My Mom's Boyfriend – Pt. 02

Hello all. This is part two of "My Mom's Boyfriend" story. It's nonconsensual/ reluctance, so if that's not your thing, you should skip this story. But if it is, welcome to Yolanda's world. And enjoy.

Ps; all characters are above the age of 18.

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I still couldn't believe it.

Two months. Just two fucking months after mom said she'd watched that bastard Victor bury himself in some random woman in the apartment they both paid for, after I'd confronted Victor and he'd proceeded to fuck my pussy senseless and stretch me open against the wall and fill me with so much cum while I sobbed and came, Mom was back with him.

And no, they were not just talking. This time, they were living together again. She'd shamelessly moved back in with him without even telling me. Her clothes were back in the closet, her toothpaste was on the sink and her side of the bed smelled like his cologne mixed with her perfume.

How did I know? I got called to pick her one night. She got drunk on a night out with friends and the Uber driver called after driving her around for a bit since I was her emergency contact. He was parked right outside her and Victor's place when I arrived and guess what? She drunkenly confessed that she'd been living there for a few days already. Granted that, I resignedly took her to her room, thinking she was too drunk for me to talk common sense into.

When I confronted her on a video call the next morning, she'd looked me straight in the eye and said it was "a misunderstanding between couples." That he'd been lonely and she'd overreacted. That people make mistakes.

I'd stared at her until the silence got uncomfortable, then ended the call. After that I avoided the apartment like it was radioactive. No long conversations or dropping by. No answering when she invited me over for "family time."

Victor's name alone made my stomach twist in a mixture of anger, shame, and that sick, traitorous heat that still woke me up some nights with my hand between my legs and the memory of how thick and delicious he'd felt inside me. Because I was never supposed to have felt that way to begin with.

This was probably because I hadn't had good sex in a while.

I told myself it was over and I was done. I would never set foot in that place again while he still breathed the same air as my mother.

Then the call came one morning.

Mom's voice was bright, rushed, already packing for a last-minute business trip to Miami when she thought she needed a delivery girl to pick up something she forgot at the apartment and who else could do that except her one and only daughter?

No one.

"Baby, I left a blue folder with the contracts I'll be needing for the meeting on my kitchen counter. I need it tonight, pretty please baby. Can you swing by and grab it?"

"No." My answer was immediate.

"Huh? Why? I know you're still mad at me, but can you just do me this favor? I'm running out of time and still have some stuff to sort out here. And I can't send a stranger over."

I heard a deep sigh. "Mom. You know how much I hate Victor's guts. I don't want to see him."

"Oh, you won't. Victor's been out of town for three days. He's attending some gym seminar and won't be back till tomorrow noon. The place is empty. Please?"

I almost said no. The word was right there. But she sounded stressed, and the alternative was her missing the flight or worse, asking him to mail it. So I gritted my teeth and agreed.

When I got there, the spare key still worked.

But to my dismay, the apartment smelled the same: his cologne, clean laundry, the faint musk that always clung to the furniture. I moved fast, rushing to pick up the folder on the counter.

"Grab it and get out," I muttered to myself. My heart was already hammering by the time my fingers closed around the manila envelope.

My shoulders slumped in relief as I turned toward the door.

But fuck my luck, it opened and the man I hated the most was right before me.

Victor filled the frame, duffel bag over one shoulder, that same lazy smirk already spreading across his face immediately he registered my presence. His dark hair had gotten a little longer, his stubble thicker and the tank top stretched across his chest showed every hard line of the body he spent hours sculpting. He looked at me like he'd been waiting.

"Well. Look who finally came home. I see your mom eventually called you after she swore you wouldn't agree to her request when I asked her to."

I froze. "You're supposed to be gone. What are you doing here?"

"The seminar ended early." He dropped the bag and shut the door behind him with a soft click that sounded final. Then he proceeded to lock the door like the lunatic he was and my heartbeat skipped as his gaze flitted to me. "Lucky me."

I clutched the folder tighter. "I don't have any business with you. Mom asked me to get this and I have it. I'm leaving."

He stepped closer, blocking the hallway with that cocky gaze on his face, the same one he had two months ago. "You can leave," he said, voice low and amused, "but only after you call me Daddy."

I stared at him, the folder still clutched in my hands like some useless shield, and the words came out sharper than I intended, laced with every ounce of disgust I could summon. "Over my dead body will I ever call you that. You're nothing to me but a cheating asshole who made my mom cry, and if you think for one second I'm going to play along with whatever sick game this is, you're even more delusional than I thought," I snarled.

Victor's smirk didn't fade. If anything, it deepened, the corners of his mouth curling in that slow, knowing way that always made my skin crawl, his dark eyes narrowing just enough to show he was enjoying the fight.

He took a step closer, then another, until the space between us shrank to nothing and I could smell the faint trace of his cologne mixed with the sweat of travel.

"You always did have a mouth on you," he said, voice low and almost conversational, like we were discussing the weather instead of the fact that he had me trapped in an apartment I never wanted to see again. "But that temper of yours is going to get you into trouble one of these days. Maybe today."

I tried to shove past him, shoulder first, the folder pressed against my chest, but his hand shot out and closed around my upper arm with casual strength, his fingers digging in just enough to stop me cold. "Let go of me right now," I snapped, twisting hard, my free hand coming up to push against the solid wall of his chest. "I mean it, Victor. Take your hands off me, or I swear I'll--"

"You'll what?" He interrupted, already walking me backward toward the living room while I dug my heels in and yanked against his grip. He collected the folder and threw it aside.

My voice rose without my permission, cracking into a shout as panic mixed with pure fury. "Get the fuck off me! Don't you dare touch me again, you bastard! My mother is going to hear about this the second I walk out that door, and if you think for one second I'm going to stay quiet while you manhandle me in her own apartment!"

He laughed then, a short, rough sound that rumbled up from his chest, and the sound only made me struggle harder.

"Oh, you'll enjoy how I intend to manhandle you and your perky little behind."

I kicked at his shin as my eyes widened at the memory of the last time I was here. I swung the folder at his shoulder and even screamed at him to leave me alone until my throat felt raw, every word tumbling out in a frantic stream of threats and curses.

His expression never changed from that amused, almost fond look, as if my resistance was the most entertaining thing he'd seen all week.

When we reached the armchair, he simply sat, pulling me with him in one fluid motion that left me off-balance and furious. I landed hard across his thighs, the air leaving my lungs in a shocked gasp, and before I could scramble up he had both of my wrists gathered in one large hand at the small of my back.

"You can scream all you want," he murmured, the words almost gentle against the noise I was still making. "This building has heard worse from people who actually meant it."

The first spank landed before I could twist free, a sharp, open-handed crack that sent a bright sting racing across my right butt cheek and forced a startled cry from my lips.

"Ahhhhh!" F-fuck you, you loser!"

I bucked hard, trying to roll off his lap, but his free hand came down again, harder this time, the sound of skin on denim loud in the quiet apartment.

"Stop it! Victor, stop, you fucking, ahh!" Another one, then another, each impact deliberate and measured, spreading heat through the fabric of my jeans until the sting became a deep, throbbing ache. My struggles only seemed to encourage him; every time I kicked or writhed he adjusted his grip and delivered the next blow with calm precision, his face set in concentration while mine burned with humiliation and rage.

Tears came whether I wanted them or not, hot and furious, spilling down my cheeks as the spanking continued. I sobbed out more curses, more demands that he let me go, my voice breaking between the sharp cracks of his palm.

By the time he finally paused, my ass felt swollen and hot, my breath coming in ragged hitches, and the only thing holding me in place was the unyielding strength of the arm still pinning my wrists. His other hand settled on the sore flesh, rubbing slow, almost soothing circles that somehow made the residual sting worse.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, the apology low and rough. "For everything that happened before and also what I just did. I didn't mean for it to go that far. You just... you get under my skin in a way nobody else does, and I lose my head. You're so fucking annoying but I can't ignore you cos you're so fucking hot too."

The gentleness in his voice after all that only twisted the knife deeper.

I lay there for a second longer than I should have, face pressed against the side of the chair, and in that brief stillness the humiliation itself became a kind of catalyst. My mind flashed back in an unwanted and vivid manner to the way he had felt inside me the last time: thick and relentless, stretching me open until I couldn't think of anything except the overwhelming fullness and the shameful way my body had responded. The memory hit so hard that my pussy clenched around nothing, a traitorous pulse of heat that made my stomach drop.

I shoved myself upright the moment his grip loosened, stumbling back a step on shaky legs. "I don't want to talk to you. I don't want anything to do with you. Just stay away from me."

My tank top had twisted during the struggle, the neckline pulled down so far that most of the soft swell of my breasts sat exposed above the fabric, the upper curves bare and the faint shadow of my nipple only a breath away from view.

Victor's eyes dropped there and stayed, something hungry and conflicted flickering across his face as I quickly began to adjust it. Before I could fully yank the material back into place, he moved fast, decisively closing the distance and catching the hem of the tank top in both hands. He stripped it up and over my head in one smooth pull while I trashed and cursed at him, loud and vicious, calling him every filthy name I could think of as the cool air hit my bare skin.

His arms locked around me immediately, that solid, muscular frame surrounding me so completely I could barely twist.

As if he hadn't heard me, he bent his head and fastened his mouth on one breast, sucking hard enough that a startled sound escaped me, his tongue working the nipple into a tight peak while his free hand cupped the other. "I'm trying to change," he muttered against my skin between pulls, the words rough with something that almost sounded like frustration. "I swear that I am. But you walk in here with that body and that face, those tits half out after I just had you over my knee, and it's like you're shoving it in my face on purpose. You're being such a fucking seductress. How the hell am I supposed to keep my hands to myself when you look like this?"

"You can decide not to be an ahhh... animal!" I moaned. I FUCKING MOANED! I was also partly to blame, for fucks sake!

I kept cursing him, kept trying to knee him or shove him away, but he only switched to the other breast, teeth grazing just enough to send another unwanted jolt of sensation through me. One of his hands left my back long enough to snatch a discarded shirt from the couch and a moment later, the soft fabric was wrapped around my wrists and knotted tight, leaving me effectively helpless. He pushed me down onto the cushions, then reached for the button of my jeans. The zipper came down with a soft rasp.

Then, he dragged the denim and my sneakers off in one efficient motion and paused, looking down at the complete lack of anything underneath.

"Don't do anything silly, Victor." Breathing hard, I narrowed my eyes at him.

A low chuckle escaped him as he ignored my words. "You're still running around without panties. Let me guess how you're feeling now, doll. I bet you're embarrassed, angry and even ashamed." His fingers traced the bare outer lips of my pussy and came away glistening. "And more than a little bit wet. Don't pretend you're not."

Heat flooded my face. I was all of those things at once, mortified that he could see how my body was reacting, furious that he was doing this again, and yes, against every conscious wish, slightly, shamefully horny from the memory and the rough handling. "Don't you dare," I managed, voice shaking. "Victor, I swear to god if you--"

He ignored the protest entirely, spreading my thighs with his hands and lowering his head. The first hard, open-mouthed suck on my clit ripped a broken sound from my throat. I screamed at him to stop because of course my body was enjoying this already! I told him I didn't want this, but he only licked deeper, long greedy strokes that parted me and focused on the swollen bud until my hips jerked despite myself.

The wet sounds of his mouth against me filled the quiet room, and every time I tried to close my legs he simply held them open and continued, sucking and teasing until the reluctant heat between my legs became almost unbearable. The pleasure was clouding my senses and I was a writhing mess, both struggling and also giving in!

When he finally lifted his head his chin was shiny, his eyes dark with intent. He arranged me the way he wanted, my wrists still bound above my head, knees forced wide, hips at the edge of the cushion and then he shoved his sweats down far enough to free the thick length of his cock. I hadn't seen it properly the last time but now, I could see it clearly.

It was large. Not in an exaggerated way, no. In a my-oh-my way.

Within seconds of me panicking inwardly but still stupidly staring in a dazed manner, the flushed head nudged against my entrance, already slick with the evidence of how my body had betrayed me.

"Please don't," I whispered, the words cracking as I came to terms with my fate. Regardless, I was going to get my pussy pounded by that monster cock again. "I'll tell my mom. I mean it this time. Don't--"

He pushed in anyway, in short thrusts, inch by inch as I gasped at the fullness and struggled not to moan because my body had no business enjoying a cock that was being forced into me. When he was halfway, he pulled out to the top and then slammed inside me in one, relentless thrust that buried every inch inside me until the stretch burned and the fullness stole what little breath I had left.

A broken sound escaped me, half sob, half something else, as he stayed deep for a moment, breathing hard against my shoulder.

"Ngh... fuck, you feel so good," he groaned, the words rough and almost reverent. "So tight... ohhh, I forgot how perfect this pussy was after that last time I took your smart mouth against the wall."

My heart broke into tiny million pieces as I realized I should've never mouthed off at him. Then his thick cock wouldn't be fucking me. But I hated myself more because my pussy and boobs were enjoying every bit of this sick interaction.

He started to move, hips rolling in that skilled, controlled rhythm that came from years of knowing exactly how a body worked. Each stroke dragged against places that made my walls flutter whether I wanted them to or not.

"You're such a sick fuck! I should've dissuaded mom, ahnnn, from dating you! Fucking, uhmnn, perv!"

He chuckled and pressed his lips against mine, not giving me the chance to move my head. "I was fucking your mom months before we even began dating. How do you think she got that fat ass? I dogged her out when she wasn't doing butt exercises. And she begged me to allow her suck my cock most of the time. You think Mommy is so innocent?" He chuckled and rolled his hips, making my eyes roll to the back of my head.

Fuck, my body shouldn't be enjoying this. Fuck! I glared at him as I kept protesting, thiugh at this point, I wasn't really struggling anymore. But this was wrong!

My mom really liked Victor, so I could still try to bargain with him somehow.

"Ahhhn--no, okay I promise to never come here again if you--umff--Victor, just stop this, ohhhh stop--"

"I can't," he muttered, thrusting deeper, the wet slap of skin on skin growing louder. "It feels too fucking good. Your boobs bouncing every time I bottom out... this sleek little cunt gripping me like it never wants to let go... ngh, fuck yes--"

I choked on a sob again, the sound turning into something closer to a moan as he angled his hips and ground against my clit on the inward stroke. My bound hands flexed uselessly above my head while my body responded in ways that only made the shame worse. He fondled my breasts in a way that made me feel desired, though by the wrong man! He was relentless in the best and worst way, the gym-honed strength in his hips letting him keep a steady, punishing pace that forced sensation through every weak protest I managed.

"Now let's tease a climax out of you, shall we?" He chuckled and my eyes widened at his words.

"Ohhh, don't, nghhh. I hate this, you can't, ahmn..."

"You don't hate how full you are right now," he answered, voice strained with his own pleasure. "You can lie all you want, but this pussy is soaking me. So fucking tight... ohhh, just like that."

The protests kept coming, weaker now, broken by the involuntary sounds that slipped out between them. He fucked me through every one, praising my body in low, filthy fragments while his own groans mixed with mine. When the first orgasm hit it tore through me against my will, my walls clamping down hard around him as a broken cry left my throat. He didn't slow. He rode me through it, chasing his own release with deep, grinding thrusts until he finally buried himself to the root and came with a long, rough groan, flooding me in thick pulses that I could feel against my still-fluttering walls.

"Fuck yes I'm cumming!" He groaned.

My eyes widened. "Not inside me, pull out!"

He pressed his nose in the crook of my neck and squeezed my left boob, grinding a few more times before finally relaxing, though somehow he didn't rest his full body weight on mine.

"Ahhhhh. Oh, fuck yesss!" He groaned.

I felt so embarrassed and sexually satiated that a few tears slipped from the corner of my eyes. Why did I love this? Why had I secretly hoped he would fuck me again while I was getting spanked? Was I truly a cum hungry whore?

Maybe... he knew I wanted it. Because even now, I loved the feel of his cock inside me.

He stayed like that for several long seconds, forehead pressed to my shoulder, breathing hard. Then he pulled free slowly, watching the mess of his cum begin to leak out of me, and reached up to untie my wrists without a word.

I sat up on shaky arms, pulled my jeans back on over the wetness between my thighs, and found my tank top on the floor. My hands trembled so badly I could barely get the fabric over my head. He watched the entire time, that same complicated expression on his face: hunger, something that almost looked like regret, and the lingering heat of what we had just done.

"The folder's still on the table," he said quietly. "Don't forget it."

"Fuck you, Victor!"

He looked amused by my anger. "Uhm, you just did?"

I grabbed it and walked out without looking at him again.

In the elevator, the doors closed and I leaned against the wall, legs weak, the dull, stretched ache between my thighs already pulsing with the memory of how completely he had filled me. Outside, the late-afternoon air did nothing to cool the heat still under my skin or the shame that sat heavy in my chest.

I hated him.

But I also hated that my body remembered every second.

And I hated most of all the quiet, terrifying knowledge that I wouldn't tell my mom because the way his cock had just made me feel.... I'd never felt that way with any man in my entire life!

Fuck me!