Upsetting a delicate balance

Apparently you waited too long to answer. Your mom, Allison, whoever she was to you in that moment, stood up to leave, her voice tinged with sadness. "This isn't working. Sweetie, we just need to—"

You snapped, standing so fast your chair fell over and clattered loudly against the floor. "I said not to call me that," you growled as you shoved your girlfriend's body up against the wall. "Only my mother calls me that. And she's dead. If you were any kind of decent person, you'd let her stay dead, because you sure as hell can't let Allison be dead instead, prancing around in front of me like this, lecturing me."

Allison grunted softly as she hit the wall. A noise you'd long since associated with some of the rougher elements of your sexual adventures. Her somewhat loose-fitting outer blouse had fallen down over one shoulder to reveal the cute tank top underneath, as well as a generous amount of cleavage. She didn't pull away; Allison never pulled away when you asserted yourself like this. But usually, it was part of a game, discussed ahead of time, consented to.

This time, it was no game. Allison's eyes were wide, but she made no move to fight, flee, or defend herself. She simply breathed rapidly, heaving her heavenly breasts as though deliberately trying to tempt you to push things further.

Her bravado was gone, her scolding tone with it. "Please, s—Tim. You're scaring me. You don't want to do this."

"Shut the fuck up. I'm getting really tired of people telling me what I want, or what's good for me. So I want you to shut your fucking mouth and let me process some god-damned trauma the way I want to."

The next moments were a blur of hands colliding, scratching, slapping, and struggling for control. The action ended with both her wrists pinned to the wall above her head, and her panties around her knees. Tears pooled at the edge of falling above her reddening cheek where you struck her. As you shifted, freeing your cock from your pants, she whispered a single word, hot and **** on your cheek. "Please..."

She cut off with a gasp as you spun her around and bent her over the table, taking both of her arms by the elbows to keep her from freeing herself. But she wasn't fighting back anymore. You could smell her sex, wet and ready for you. The bitch wasn't even being honest; she wanted this as much as you did. For some reason that just pissed you off even more.

Nothing but a thin layer of black cotton skirt remained between you and your goal, and you had a moment to think very carefully about what you were doing. Allison—the real Allison—often enjoyed playing out aggressive **** fantasies. It was fun for you, but always felt like silly play-acting. Now, as you held her down helpless for real, you could see the appeal.

The power, the undeniable physical superiority you possessed. You could take her any time you wished, however you wished. Of course your mother would never have consented to sex with her own son no matter whose body she inhabited. She pushed you to this on purpose, perhaps.

But was it okay? Were you really that sexually and emotionally frustrated that you'd literally **** her? Was it even ****? Did you even care? All of this flashed through your mind in an instant as Allison wiggled weakly beneath your grip as if begging you to go through with it.