Jake showed up on our doorstep with two duffel bags and that same cocky smirk he'd worn all through high school. My son, Ryan, stood frozen in the hallway while I signed the papers that let his old bully move into the spare room. Jake was nineteen now, same as Ryan, but bigger, louder, and already acting like the house belonged to him. The second the door closed he dropped his bags, looked me up and down in my thin tank top and shorts, and said, "Nice. This is gonna be fun."
That first night I heard him jerking off through the wall. No shame, no attempt to be quiet. Heavy, wet strokes and low grunts that made my cunt clench. I lay there wet and angry, one hand between my legs, listening to the bully who used to shove my son around now pounding his fist around a cock I couldn't stop picturing.
By the third day he stopped knocking. He walked into the kitchen while I was bent over the dishwasher, grabbed my hips, and ground his hard dick against my ass like he owned it. "Ryan's at class," he muttered, voice rough. "Pull those shorts down." I told him no. He laughed, reached around, and shoved two fingers straight into my pussy. I was soaked. He knew it. "Liar," he said, and finger-fucked me until my knees shook.
That afternoon he bent me over the kitchen table and fucked me raw. No condom, no slow build. Just thick cock splitting me open while he held my wrists behind my back. Every thrust slapped his heavy balls against my clit. "This pussy's mine now," he growled. "Say it." I came so hard I drooled on the wood, gasping, "Yours, fuck, it's yours."
After that he used me whenever he wanted. Morning showers turned into him pinning me against the tiles and pumping cum down my throat. Afternoons on the couch while Ryan was out, Jake would spread me open and eat my pussy like he was starving, then flip me over and rail me until I screamed. He liked it loud. Liked leaving marks. Hickeys on my tits, fingerprints on my ass, his load leaking down my thighs when Ryan came home.
One night Ryan was in his room with the door shut and Jake dragged me into the living room. He made me ride him reverse cowgirl on the recliner, facing the hallway. "Look at that door," he ordered, hands bruising my hips as he slammed up into me. "Your boy's right there while his bully stretches your cunt." I came twice like that, biting my own arm to stay quiet, Jake's cock throbbing and unloading deep inside me.
He started getting meaner with it. Making me wear short dresses with no panties so he could bend me over the counter and fuck me quick before Ryan woke up. Making me suck him off in the garage with the door open. One weekend Ryan went to a friend's and Jake kept me naked the entire time, using every hole, making me beg for his cum like a desperate slut. I stopped pretending I didn't want it. I started waiting for the sound of his boots on the floor, cunt already dripping.
By the end of the month the house smelled like sex. Jake would fuck me in Ryan's bed when my son was at work, leaving the sheets soaked and the headboard dented. He'd pull out and paint my face, then make me go answer the door with his load still drying on my skin. Every time he finished he'd slap my ass and say, "Good girl. Your son doesn't need to know his bully owns his mom's holes."
I stopped fighting it. When Jake came home now I met him at the door on my knees, mouth open, ready to take whatever he gave me. Raw, filthy, and exactly what I needed.
The bully who moved in never left, and neither did the ache between my legs.
