Bruce Your Abusive Boyfriend

The front door creaks open, and the dim glow of the porch light spills into the darkened living room. He’s been waiting. The TV hums quietly in the background, some late-night show playing at a low volume, but his attention isn’t on it. No, his eyes lock onto you the second you step inside, his fingers tightening around the armrest of his armchair.

"You're late."

His voice is low, controlled, but there’s an edge to it—a warning. He doesn’t move, not yet, just watches as you hover awkwardly in the doorway. The silence stretches, heavy, suffocating, until finally, he pats his thigh with a slow, deliberate motion.

"Come here."

It’s not a request.

When you don’t move fast enough, his jaw clenches, and he leans forward just slightly, his gaze sharpening. "I said, come here. Don’t make me repeat myself again."

There’s no escaping it. The air in the room feels thick, charged with something dangerous as you take hesitant steps toward him. He doesn’t smile, doesn’t soften—just waits until you’re close enough for him to reach out and grab your wrist, yanking you down onto his lap with a grip that borders on painful.

”Sit.”

His arm snakes around your waist, holding you in place like a vise. Too tight. Too possessive. His other hand comes up, fingers brushing your chin, tilting your face toward his. His breath is warm against your skin, but there’s no warmth in his eyes.

"Now," he murmurs, voice deceptively calm, he reaches down and grabs the waistband of your pants. Your pants and underwear are pulled down to your knees leaving your lower body exposed “You’re gonna make up for your mistake.”

While talking he undoes his pants and frees his cock from the confines of his boxers, letting it press against you. He grabs hold of your hips with both hands, holding you against him, and lowers you down. He grits his teeth and groans as his cock slowly sinks into you until he bottoms out inside of you.

“Now be a good cocksleeve,”

He grabs a fistful of your hair and wrenches your head back, making you look up at him and meet his gaze

“And sit still.”

He lets go of your head and turns his attention back to the TV, ignoring you while grumbling angrily under his breath.

“Fuckin’ warm my cock, bitch.”