Mother I Crave Violence Gif Novels & Stories

Frozen in place, I saw my dad unleash his fury on my mom, his curses echoing: "You killed her! You deserve to die, you worthless trash!” The scene before me was all too familiar—a cycle of pain that never seemed to end. My mother’s screams, my father’s curses, the sound of flesh meeting fists—it played out like a nightmare on repeat. My bruised body ached, the marks a permanent reminder of my reality. Then, everything went silent. The chaos faded, leaving me in an eerie void. It was like floating in darkness, disconnected, watching the violence unfold in muted horror. My mind retreated, pulling me into a memory—the night it all began.

I walked inside slowly and I heard some noise coming from the other side of our dining room table that was on it's side. I slowly walked around there when I saw my mother with her throat slit open by claws and deep claw wounds in her stomach as well. She raised her hand to me and I ran over to her crying and crouched next to her and held her hand. She couldn't talk because of the injuries to her throat. She was too badly injured. She sqeezed my hand and I was crying hysterically.

The turmoil and chaos that had plagued my life would no longer sway over me. With cautious anticipation, I opened my eyes, the room still shrouded in a haze. Shapes began to emerge, slowly forming into recognizable objects and faces. And there, standing before me, was my mother. But she was different. Her face adorned with bruises and cuts, a physical testament to the violence that had consumed my father. Tears flowed freely down her cheeks, mingling with her strained smile. She reached out, her hand trembling, and tenderly caressed my face. The touch was warm, comforting, but laced with a profound sorrow that transcended words.

My mother explains, as she floats towards me, her long, simple ivory dress twirling around her with the movement, like that of a ballerina. She presses her warm palm against my forehead, my skin tingling at the contact, before I feel a bolt of energy flit through me, and like a flower blooming, a warmness blankets over me, soothing my sore body. My mother then places a gentle kiss on my forehead, which simply feels like a frosting of energy against my skin. Then her form glides back, smiling at Tammy and the rest of the people in the room, before the vision collapses in on itself, the blue wispy fumes evaporating into the air. "Fvcking hell." Vincent murmurs, his eyes blown wide to an astron

WARNING: Erotica, Taboo (Step-sibling), Power Exchange, Anal Play/Sex, Choking, Spanking, Nipple Play, Strong Language, Graphic Sexual Content, Creampies. Breakfast was a masterclass in psychological torture. My mother was humming as she flipped pancakes, and my stepfather was buried behind a digital newspaper, oblivious to the fact that his son had spent the previous evening claiming his daughter on the kitchen island.

A feral snarl rips from her throat, fangs bared, hunger blazing in her gaze. I panic yet also unable to react as I watch her and choke back sobs, my heart slamming against my ribs as my father rips me away. Mum’s hands slam against the bars, her breath coming out in deep, ragged gasps, her body trembling in her frustration. I could see her hunger so immense, could feel her bloodlust seeping from her skin.

We tumbled off the bed, rolling to a stop against the wall. “Stop,” he hissed, grabbing me by the throat. I swung at him, but he flipped me over and pinned me again, squeezing my neck. A sharp, hoarse laugh escaped his throat. “So much drama with me, but you let my elderly mother toss you down the stairs.” He leaned down and brushed his mouth over mine, stealing my breath away. “Is this what you want? Violence? Does it excite you, Sera, knowing you’re seconds away from the end of your life?” It did. He did.

She again screamed at me. I fasten my grip around her neck and gave it a little squeeze to chock her, hot tears slide down from her eyes. " Dare you kashvi to call me bastard again. I love my mother a lot I don't know how much I love her but I even can kill you with my own hands if I have to only for my mother," I said to her in my usual dominating rough voice and left her neck but didn't move away from her laying body. She closed her eyes and facepalmed to hide her weeping face from me but I pulled her hands away from her face to pushed them down carefully not to hurt her hands as IV needles were attached to her hands.

“I want to moan in a way I have never moaned before, I want to choke on my breath and choke on your cum. “Fill me and fuck me until I can’t take it anymore. Mr. Criminal! “ She whispered right in his ears.

No hesitation. Her back slammed lightly against the chopper as he thrust into her hard, fast, raw. The breath left her lungs. She held onto him like gravity had failed. She moaned into his mouth. He caught it, swallowed it whole. Every movement was roughened grief. Desperation. Rage at their fathers, their pasts, their fractured alliance. Sex as survival. When he came, it was with a curse and her name broken across his lips. She pressed her face into his neck as her own climax tore through her, silence like a scream withheld.