Mixed wrestling, 280 pictures 1920x1080 (FullHD), partially CFNM, no blood.

​

I used to teach an exercise class at a local Knoxville fitness center. It was an early morning class filled with regular people who were devoted to staying in shape, but not necessarily the glamorous "hardbody" types you see on the health center commercials. One of my regular students was a woman named Kim, a pleasant blonde in her mid-forties. Brooke worked as the chief financial officer of a local charity organization, and thus often left the fitness center dressed in heels and wearing a business suit. When she first began attending the class, she wore baggy t-shirts and sweatpants, but as she became more comfortable with the other regular students, she began wearing black tight sports leotard. While Brooke certainly wasn't ready for fitness competitions, and never would be, she had a pretty nice body for a non-athletic woman her age. Her hips were a little big, but so was her chest. One thing I always noticed about her were her nails... she kept them long and polished a dark maroon color.

One day over the Christmas break, when our classes tended to be smaller as people traveled for the holidays, Brooke brought her twenty- year-old son to class. He was home from college and--like any mother- -she was proud to show him off to her fitness center friends. Mark was fairly tall and had a trim, athletic build. It was clear that he and his mom had a great relationship, as they talked and joked during the class. However, as the morning's class went on, he began to become pretty annoyed at Kim's playful taunting of him. "Come on, Markie," she kept saying. "You're SO out of shape! Can't you keep up with your old mom?" And even though he was obviously much bigger and stronger than his mom, it seemed that Brooke had a point... he was starting to breathe harder and harder and struggling to keep pace with Kim, who was indeed pretty fit. He teased her back, joking that a woman her age shouldn't wear a tight sports leotard in public.

This tension came to a head during the class's final activity of the morning, a timed obstacle course. Brooke had been alluding to the course the whole time, daring her son to beat her. At first she was clearly joking, not thinking there would be any contest... after all, an athletic man of twenty would beat a non-athletic woman twice his age in any obstacle course, right? But after an hour of exercise, the outcome was anything but certain, with Mark being exhausted and his mom being as peppy as when the class began. Mark's mood turned pretty sour as his mom kept teasing him, but she wouldn't relent. She even upped the stakes by saying, "You know, Markie, I think if I win you deserve a punishment; if I beat you in the obstacle course, I'm going to give you the tickle torture."

"Get real, mom," he snapped. "There's no way you can beat me in some obstacle course, and you haven't been strong enough to give me the tickle torture for years."

The rest of us didn't know what "the tickle torture" was, but we were certainly intrigued! The challenge had been made, and as the various participants of the class ran the course one at a time, all our attention was focused on Brooke and Mark. We decided to let them be the las two to run the course, with Brooke going first, followed by Mark.

She made a good showing, beating her previous time by several seconds. Then it was Mark's turn, and it was obvious early on that the class had worn him out. At the halfway point his time was equal to his mother's at the same point, but he was completely winded. She was yelling insults and he was becoming more desperate as he struggled through. When he finally crossed the line he collapsed in exhaustion. "Uh-oh, Mark," I said, walking over to him. "Your mother beat you by eight seconds."

Brooke was ecstatic! She stood over her son, who lay on the exercise mats panting. "I told you I'd beat you, Markie! Now hold still for the tickle torture!" She began to kneel down over his prone form.

"Mom! Don't be crazy!" He sat up and grabbed her hands as she reached out toward him.

The next thing I knew, the mother and son were wrestling on the mats in front of us. We stood in shock as they rolled back and forth, struggling for supremacy, their hands locked with each other, their legs tangled. Before long, to our surprise (not to mention Mark's!), Brooke wound up straddling her son's chest. He kicked his legs in vain as she forced his arms to the mat above his head. She stretched his arms out straight, and despite his frantic struggles he couldn't free himself. He bucked and squirmed underneath her, wildly desperate, but Brooke held him down. She was laughing and giddy, while poor Mark was clearly mortified by this turn of events. Eventually his energy waned even more and his struggling tapered down, and Brooke was able to bring his arms together above his head. He had a look of pleading and horror in his eyes when she crossed his wrists and then held them with only one of her thin hands. "Guess what's coming now, Markie?" she cooed, reaching back.

"No! No, mom, please!" He wimpered and begged, but Brooke was ruthless. Reaching back, she ripped a thin belt of his thongs and exposed his bare genitals. Slowly she ran her long, maroon fingernails over his exposed skin and once again Mark began to kick frantically. Brooke increased the tickling speed and pressure, until she was practially clawing her son's genitals, and he screamed his submission to her.

Somehow in his desperation he bucked Brooke off. Quickly he rolled to his stomach and tried to scramble away. But Brooke was too fast; she forced him back to the mat and managed to twist his right arm into a hammerlock. She wrenched his wrist high in between his shoulder blades, making him yelp. Tears trickled down his cheeks! I couldn't believe how thoroughly she was able to dominate him. But it got even worse: she then seized his left arm and pulled it into a hammerlock also, and then used her thighs to hold both his arms behind his back, leaving her with ten long fingernails to tickle him with. And tickle she did... his neck, shoulders, behind his ears, under his arms, his upper thighs... Every exposed part of his body was subject to severe tickling and clawing. Soon he was red with scratches. When Brooke finally let him go, there was literally a puddle of tears underneath his face from his crying. But Brooke didn't seem to mind having humiliated him. She gave him a playful kick in the side and then said, "See you in the lobby after I shower and change."

He lay there a few minutes and then crept into the locker room... beaten and humbled by his own mother.