Forbidden urges final part

The house felt like a tomb after that day, the air thick with unspoken accusations and shattered trust. John's rage had ripped through us like a storm, leaving wreckage in its wake. I remember the foam flecking his lips as he screamed at Mom, his eyes wild, veins bulging in his neck. The vase exploded against the wall in a spray of porcelain shards, and Mom shrank back, her body trembling, arms wrapped around her swollen belly like it could shield her from the fury.

"How could you ruin our family? How could you do this?" John's voice cracked like thunder. "You let your son's seed grow inside you?"

"I-I don't know," Mom stammered, her voice barely a whisper, eyes darting to the floor. "I cut my strings last year after Bella was born. I-is she even mine?" He snarled, stepping closer, his face twisted in betrayal. "Have you been fucking him for years?"

She sank to her knees then, sobs wracking her frame, tears streaming down her pale cheeks. "I have never had sex with our son. I suspected it two years ago, but... I did not care. I always wanted more children, and I have never been on the pill. NEVER!" Her scream echoed off the walls, raw and desperate. "You're broken and out of order, but I never engaged in sex with our son."

John didn't hear her. He bolted up the stairs, his footsteps pounding like war drums. He grabbed the doorknob to my room and yanked so hard the handle tore free in his grip, metal twisting with a screech. His boot slammed into the door next, splintering the wood as it flew inward, crashing halfway onto my bed in a heap of debris. Before I could react, his fist clamped around my throat, hoisting me up until my head smacked against the ceiling, stars exploding in my vision.

I sobbed, choking, as Mom clung to his shoulder. "For God's sake, John, he's your son!"

He hurled me onto the bed like discarded trash. I rolled off, crashing into the nightstand, pain shooting through my ribs. Through blurred tears, I saw it all— the pieces falling into place. Bella's eyes, so like mine. And now Mom, pregnant again. "I see it now," John roared, looming over me. "Who's Bella's father? It's not me! And now you've knocked up my wife—your mother again. Tell me why, or I'll beat it out of you!"

Mom's cries filled the house, loud and guttural, as sirens wailed in the distance, growing closer. John was a beast unleashed, fists clenched, ready to strike. I curled against the wall, sobbing, my body shaking. "The w-wedding," I gasped out, the words tumbling free in panic. Mom collapsed onto the couch, her eyes rolling back as she passed out cold.

The doorbell rang like a death knell. John froze, his chest heaving. "You're not my family anymore," he spat, voice low and venomous. "I didn't touch any of you, or you'd be locked up in a cell next to me."

He stormed downstairs, sinking into the living room chair as Maria stirred and stumbled to the door. The police barged in the moment it opened, badges flashing, voices barking orders. They cuffed John, dragging him out amid his protests, but he was released the same day on some technicality. He never came back. Mom tried calling once, twice, her fingers trembling on the phone. Then, the automated voice: "The number you have dialed is no longer in use." It broke her further, that final cut, leaving her hollow.

After she gave birth to Jacob tiny, squalling, with my eyes she shut down completely. No more words for me, no glances that met mine. The house became a silent prison, filled with the coos of Bella and the cries of the newborn, but Mom moved through it like a ghost.

One afternoon in the kitchen, the weight of it all crushed me. I reached out, my hand brushing her ass through her worn jeans. She didn't flinch, didn't speak just stood there, stirring something on the stove, her back rigid. Cold as ice. Emboldened by the void, I unbuttoned her jeans, tugging them down her hips until they pooled at her ankles. Her skin was pale, unmarked, but she didn't move an inch, didn't protest.

My cock throbbed, hard and insistent, as I freed it from my pants. I pressed against her, guiding the tip to her entrance. Her pussy was dry, unyielding, like thrusting into sand no warmth, no slick give. It scraped, uncomfortable, but I pushed in anyway, burying myself to the hilt in that barren tightness.

Frustration boiled over. I pulled out, grabbed a jar of butter from the fridge, the soft yellow block cold in my palm. I smeared it along my shaft, the greasy slide making me slick, then shoved back into her. Deeper this time, the butter melting from my heat, easing the way as I rammed forward. Her body took it without resistance, but there was no life in it no clench, no gasp.

I thrust harder, faster, gripping her hips to pull her back onto me with each slam. The slap of skin echoed in the empty kitchen, my balls smacking against her. Still nothing from her. I yanked her away from the stove, spinning her around and lifting her onto the table. Her legs parted limply as I spread them wide, knees hooked over my elbows. I drove into her again, pounding that lifeless cunt with brutal force, the table creaking under us.

Twenty, thirty minutes I fucked her like that relentless, sweat dripping down my back, my cock pistoning in and out of her butter-slick hole. No moans, no whimpers, not even a sob. She stared at the ceiling, eyes vacant, her breasts heaving slightly with each impact but her face a mask of emptiness.

Finally, the pressure built to breaking. I pulled out, fisting my slick cock as cum erupted, splattering hot across her belly and chest, pooling in the hollow of her navel, streaking her shirt. She lay there, unmoving, as I stepped back, chest heaving.

"Bye, Mom," I muttered, zipping up and heading for the door. Silence answered, thick and final.

I sank against the door after shutting it, sliding down to the floor, head in hands. The house held Bella's laughter from the next room, Jacob's faint cries, but it all felt distant now. I hoped, in some fractured way, that my son and daughter could pull her from the abyss one day give her the joy I couldn't. But as I gathered my things and walked out into the fading light, I knew the truth: I'd never see Mom again. Or my children. The family was ash, scattered on the wind.