Wrestling With Mom 2: Big Leagues

Sequel to https://www.patreon.com/posts/7825650  . Getting into the real workings of the league, meeting a few faces that may or may not come back. This one definitely takes some weird mindset to keep it going... it's not quite about the sex, not quite about the wrestle,  but that weird bond going on. Or maybe it's the wrestling and sex. I dunno. 

"You wanna stay away from The Skinheads, The Headbangers, The Copperhead stable... hell, stay away from most of the ones with 'head' in the name. Oh, and the mashed potatoes in the stadium mess hall. Whatever they're putting in it, you broke out last time you had them."

I must have been ten the last time I went to the arena. Dad wasn't around to bring me, but the babysitter (a big fangirl of mom's who worked on the cheap) would sometimes be there to hold my hand and take me to mom's fights. I sort of just got used to seeing mom winning before long and lost interest, just catching the odd one online or hearing it all through mom's stories. She had landed me a backstage job, doing easy chores kind of stuff. She'd just gotten done warning me: "The work's easy. It's the people you gotta watch out for." Of course, she has my back if I had any trouble, but most of them were reasonable if not polite. It just turns out women who fight for money weren't always so sunny personalities as mom.

The arena for the XFWKVDWL is just an oversized stadium. With the money they're rolling in, it's decked out enough to have spas, a fully functional doctor's office, and a medium-sized hotel attached for guests or wrestlers alike. Mom has a private lot the fighters get into that lets us right into the backstage area. There's not much for security, but I guess that's because at best, people would break in and run into the some of the strongest women on the planet.

I got in without so much as an interview, and she stops me by a small office. A perky guy in his twenties just passes me off a black shirt and some slacks. There’s a keycard on waist with the league logo on it, and it matches the emblem on the shirt.  “He seemed to be in a good mood,” I noted to my mom as we stepped away. 

“Mother fucker better be,” mom smiled. “He gets to see me every day. Who wouldn’t be, right?” She puts a brawny arm around my shoulders, hugging me tight as I have to giggle. She just has that effect on people. Mom leads me off to the locker rooms, which she quickly points out to be co-ed.

“You don’t have to go in with me. I can dress myself.”

“I’m your mom. I’ve seen you naked plenty of times.” Given the last few nights, I can’t really argue. She does watch me with this admiration in her eyes. I’m a little short and a little soft from taking care of her and not doing much besides school and taking care of the house, just enough to make me a little self-conscious in locker rooms. Mom’s hungry gaze makes me smile and pose a bit before I get dressed in the work clothes. 

“Looking good, little guy,” she said. “My little man’s growing up. First real job and everything.”

"Well we can't all be the biggest person in the room and fight for a living," I say as she goes and opens up a nearby locker to take out her costume, shedding her hoodie and shirt. It's really something to see her actually holding the outfit. I've seen her on both sides of her persona as Barb the Berserker and just Barbara Sanders, but it's hard to wrap my head around her just switching from the mom who makes me burgers on the weekends and the woman who broke both the Savage Sisters' legs in a double submission hold. She's left in just her black bra from the waist up, and I can see the various scars she's gotten from the ring. I remember being little and asking about them when we went to the pool, and she sat there in her open-backed swimsuit telling me where each one came from when I poked at it.

"Don't wait up for your mom to hold your hand the entire time," mom finally says, smiling and prodding me in the ribs. "Go find Kiana. She's always right down the hall from here. She'll show you around."

"Showing me the ropes, you might say," I grin at her and she feints a punch at my gut that I only barely flinch from.

"Get outta here. I’ll even give my next victim a piledriver for ya tonight. See you after the show, killer." I still smile at one of her pet names for me. It feels like it means more coming from a champ like her. That and she knows I always loved how strong she looks when she goes for a piledriver. “The Avalanche” has always been one of her specialties.

I head off and find Kiana, this tall and slim girl with exotically tanned skin and a uniform that matches my own, probably a few years older than me. She's dotting things off on a clipboard, long hair bundled up into a smart little ponytail behind her head. She's nowhere near as made up as the fighters tend to be, but she's clearly done some basics with makeup whether by show standards or her own.

"Hey, new guy," she greets and gives me a genuine-looking smile. "Welcome to the world of backstage wrestling. You like the last guy and signed up to see if it was fake?"

"No, I've got a pretty good idea of the business," I assure her. "I'm Eric Sanders. Barb's kid."

"Ohhh yea," Kiana chimes as she tucks the pen into a hole in her knotted ponytail. "So her move went through. That was fast. Kiana Hussan. I'm Monique's daughter." When I shrug, she shrugs back. "Big Mona in the ring. So you know; we don't need to have that 'my mom can beat up your mom' discussion any time soon," Kiana adds dismissively.

My eyes widen when she goes back to her clipboard. Big Mona was a major contender, especially when she lost all that weight recently. Mom talked about her once in awhile, this huge and fat Samoan woman who she said showed a lot of potential. Mom talked about how the poor woman had to jump through some hoops for her gimmick, since they first sold her as an island savage. When that got offensive, they rebilled her as a Japanese sumo to avoid confusing the uncultured. She had some minor scare from her heart, so she took a while off to lose about 50 pounds and turn the rest into muscle. She was still a tank, just on the other end of the spectrum.

"Oh! Cool." Not that I spill all that to Kiana. I'm sure her daughter knows all about the racism and the heart attack. "So, what are we doing back here? Oiling up the wrestlers and cleaning out underwear drawers? Sewing up head injuries?" I smile and hope she gets I'm kidding

Kiana nods like she barely heard me. "Ohhhh yea. All the cool stuff. Making sure the bathroom's clean, swapping out the garbage cans, saying 'over' when security makes sure their radios work, handing out schedule changes. You know. Having adventures at just above minimum wage." She jerks her head and leads me on. "Come on. You can tail me for the first couple rounds. You'll be reporting to me each day and other than that, it's rinse and repeat until they tell us otherwise."

Kiana's way cool to work with. She points out a few storied spots while we do a mix of gofer and janitorial work. We're restocking a first-aid kit where she shows me the corner where Death Stare Dixie won her hardcore title after an hour long battle, just to get drunk and knock herself out making too sharp a turn. We pass by Executioner and The Survivalist and the Canadian Cannonballs, and they're all quick to wave and swap some hellos. It sounds like we're basically there for emergencies and just restocking and refreshing things, so Kiana's got no problem stopping and introducing the new guy.

"Oh god, Barb's kid?" Eve Naturale asks with a smile. The Irish redhead adjusts her plastic vines and leaves that covered up the naughty bits while she talks. "At least one good thing came out of that sunabitch she married. No offense, Eric!"

"None taken. You should hear mom what mom calls him when she's had some beer."

"I really should. She's a doll, though. We haven't gone out in a while. Try and ask if she's free tonight and we can go to Curly's for a few."

"I'm not 21 yet," I remind her a bit sheepishly.

"Ah, who's counting?" she grins and winks at me as she claps my shoulder and walks by.

Kiana nudges me and hands me a roll of what looks like clear duct tape. I nod and go after her. "Miss Naturale! You're losing a boob vine!" I hand her the tape and she thanks me after a few quick curses.

We make our rounds before we go to find Kiana's mom. The wrestlers sort of have free reign, so we have to go find and deliver messages a lot. There's no room in spandex and the more elaborate costumes for cell phones, and Kiana calls it "Like a bunch of roided up cows we need to herd around." We go into one of the lounges where she's sitting drinking soda with this other woman, making smalltalk while a tv in the corner plays the show. They only bother to look up every few minutes at most.

Monique Hussan is this buff, brown-skinned woman with buzzed short hair that she used to grow out long before her rebranding and change of lifestyle. Kiana's mom was more lean than my mom, but she still had a couple of heads on me in height. She's just in gym shorts and a sports jersey, apparently not performing tonight.

The other woman looks familiar somehow. She broad-shouldered but thinner and less built than mom or Monique. She was still plenty busty, and wore a slightly torn white shirt under a black leather jacket and jeans. She had some short blonde hair that was left slicked back to almost look pointed on the other end of her big black biker boots.

"Hey, mom," Kiana greets and goes through some quick introductions. The woman is Dana Welsch, or Bloodpouch in the ring. I shake hands with Monique and can tell she's got quite the grip to go with those muscles, but Dana gets up and gives me a big hug.

"Sorry, do I know you?" I ask as politely as I can while being mushed into a busty blonde tomboy's tits.

"Oh, not that you'd remember. Your mom had me over one Thanksgiving when you were only yay high. Still looking good after all these years. You got your mom's genes alright." She's got a hint of a Midwestern accent that comes off as too cute for her biker look.

Kiana looked to her mother while we caught up on our apparent past. "Mom, the bosses want to know if you can fight Sweet Venom tonight in the fifth slot. Landwhale had to call out because her kid's sick."

"Ah, poor Dixie," Monique tutted, boosting herself up and finishing her soda. "Sure. Just enough time to suit up." Kiana tells me I can take my break as long as I'm in here, heading off with Monique. Bloodpouch doesn't stay long either, mentioning she's up next. I wish her luck and check the TV, deciding to get some dinner and settle in here while mom's match goes on.

I get back just under the intros, and sure enough, Barb the Berserker is going up against Bloodpouch. She apparently wears a full red mask like a ski mask to the ring to hide her face and rides out in a genuine motorcycle before skidding it to a stop at ringside.

There's sort of a reason I stopped watching wrestling, especially when mom was involved. It goes on with some posturing, a test of strength that mom wins pretty soundly, a few close calls but mostly her staying in control. Even when this stuff isn't scripted, it feels pretty easy to tell where a fight's going pretty early on. I don't cheer at the TV like I did as a kid, even if I'm closer to her location than ever, but I do smile when I see the look on mom's face. She looks great in her black leotard, sweating and smiling non-stop while she throws the tall biker around the ring.

Mom steps on her neck with her boot to choke her out for a while, but then I need to smile wider as she goes for her piledriver. She grabs the waist of Bloodpouch's jeans and buries her head under her bicep, lifting her straight up in the air and letting her hover powerless in the air. At least, she looks powerless until mom's scream can be heard from outside the ring. Mom lets her opponent drop to her feet while she rubs her watery eyes, and a replay shows from another angle that she had gouged her nails into mom's eyes and squeezed until she had to let go. I'm suddenly a lot more aware of the match as the move she promised to do for me turns the tables and turns them hard.

Blood forces mom face-first into a turnbuckle and starts to hammer away on her ribs, and it's clear that it sticks with her the rest of the match by the way she has to shift her weight to take the pressure off of them. Mom eventually starts to shake the pain off in her face, but by then Blood's taken her to town while she was blinded by the merciless move. They start trading blows again, but mom's clearly shying away from adding any extra weight on her hurt ribs because she's not going for any of her usual power moves like lifts and slams. Bloodpouch is way more effective with her cheap shots and hard punches, and she ends up catching mom by the hair and pounding away on her face until she's on her knees in a drooling mess.

"Who's the champ now!?" roars the masked woman who apparently was at Thanksgiving when I was a kid. She's holding mom upright by her sweaty hair as The Berserker looks fucking out of it. Bloodpouch/Dana spikes mom's face into her knee and I cringe as I see her weakly spit out some blood onto the mat. Blood doesn't go for a pin because she's both being sadistic and not taking any chances. She drags mom to the edge of the ring and smashes her knee into the turnbuckle, adding more bruising around her vulnerable joints. The pain wakes mom up in the worse way, but at least she's still in the fight. She kicks Bloodpouch in the chest and drags her hulking frame out of the ring, but she's moving slow and Bloodpouch smashes her with a folding chair to the face.

Mom's out of it again and Blood clearly decides to go all out to keep the big Berserker down. She goes back to her motorcycle and starts it up while she holds mom by the hair. She revs the engine before squeezing the accelerator, letting the front tire spin and burn rubber as she starts to lower mom's head towards the tire that's whirling like a buzz saw.

"Holy shit, mom. Get up," I whisper. "Don't let her do this." I might not be up for cheering at the TV, but some wishing feels in order right now.

It's dumb to think that she heard me, but Barb shoves Bloodpouch's let at the last minute. She trips over mom's arm and ends up getting crotched on the spinning tire, and even if it goes off quickly when she lets go, it gets a huge scream from the masked biker as smoke pours from the already grated down crotch of her jeans. Mom grabs her by the masked head and smashes her face into the handlebars until one of them is dented from the impact of her skull. Her teeth are gritted together as the real Berserker side comes out and mom lifts her up once more, stumbling from the pain in her ribs but spiking Blood's spine across her knee. The biker bounces off and goes down holding her back, and I'm hoping mom will finish the fight there. I can see her thinking before she goes back and lifts her up again.

"Oh, mom, you idiot," I mutter while I blush, but she goes back for the piledrive and makes Dana eat the hard floor outside the ring. It takes a lot out of her, and she has to just flop over on top of Bloodpouch while holding the leg to get the pinfall. She's a bruised and sweaty mess, and I rush out of the break room to find her as soon as she's declared the winner.

"I'm fine! I'm fine!" Mom assures me in her changing room as she peels off her sweaty singlet. She'd seen the medic and they apparently told her she was good enough that some painkillers would do the trick. "Pouches got a lucky shot on me."

"From all you've been telling me, you've been taking a lot of 'lucky shots,' lately." I can't help but worry after seeing that kind of beatdown. Mom's taken worse, but she's not as young as she used to. It's kind of hard to make that argument now that I'm looking at her naked, scarred back and rising and falling breasts. She's smiling, but it's weary and a little dazed. "Is it always this bad after a fight?"

"Not all the time," she admits as she yanks off the last of her outfit. She's left in just a tight-fitting thong that keeps her outfit from just wedging up her ass and snatch. I get her a towel and help wipe up some of the sweat from her face and chest while I hand her another water bottle. She takes my hand while it's on her chest, squeezing it in her tired but still strong fingers. "I didn't scare you, did I, pumpkin?"

I sigh and I hug her around the back of her chair. She has that familiar smell of blood and sweat that's strangely comforting. "A little," I mutter. "You didn't have to do the move."

"So you're scolding me these days," the middle aged wrestler chuckled softly, tilting her head to kiss me on the cheek. "I'll be fine, sweetie. I'm always fine."

It's a dumb thing to say, but it's true. She's just this goddess in my life. The woman who made me and called the strongest woman in the world by some people. The undefeated champion for over a year now. I let my hands rub over her breasts, not bothering with the towel this time. She moans softly as I thumb her thick, hard nipple and softly lift up her tits, palming as much of the heavy flesh as I can. We start to kiss in the privacy of her dressing room, pressing my lips and tongue against hers as I continue to rub her down. She jolts and her sigh turns to a gasp when I reach too low and brush against her injured ribs.

"That bad, huh?" I ask, recognizing the twitch immediately after massaging and tending to her so many times at home.

"It'll heal," she hissed, breathing through her teeth. "I just really need something good right now, baby." She stroked her hand through my hair, the smell of her sweat having filled the room by now.

"It's okay, mom. I got you. Just rest up." I gave her a kiss on the cheek and went around to her front. I carefully kiss over her breasts, letting the soft flesh bounce against my mouth. I make sure not to lean on anything near the sore spot or any other notable bruises. I get her to move and sit on the edge of the simple bed they have against the wall before helping her out of her thong. She looks too worn out to argue so she just lifts her powerful legs to let me strip her bare. She lays back with her thighs wide open (whether out of exhaustion or an active invitation), grunting as she descends and shows her parting pussy to me. I keel down in front of her and let my hands roam her abs and thighs while I start to eat her out.

Full on sex seemed like a bit of a workout for her, and she's instantly and vocally grateful for the attention. I can feel her tired muscles tense against my hands as she contains herself from clasping them around my face. She has a earthy taste, flavored slightly (and literally) soured by the smell of her body fresh from the ring. I can smell the rubber from her costume and the ring mats on her. Even with walls up on walls between us, I still hear the dulled echoes of the audience cheering on whatever match is going on while I drink up my mother's dampening pussy. Her moans are closer and more ovepowering than the crowd anyway. Her noises mean more than all of them, and for all I know they excite her even more to have some semblance of a crowd present while her son makes love to her.

"That's my good boy," she purrs deeply, her eyes closing. Mom must have been completely out of it after that match, because she looks like my tongue and lips are all that she can recognize through all that pain and exhaustion. I don't respond with words as I just push my face deeper into her, basically burying myself in her snatch and closing my eyes so that she's all I can perceive.

Mom's certainly not the tightest woman in the world, as best I can tell, but she's defintely big all over. Even her clit is near the length of my tongue at how different out size is, and she's crying out with pleasure by the time I'm stroking my tongue along it. Her big body quivers, and I'm so close to her that I can feel her every movement. As she gets closer and wetter, her legs do close around me. It's another bizarre parallel, knowing that she's crushed women her size unconscious with her head scissors, but here I am gently licking inside her in the exact same position. Her thigh muscles rub gently on my cheeks instead, applying pressure in the sense of a hug rather than a submission. It's ridiculously hot in every sense of the word. Mom's sort of in her own little world, so she doesn't seem to notice right away when I unzip my pants. I keep worshipping my goddess of a mother with one hand while I start quietly masturbating, moaning and breathing heavily into my mouthful of pussy. She opens her eyes and meets mine, picking up the slight vibrations from my jerking as she smiles serenely. She reaches down and strokes my hair slowly, another little sign of her blessing on the matter.

"You think mommy's pretty?" she asked softly. I look back at her, eyes wide and heart racing like I'm terrified, but somehow feeling the complete opposite. I can think of few places safer than between Barbara Sanders' legs. As if for proof, I cum to her gently inquiring voice, squirting on her dressing room floor. The messy sign of my affection leaves me shaking, and that's enough to push her over the edge a few seconds later. She grunts and her powerful body shakes like a seisure victim, enough to shake the bed around beneath her mighty hips. I hold onto her thighs to steady the both of us until she calms down, both of us breathing heavy as we lay in the same position.

"You're getting good at this, tiger," she said as she stroked over my face again. I sat up enough to kiss her with my lips still sticky from her juices, but she gladly slides her tongue into my mouth to savor it. We end up showering together, rubbing each other down to clean off the remains of her match and our sex. She says she has to take care of a few things and rest up, but she'll see me in a couple hours to drive us home. I report back to Keisha a little while later, telling her I was catching up with mom, but she doesn't seem to mind at all.

"That's half of what we do, right? We just keep the ladies happy." I hold my breath for a second, thinking she knows what we did. But how could she? "2-Ton Tanya wants at least two girls waiting in her dressing room to celebrate. We make sure Auntie Sam has her medication before her matches, and we always need to check that Eve Naturale shut her door so nobody finds her giant stash of sex toys. Even Pixie Stix needs a bowl of red M&Ms after she loses a match or she'll just pout all week."

"You've really got this place under wraps," I point out at her extensive knowledge about the wrestlers and their needs. "Did... did you say sex toys though?"

"The woman's a nudist nympho," Keisha said with a scoff. "There's at least the PRETENSE that this is a family friendly-ish place. They'll let you chug a beer or half-murder a bitch onstage, but so help you if they think you're a perv. League doesn't actually give a shit, of course, so just... watch yourself, huh?" Keisha eyed me up and down. "The women can get a little crazy around here. Cute little guy like you might just get picked up for a good time if you're not careful."

"Yea," I muttered as I avoid the dark and businesslike girl's eyes. "I'll try to watch out for that."