The house was quiet when he decided tonight was the night. His mother had been walking around in those thin nightgowns for weeks, acting like she didn't notice the way he stared. At twenty-five he was done pretending. He found her in the kitchen, back turned, rinsing dishes. He stepped up behind her, pressed his hard body against hers, and locked the door with one hand.
She gasped and tried to turn. "What are you doing?"
He didn't answer with words. He spun her around, pinned her wrists above her head against the counter, and shoved his thigh between her legs. "You've been asking for this," he growled, voice low and rough. His free hand yanked the thin strap of her nightgown down, exposing one heavy breast. He squeezed it hard, thumb dragging over the nipple until it stiffened.
She struggled, but he was bigger, stronger. He lifted her onto the counter, forced her thighs apart, and ripped the nightgown open down the front. Fabric tore. Her panties were next, yanked aside so he could shove two fingers straight into her cunt. She was wet already, slick and hot despite the way she twisted and told him to stop.
"Shut up," he said, pumping his fingers deep and fast. "You want this cock. You've wanted it for years." He pulled his fingers out, unzipped, and dragged the thick head of his dick along her slit. She bucked, trying to close her legs, but he held them open and thrust in hard.
Her cry echoed off the tiles. He buried himself to the balls in one stroke, then started fucking her with short, brutal strokes. Every thrust rocked her body. Her tits bounced. He leaned in, bit her neck, and kept pounding. "Take it," he grunted. "Take your son's cock."
She stopped fighting after a minute. Her hips started moving with him, meeting each thrust. He laughed low, pulled out, and flipped her over the counter so her ass was up. He spread her cheeks and drove back in from behind, one hand fisted in her hair, the other slapping her ass hard enough to leave red prints.
The kitchen filled with the wet sound of skin slapping skin and her broken moans. He reached under her, rubbed her clit in rough circles while he fucked her deeper.
She came first, cunt clenching around him, juices running down her thighs. He didn't stop. He kept using her until his own orgasm hit, flooding her with hot cum.
He pulled out slow, watching it drip from her used hole. She stayed bent over the counter, breathing hard, legs shaking. He turned her around, made her look at him, and pushed her to her knees.
"Clean it," he ordered.
She opened her mouth and took his softening cock between her lips, tasting herself and his cum. He held her head and fucked her throat gently until he was hard again. Then he lifted her, carried her to the living room couch, and bent her over the arm.
Round two was slower but just as rough. He spread her ass and worked a finger into her tight hole while he fucked her cunt again. She whimpered and pushed back. He added a second finger, stretching her, then pulled out and pressed the head of his cock against her asshole.
"No," she whispered, but her body betrayed her, pushing back against him.
He pushed in anyway, inch by inch, until he was buried in her ass. He fucked her there until she came again, screaming into the couch cushions. Only then did he pull out and finish across her back, thick ropes of cum painting her skin.
Later, in the dark, she lay against his chest, his cum still leaking from both holes. He stroked her hair and whispered what he would do to her tomorrow. She didn't argue. She just spread her legs a little wider and let him slide two fingers back inside her.
The night wasn't over. It was only the beginning.
