He slammed the door behind him and locked it, the click echoing like a gunshot in the small house. She was eighteen, home from college for the weekend, and he was twenty-three, back from the oil fields with callused hands and a hunger that had festered for years. The living room was empty. Their parents were gone for the night. He found her in the kitchen, wearing nothing but an old T-shirt and panties, bent over the counter reaching for a glass.
He grabbed her by the hair and yanked her upright. “Don’t fucking move.” His voice was low and raw.
She gasped, eyes wide. “What the hell are you doing?”
He spun her around and shoved her hard against the fridge. The metal rattled. His free hand tore the front of her shirt open, buttons popping across the floor. Her tits spilled out, nipples already tight from the sudden chill and fear. He slapped one, hard enough to leave a red print, then squeezed until she whimpered.
“You’ve been teasing me since you grew these,” he growled. “Walking around half-naked. Tonight you’re getting what you asked for.”
She tried to push him away, but he was bigger, stronger. He pinned her wrists above her head with one hand and ripped her panties down with the other. The thin cotton tore. He kicked her legs apart and shoved two thick fingers straight into her cunt.
She was dry at first, but he worked them deep and rough, twisting until her body started to betray her and slickness coated his knuckles.
“Fuck, you’re getting wet already,” he laughed, dark and mean. “Knew you wanted your brother’s cock.”
He freed his dick—thick, veined, already leaking—and forced the head against her entrance. She begged him to stop, voice cracking, but he thrust in one brutal stroke, burying himself to the balls. She cried out, pain and shock mixing as he stretched her open. He didn’t give her time to adjust. He fucked her like he hated her, hips snapping hard, the fridge shaking with every slam. Her ass slapped against the cold metal. His balls swung and hit her with every thrust.
He let go of her wrists only to grab her throat, squeezing just enough to make her vision spark. “Take it. Take every inch of your brother’s cock.” She clawed at his arm, but her hips started to rock back despite herself. He noticed and laughed again, pounding harder, the wet sound of her cunt filling the kitchen.
He dragged her to the floor, bent her over the kitchen table, and mounted her from behind. One hand fisted her hair, yanking her head back while the other reached under to rub her clit in rough circles. She came against her will, cunt pulsing and squeezing him, juices running down her thighs. He didn’t slow down. He used her orgasm to fuck her even deeper, grunting filthy praise—“Good little sister, creaming on the cock that made you.”
When he flipped her onto her back on the table, he hooked her legs over his shoulders and folded her nearly in half. The new angle let him grind against her cervix with every thrust. Tears streaked her face, but her mouth hung open in broken moans. He spat on her clit and rubbed faster, forcing another orgasm out of her while he called her every filthy name he could think of.
He pulled out at the last second, flipped her again, and shoved back into her ass without warning. She screamed, body seizing, but he held her down and pumped her tight hole until he roared and flooded her guts with thick ropes of cum. He stayed buried, grinding through the aftershocks, making sure she felt every pulse.
When he finally pulled out, cum leaked from her wrecked ass and dripped onto the floor. He wiped his cock on her thigh, then leaned down and whispered against her ear, “This is just the beginning. Every time Mom and Dad leave, you’re mine.”
She lay there shaking, sore, used, and already wondering how soon she could provoke him again.
