had always had a good looking face and now that my body held up its end of the bargain, it was tough to stop myself.

By the time I turned 18 I became quite the lady killer. Girls had become my weakness. My vice. I was a relatively cool, regular guy otherwise, but when I was after a girl, the worst parts of my character emerged. I'm sure I'm not the only person who was a different person around the opposite sex, so try not to hold it against me. Most of the time, I barely really had to do anything to make girls smitten with me. It was almost funny. Just wear some flattering clothes, flash a small smile, make a girl giggle, and that was it. Jackpot. I kinda felt guilty about how easy these things came to me when other guys struggled. I wasn't trying to be popular or the school stud or anything like that. I was really not even actively trying. Just whatever my default response was kinda clicked with girls.

But the occasions when I had to pursue a girl were the times I became a different guy. My competitive juices started flowing. I became a bit more ruthless and cutthroat. Those were also the times I had the most fun. As a general rule, I was never the type of guy to go after another guy's girl. I had my limits, and that just seemed like a dick move. I didn't want to involve others in my own personal vices. No one needed to get hurt just so I could get laid. But, even then, I kinda knew deep down, if the right girl came along, that rule would fade away. I mean, I had had girls with boyfriends approach me and give me the gooey eyes and I was okay with going all the way with those girls. But I never pursued a girl who had a boyfriend. I tried to be a good guy in that sense. I let them do the hard work if they wanted to cheat.

I loved the pursuit. The chase. I loved the girls that made me work a little a bit. The girls who wouldn't crumble quickly. Being with them was always the most rewarding. The girls with low self-esteem who would just hop into bed with me for fear of making me unhappy, I had my fun with them but it was a hollow victory. And plus, the girls who made me work for it knew exactly what they were doing, and when they would eventually give in, they gave into me. They were kinky as fuck once I landed them, and those girls were easily the best of the best. But unfortunately, the level of sociopathy that allowed them to play games with guys did not translate to long-lasting relationships. And that was fine. I was always on the hunt for the next challenge. I was always on the hunt for bigger game.

I guess I should have been careful what I asked for.

Now I'm sure how anyone reading this will struggle to sympathize with me. What a tragic life I must have, the smart, charming, popular, built football player with the big cock doesn't like the fact that he has SO many girlfriends. Boo-hoo. Poor guy. But it was the truth. I just tried to go through life like any other guy, hang out with friends and have fun. Obviously, having a bunch of girls be into me was nice, but to be honest, the whole thing got kinda boring to me. And besides, I was never really satisfied with any of the girls I was with, for one reason or another. I liked them all on a surface level, but for the most part, none of them were that interesting to me. There were a few exceptions, sure, but there was no real challenge there. And I lived for the challenge. Even the girls that did make me work a little bit weren't that hard to bring down. But... most importantly of all, none of them matched up to the woman I really wanted.

The woman that dominated my fantasies.

I guess that's as good a reason as any to bring her into this story. None of you really care about what I look like and how I spent my free time. Well, maybe some of you do, but I'm not the star of the show. Compared to her, my struggle with being too popular with girls was boring. I mean, I play my part in this tale but this story is about her. Her name is Tanya, but I never call her anything other than Mom.

To say she was pretty was an understatement. To simply say she was beautiful would be equally disrespectful to her. She was, quite-simply, amazingly, jaw-droppingly, mouth-wateringly, drop-dead gorgeous. Literally in the top percentile of attractiveness. I had honestly never seen a woman better looking than her, and she was my mom! It was no wonder I turned out feeling the way I did about her with the way she looked.

I suppose she should be described, although words don't do her justice. She had black hair, which she changed the style of often. She had olive skin and she was able to maintain a healthy tan year-round. Her skin was silky and soft, just seeing any of her bare flesh made you want to run your hands all over her. Her face was exotic, looking strikingly gorgeous. Full, soft pouty lips. Smoky, bedroom eyes. She didn't look like a typical and classy 40 year old mom. She had the face of a seasoned mature sex goddess, a face that made it clear she was an older woman, but also a face that all other women her age would kill for. Her face defined her. Experienced, but young looking. Aged to perfection. She looked like a woman ten years younger. But her face was only the beginning of the total package.

For most women, that face would be the first thing you would notice. But she had much more noticeable assets. To be blunt, my mom had giant tits. Enormous breasts. Each seemed as big as my head. It was impossible not to notice the basketballs that bounced around in her bra wherever she went. I spied on one of her bras once, and seeing the tag on the bra which said "34FF" made my knees shudder. And judging by how her tits spilled out of whatever she wore, I might have to say that she might even be a size bigger. They had no sag at all. None. They rode proudly on her chest, shockingly firm, and perky... and round... and smooth, soft looking... and squeezable. And they rode together in just the perfect way, creating an absolute canyon of cleavage in whatever she wore. I loved seeing how her excessive breast flesh pressed together. Her nipples seemed like they were always hard because they showed through seemingly every top she had. It was as if she was constantly horny. It was like those nipples were just begging to be sucked on.

There was no chance I could make it to 18 with her around the house and not become a breast man. But the torturous thing was I had the greatest set of jugs I had ever seen within arm's reach and I couldn't touch them. She had the greatest tits I had ever seen even though I had never seen them bare, at least from an age that I could remember. It was torture.

But enough about my mom's rack. For most women, an incredibly gorgeous face and enormous boobs would be enough. But not her. Her belly was flat and sexy, displaying the benefits of yoga and her exercise routine. Her legs were long and firm, capable of driving any leg-man insane. And her ass... holy fuck! Her ass was out of this world. It rode high and tight and it was everything you wanted an ass to be. It was firm. It was round. It was heart shaped. Each cheek was perfectly ripe. Her ass jutted out perfectly, nearly creating a shelf to rest your head on. My mom was stacked in every way. No matter what type of guy you were... she had what you wanted.

Now some gorgeous women were just bodies and had no substance. My mom was different. She was fun to be around. She was a good mother without being overbearing. She gave me enough freedom to live my own life while keeping a watchful eye on me. And she was very laid-back. She was one of those people that were never caught off guard. Nothing could faze her. She was sharp enough that she had a comeback for anything. But that's the boring personality stuff. Here's the fun stuff. She was a shameless flirt. She was one of those women that everything she said sounded sexy. Every word she said, every little mannerism, just perfectly sexy. Her breathy voice made everything she said sound like a lusty come-on. She rolled her hips when she walked. Her tits jiggled with every step she took. She moved smoothly with no wasted motion. She exuded sex. She was pure, unadulterated, walking, talking sex appeal.

If it's not clear by now, I wanted to fuck her in the worst way. Taking one look at her and comparing her to the girls at school, it was no comparison at all. I prided myself at being very good at landing girls. But I was hunting little cubs. My mom was a lioness. She was in a different stratosphere altogether. If I was a big game hunter, Mom could be seen as nothing less than a prime target.

She was the total package, and I wanted all of her. I wanted her body. I wanted her gorgeous face. Her long legs. Her tan, smooth skin. Her round ass. Her tight pussy. Her massive breasts. For a young horny guy, she was a walking wet dream. The fact that she was my mom eventually became secondary.

It was a miracle she was even here. She was the daughter of two regular looking parents, and she had two regular looking younger siblings. By some twist of fate, by some alignment of the stars, my mother emerged a beacon of beauty. The fates came together in creating this vision of sex.

One thing I forgot to mention was her impeccable sense of style. She always wore tight, form-fitting clothes, in all the latest looks. But she was also a trend-setter, trying her own things, flaunting her wares while setting an example for all the other women in town. Most women felt nothing but envy when others were around her. They wanted to hate her, but they were sucked in by her infectious personality. Women didn't hate her for her jaw-dropping good looks. Despite her beauty, women liked her. Women felt better about themselves by being in her presence. She was so hot that women dreamed of being around her, being deemed worthy of being called her friend. And even though she was on good terms with most and generous with her time, she had her choice of those to consider her friends, and her friends were a murderers' row of amazing looking older women. But that's a story for later.

And men, well, it should be obvious how men behaved around her. Mom was the most popular woman in town with men. She was probably wank material for most of them. But unfortunately for them, she was taken.

I guess I should mention my dad, Jay. Part of me wished I could say he was an asshole, and I wanted to get back at him by having her all to myself. But that was not the case. Dad was a good guy. He was a former football player, so we had stuff in common. He had maintained his good looks, although he was not in the shape he used to be and he and Mom were still very much in love. He could be a bit of a blowhard sometimes, but nobody's perfect. Except Mom, of course. Him and Mom met in College and married soon after. He was a salesman for a pretty big private airline company and he was really good, bringing in good money, letting Mom stay at home and not have to worry about working. But as a tradeoff for that Dad was traveling all the time, bringing in the big bucks, leaving Mom and I cooped up together.

So, there we were, a ridiculously stacked mother, and her horny big-cocked son, with a dad who was never around. I know it sounds over the top but it is the truth. Judging by some stories I read, our eventual copulation was inevitable. Judging by what I have seen, I should have easily been able to get balls-deep in her no problem. But I knew otherwise, from first-hand experience. I wished it could be that easy.

From a young age, I realized Mom was beautiful. But for years, she was nothing but a mom to me. It wasn't until I reached puberty that I realized the blessing I had in my own house. I reached the age where I could appreciate boobs. And butts. And what sex appeal was all about. My body knew the truth before I did. I sprouted erections whenever she jiggled near me. Once I put the pieces together, the first thing I felt was shame. Honestly. I shouldn't be popping boners over my mom. I tried to push her out of my head and fantasize about girls in my class, but Mom always ended up being the one I was thinking about while I sprayed my load. I felt like a freak. I mean... it was icky. It was incest.

It wasn't until I had some friends over that I realized that it wasn't just me that thought bad things about her. I watched as all my friends undressed my mom with their eyes, feasting on her while she paraded her hot body around us, doing her day to day chores. I had never felt as happy as I did when I realized all my friends thought my mom was hot. Word spread fast and soon all the guys were clamoring to be my friend.

I was about 14 or 15 when I willingly allowed Mom into my fantasies for the first time. And it felt fucking great. I imagined myself squeezing her boobs. I imagined myself driving my dick into her doggy style. I did all the nasty things I could think of to my mom in my fantasies. Part of me thought it was just a phase. That I would move on after awhile and have healthier fantasies about girls my own age. But it just didn't happen. I probably could move on if I wasn't around her all the time. Having to watch her hot ass and huge tits jiggling around the house, watching her look gorgeous in whatever she wore kept her right on the edge of my fantasies. As I filled out, grew taller, grew more muscular, and sprouted my nice-fat pussy pleaser, I still found myself, day after day, stroking myself to thoughts of her. My fantasies got nastier as my tastes evolved, and the loads that I blasted got bigger and bigger. I imagined myself tit-fucking my mom. I imagined my mom choking on my fat cock. I imagined myself driving my fat cock up her tight ass. It was nasty, but it felt so fucking good. I can't count how many loads I shot over her. I realized that it wasn't just a phase. It wasn't just a fantasy. If the opportunity presented itself, I would do it. I would fuck my mom. It didn't matter if it was incest. She was too hot for me to care.

I lusted for her more than anyone else I could think of. But despite that, I kept up a good social life. I was no shut-in. I had a bunch of friends, and many girlfriends. I was definitely sowing my wild oats with girls my own age, but my mind was always on the hottie that lived in my own house. I couldn't get her out of my head, no matter how much teenage pussy I got. She was the one I wanted. She was the one my body craved. I entered my senior year of high school and my crush on my own mom had shown no signs of slowing down.