She fought him at first, fists pounding against his chest as he shoved her back against the kitchen counter. "No, this isn't happening," she hissed, but her voice cracked when his hand clamped around her throat and he yanked her skirt up. He was bigger, stronger, and the look in his eyes said he wasn't asking.
Her panties tore with one hard pull. He didn't bother with fingers or foreplay. He just spat on his cock and drove it straight into her cunt in one brutal thrust. She cried out, half pain, half shock, legs kicking as he pinned her wrists above her head with one hand and started pounding. Every stroke was deep and mean, the wet slap of skin loud in the quiet house.
"Shut the fuck up and take it," he growled against her ear, hips snapping forward like he wanted to split her open. Her tits bounced free when he ripped her blouse open, nipples hard from the rough treatment. He sucked one into his mouth and bit down, making her arch and curse even as her pussy clenched around him against her will.
He fucked her like he owned her, bending her over the table next, ass up, face pressed to the wood. One hand fisted her hair, the other slapped her ass red while he railed her from behind. She could feel every thick inch stretching her, the forced friction turning slicker the longer he used her. Her clit rubbed against the table edge with every thrust, unwanted sparks building despite the violation.
When he flipped her onto her back again and hooked her legs over his shoulders, she was dripping. He noticed.
Laughed low and dirty. "Look at that cunt leaking for her own son." He slammed back in harder, thumb grinding on her clit until her protests turned into broken moans. She came with a strangled scream, walls pulsing around his cock, shame burning hot in her chest.
He didn't stop. He kept using her through it, chasing his own release, grunting filthy promises about filling her up. When he finally pulled out and painted her tits and stomach with thick ropes of cum, she lay there shaking, legs spread, cunt visibly twitching and used.
He leaned down, voice rough. "Next time you fight less." Then he left her there, marked and wrecked, the evidence of what he'd forced on her cooling on her skin. She hated how empty she felt without him inside her already.
