You Couldn't Handle Me Ch. 01

Mom began to walk away, out of my room. I watched her firm thighs, soaked slightly in sweat, flex as she walked. Mom reached my doorway and stopped, turning to face me once again.

"Face it Tom, it's like I said..." she began, her mouth curling into an evil smile. Her hands reached up to cup her own huge breasts, squeezing them firmly through the silk.

"You couldn't handle me."

My eyes snapped open, Mom's words lingering in my ears. My vision adjusted to the dark as I realized where I was. Realized that once again I was dreaming of an erotic encounter with her. Realizing that my own brain was against me, not even letting me have my way with my mother in my own imagination. Not letting me even have that small moment of success. Not letting me have that small taste. I lifted my sheet to see my stiff dick standing proud, dripping with pre-cum.

"Dammit." I muttered to myself, my hand sliding down to take hold of my shaft, beginning to angrily stroke myself, wondering if Mom was right, wondering if I could ever really handle her.

I could handle her. I could. I knew it. I had to be able to.

I could do it.

************

As I got more locked into football, I began to think more in sports terms. And I began relating my play on the field to this battle me and Mom were going through. Me and my own mother had become competitors. Adversaries. Rivals. In this game we had been playing, I began to realize I had been put back on my heels because she had me on the defensive. She was coming at me, attacking, taking me aback. And she kept coming. She was unrelenting. I began to realize the only course of action was to take the battle to her. To go on the offensive. My competitive juices were flowing. The pursuit was on. If Mom wanted to play, then let's play. Believing deep down that I could do it, that I actually could match up to Mom. I knew I had to give it my best shot.

With a renewed will, not only in my focus on nailing my mom, but on football, I resolved to give both my best effort. Mom always showed up to my games and despite her protestations otherwise, I knew she enjoyed watching me play football more than just as a mom. I had the feeling that she is or at the least was the type of woman who had a thing for football players. I could just imagine her, back in high school, cheering on the sidelines, her big boobs bouncing. I could see her getting super excited as she watched guys on the field playing the game, slamming into each other, going to war with each other, eager for victory. I could imagine her scouting the athletes on the field, searching for the top dog. I could imagine her being filled with lust as she watched the athletic specimens on the field and the one specimen that rose above the rest, that was unstoppable, consuming her vision, becoming the sole object of her lust. I hoped this feeling continued to this day. And I vowed to be that specimen.

So, working under the assumption that my mother loved football players added a new level of focus to my play. Some were motivated by glory, by becoming a champion. Some were motivated by girls, trying to be the king or alpha dog of the high school, the kind all the high school girls fawn over. And sure, that all applied to me. I loved to compete and succeed. But mainly, there was one thing driving me forward.

It always sounded trite or dorky when people thanked 'Mom' when they won an award or has some success. But in most of those cases, it was thanking their moms for raising them right, getting them to where they were today, and being like an angel, guiding them down the right path. But that definitely wasn't the case for me. Mom being the motivation for my success came from a completely different place. My mom's luscious body was all the motivation I needed. The thought of seeing more if it drove me forward. If me scoring touchdowns on the field meant my mom's thong became a little wetter, then I would throw as many TD's as possible. If me sticking in the pocket and taking a hit just to complete a key downfield pass meant an extra button was unbuttoned on her top, allowing me to see a little more of her juicy cleavage, then I would take that hit. If executing a perfect play-fake would make my mother's nipples hard, then I would play-fake as often as possible. And, if hurling a long bomb downfield made Mom more apt to want to show me her thong-clad ass, then I would be hurling bombs left and right. Like I said, when most guys were motivated by their mom, it was an innocent gesture. Most weren't motivated by the dream of fucking their own mom, fucking her tight cunt while squeezing her tits, burying their thick shaft inside of her and filling her with thick cum. That was my motivation. That is what drove me forward.

The coaches, my teammates, and even the freaking cheerleaders noticed how my performance seemed to step up another level. My passing was precise. My footwork was impeccable. My focus was unyielding. I had never played better. I had been a decent quarterback last year, even as just a backup. But this year, I had made the jump. And it was all thanks to the tiniest shred of hope that I would one day get to see my mother's nipples.

So when game time arrived against one of our big rivals, a team that had demolished us year after year, the team that had won the state title a few years back, I didn't feel any of the nervousness I probably should be feeling, going into what most thought would be a slaughter. As I emerged onto the field for my first official start as quarterback, surrounded by my teammates, cheered on by the hot cheerleaders, rooted on by my peers, about to play a team of guys who seemed a size bigger than anyone on my team, the only person I really noticed was the 40-year old woman in the stands with the jiggling FF-cup tits rooting me on, watching only me. Her body was my motivation. Her approval was my goal.

I played like a guy who didn't know he was supposed to lose. I played like a guy who had nothing to lose, like a guy who had far more experience than I truly did. Central's QB had been scouted for years, with aspirations to play pro ball. But through the first half, I was keeping up with him, as we were only down four at halftime. With each complete pass I made, I glanced to the stands to see my mom watching me proudly, beaming with approval, bopping up and down happily. I'm sure all the guys on the field were distracted by her tits bouncing. And as we retreated to the locker room at the break, I could see her smiling at me, proud that her son could keep up.

The fact that I was so distracted probably helped. Any nerves I would have felt during the game were mitigated by my obsession with my mother's chest. So when Central jumped ahead by ten, entering the fourth quarter, instead of panicking, all I was thinking was whether Mom's top had ben unbuttoned a little lower since the beginning of the game.

I was playing like a man possessed in the fourth quarter. Running around, dodging tackles I had no business avoiding, hitting passes I probably shouldn't have even thrown. And, because of this, we had the ball with less than a minute to go, down by four. A touchdown would win it for us, in a huge upset. If I pulled this off I would be a school legend. The girls would fawn over me at school and all the other guys would wish they were me. But none of that mattered. I looked up to the stands and met my mother's eyeline, making sure I had her attention. Her gaze met mine, watching, like an empress trying to watch a gladiator impress her. With the focus of a more experienced man, with the intangibles of a seasoned QB, I led the charge downfield.

I nailed every pass and I got out of bounds when I had to. I took every hit if it meant extending the play. I got as close as I could in the time allotted, so with two seconds left to play I had the team ten yards away from glory. When I snapped the ball, everything moved in slow motion. I saw every movement on the field. I saw the rushers flying at me like mack trucks. I saw all of the wide receivers running their routes to precision. I saw my mom's breasts rippling as she bounced up and down excitedly. Every voice was silent. Every cheer was gone. It was just me, and the ball. As I saw our tight end elude the defense, zooming free towards the end zone, the ball left my hand without a second thought.

My aim was true. Like the way a master archer would aim for his target, like the way a sniper would aim at the enemy, like the way I would no doubt be aiming my thick cock at my mother's tight pussy in the very near future... the pigskin left my hand.

I watched the ball floating through the air, spiraling perfectly. I watched my teammate Bennie running towards the ball's destination in the end zone. My fate depended on this. All hope I had of ever fucking my hot-bodied mother rested on this moment.

Would he make the catch?

************

"YEAAAAAAHHHHHH!" I screamed out, standing on the edge of my pool.

"Tom! Tom! Tom! Tom! Tom! Tom! Tom! Tom!" my friends chanted, both in the pool and outside it.

I had done it. My legend was already being born. I was the guy, who in his first start, had beaten the former state champs. I was literally carried off the field as the crowd went nuts. The cheerleaders were going crazy and the fans were chanting my name. If I wanted to, I could have probably had my pick of girls to spend the night screwing, and as I looked around the selection here at my pool in their little swimsuits, the selection was good. But my focus was elsewhere. There was only one woman I wanted at the end of my cock.

The best part of the victory was in the parking lot after the game. My mom was there, and she gave me the tightest hug she could, making sure I could feel her perky, squishy rack against my fit chest as she scrubbed them against me. On one hand, this was an act of pure motherly pride at watching her son succeed. But when her perfume hit my nose and when she whispered in my ear in her breathy voice that I loved so much, "Mmmmm hon, your mother is very impressed. Very... impressed," I was sure I would be balls deep inside of her by the end of the night. I was positive. My theory was true. Mom had a soft spot for football players. That was my ticket in. That was the key to unlock her defenses, to grant me entrance, I had done it. This is what she was all about. Her extended teasing of me. It was all to build me up. To motivate me. And now, look at me. At this moment I was the king of school. And I would claim Mom's body as my own. I was pumped!

My buddies approached as me and Mom broke our embrace.

"Dude, we're thinking maybe a party at Cutty's place. One hour?" my buddy TJ said.

"Oh, uh, I don't know." I said, glancing at my Mom, wondering what plans she had behind her naughty eyes.

"C'mon dude." TJ said.

"We should have the party at our place." Mom offered. "I've been to that other house. Cutty's place? Ours is way better."

TJ glanced at me.

"Yeah, that works for me." I relented, not sure what Mom's plan was.

So that's what brought most of the football team, a bunch of the cheerleaders and a lot of friends to my house, swimming in our pool. This wasn't the first time I had had a party here. Mom was pretty open to this thing, having parties at our place, as long as she could supervise and make sure we didn't get into too much trouble. Dad would never allow this to happen, but he was gone so often that that wasn't a huge issue.

This was one of the many reasons Mom was viewed as the team mom.

So, we had food. We had drinks. (Mom allowed us to drink, but like I said, she made sure we all would get home safely.) We had a bunch of horny teenagers in swimsuits, the football players bruised up and the girls ready to ease our pain. And then there was Mom. Sitting on the back patio, watching calmly, sipping her drink, wearing an airy dress, keeping her cool on this late summer night.

"Dive in, Mrs. M!" TJ called out. Mom smiled and shook her head.

"I don't think so." she replied. "I know how you high school boys get. No thanks."

A bunch of us laughed at this, but I was relieved. I wanted her body to myself. I didn't want any of my buddies to see her.

My goal was to make Mom nuts. Give her a taste of her own medicine. Typically, I was an even keeled type of guy. But this, when I was charged up, this was when my prideful side emerged. I wore my swim trunks, which once wet, really flattered my impressive endowment. I wanted her to see what her son was packing. I wanted her to see the water drip down my impressive abs. I wanted her to see my fit, sinewy biceps. I made sure to chat up as many pretty teenage girls as I could. I kept my options open, knowing I could have had most of them in my bed if I tried. I wanted Mom to get jealous. I wanted her green with envy, I wanted her to know if she didn't take me now she might lost the opportunity. I wanted to see her possessive side to come full bloom, so she made sure to not only give herself to me, but to give me her best.

I thought it was working. I was the life of the party, and every time I looked, she was watching. Appraising me as she sipped her wine. I would give anything to know what she was thinking, if my suspicions were accurate, that she wanted me after seeing my performance on the field. But she just sat there, chatting to anyone who wanted to talk. A few of my friends, some of the girls as well. I watched my mom make the other girls giggle, as if she was a part of the cool clique. But she wasn't making any move to further things along between us. She just sat there, waiting to make her move. Finally, I got impatient, eager to move things along. I approached her and sat across from her at the patio table. She watched in amusement as I sat down.

"You sure you want your friends to see you chatting up your mom at your big party?" she asked.

"Heck, Mom, I think you're more popular than most of the girls here." I said.

"Most?" she asked lazily, her plump lips curled in a smooth O. I smiled.

"I don't think I have to say it, Mom. You know how you stack up compared to them." I replied. Her eyebrows rose, happy to hear me say that.

"I'll say it again, you were very impressive." Mom said, sipping her wine.

"Oh yeah?" I asked, trying to act humble, despite my leanings otherwise. Part of me just wanted to climb on top of the house and scream out how I had just kicked the shit out of Central.

"Very. Haven't seen a performance like that in all my time going to those silly games. Like I said, it was very impressive." Mom said.

"What happens when you get very impressed with someone on the football field?" I asked. She smiled again.

"What do you think I do?" she asked. I decided to move forward.

"I think you get very... excited... at these games. I think this is your favorite part of the week. Watching me and all the other young guys fighting for supremacy. Does that thrill you, Mom? Do you like seeing guys compete?" I asked. Mom simply smiled.

"You and your crazy imagination, Tom. Can't a Mom be impressed with her son for playing a hell of a game? For kicking ass on the field?" Mom said.

"Cut the bullshit, Mom. Dad was a football player. From what I've heard, some of your old boyfriends were football players. You can't deny you have a soft spot." I replied.

"You need to realize, Tom, that you are different. That I treat you different than I treat anyone else." Mom said.

"So, you admit it? You admit you love football players. That having all of these guys here, me included, is a meat market for a woman like you." I asked. She shook her head.

"You and your imagination." Mom tittered, amused again. "My only sin is being full of school spirit and..."

"So what did you do with all those football players in high school?" I asked.

"You'd have to ask them. " Mom replied.

"So what are the chances I find out first hand?" I asked.

"Tom... we've been over this." Mom began. "Give it up. You're torturing yourself, and wasting your time."

"I don't think I am." I said. "I think my chances are better than you would ever admit."

"I tell you what. By the end of the night, you will know exactly where things stand between us." Mom said. A shiver ran through me.

"Is that right?" I asked. She simply smiled wickedly. Before she could continue, I felt some hands on my shoulders. Suddenly, a drunk girl named Carlee was at my ear.

"Heeeeyyyyyuhhh, Tommmmy! Where's the bafffrrooom?" she slurred. I looked at Mom and she smiled.

"You'd better be a gentlemen and show the girl the bathroom, dear." Mom suggested.

Rolling my eyes, I sat up, put my arm around the blonde behind me, and guided her inside. We made our way towards the first floor bathroom. I guided Carlee inside, and as the door clicked shut, a roar went up from the backyard.

"WHOOOOOAAAAAA!" the crowd roared collectively.

"Holy Shit!" I heard my friend TJ call out. I heard the sounds of catcalls and high-fives. Leaving the drunk girl to her own devices, I made my way back out back quickly. I slid open the sliding glass door and stepped out back. My eyes widened.

Mom was no longer sitting on the patio. She was standing in the pool, having just risen from being completely submerged. The moment I looked at her, she was facing me, her fingers grabbing her powder-blue bikini top, letting it snap into place so she was completely covered.

Water was dripping down Mom's body, soaking her hair to her skin, cascading down her bulbous rack, her tits bulging over the edges of her top, which struggled to contain her. Her flat belly was dripping with water. I couldn't see the rest of her cause she was submerged, but even so, she had never looked sexier.

Mom looked up at me, blushing slightly. My friends were still laughing to themselves, still awed by something. Mom laughed and spoke up.

"Good thing you weren't out her, hon. I seemed to have had a bit of a... wardrobe malfunction." Mom said, seemingly embarrassed.

"What?" I asked, wide-eyed, in front of all my friends. One of my drunk teammates came up next to me.

"Dude, we all just saw your mom's tits, dude!" he said like a jackass. Everyone else laughed at this revelation.

"Sorry hon." Mom said, beginning to step out of the pool. The water dripped down her long, firm legs. Her bikini bottoms clinging to her, showing off her body as she pattered towards me. "Sorry to embarrass you in front of your friends."

She bent over and grabbed her discarded dress which was in a pile on the ground. She grabbed that and grabbed a fresh towel and wrapped it around herself. Mom walked past me and into the house, a wicked smile curling her lips. As soon the door shut, the tension in the pool area exploded.

"Holy shit!"

"Did you see those?"

"Dude, his mom's tits are huge!"

"Holy fuck! Those tits were, like, fucking incredible."

"Were those... real?"

"They had to be natural. Did you see those? But damn, they looked... fucking unreal."

Needless to say, I was furious. The fact that all of my idiot buddies, my douchebag teammates, all the cheerleaders and a big chunk of the student body had seen my mom's fucking tits and I still hadn't. They had glimpsed at perfection. They didn't deserve it. I had lived with her all my life and I had never seen them. I was the one person who deserved to see them most! I liked all these people typically, but right now, I kinda hated them all.

But mostly, I was livid at Mom. How could she do this to me? This was over the line. Fun is fun, but now, she was truly torturing me. She had shown her body to everyone but me. My Dad, my friends, they all got to see her tits and I hadn't. She was evil. She had a dark side I never knew she had. She was willing to go a long way to drive me insane. She knew how badly I wanted her and she pulled this shit. The worst thing was I thought I had a chance today. But with that move she just pulled it was clear nothing had changed. She was still happy to torture me with her hot body.