Chapter 6: Porch Pup
The fire crackled low in the stone hearth, casting long, dancing shadows across the worn leather couch and the faded rug. Woodsmoke curled thick in the air, layered with the softer, damper scent of jasmine from a forgotten bloom on the windowsill. Colt sprawled deep in the couch cushions, one boot propped on the low coffee table littered with empty beer bottles and a greasy gun-cleaning kit. The flickering firelight carved deep lines around his eyes and mouth as he stared into the flames, a half-empty bottle of cheap whiskey dangling from his fingers.
Rae knelt on the hard oak floor between his spread thighs. Naked. The fire’s warmth licked at her bare skin, a counterpoint to the cool air elsewhere in the room. Her waist-length dark hair, the blue streaks catching the orange light, framed her face as she tilted it up towards him. Her lips, slicked with sticky, artificial pink gloss, gleamed in the low light. Her green eyes were wide, pupils blown dark with a mix of defiance and the desperate need that always simmered beneath the surface now boiling over.
She’d slicked that gloss on carefully in the cracked bathroom mirror, remembering the scorn in his eyes the last time she’d tried this, before the porch swing, before the counter. ‘Amateur,’ he’d grunted, shoving her head away. ‘Use your fuckin’ mouth properly or don’t bother.’
"Please," she breathed, the word a soft, mewling sound that cut through the pop and hiss of the burning logs. Her fingers twisted nervously in a strand of her dark hair, tugging it over her shoulder. Her other hand drifted between her own thighs, fingertips sliding through the obvious slickness there. She pressed down, circling her clit deliberately, making a soft, wet sound against her folds, a blatant advertisement of her arousal. "Let your nasty whore suck your big cock, Colt? Please? I’ll be so good this time. I promise." Her gaze dropped pointedly to the thick bulge straining against the worn denim of his jeans, right at her eye level. Her tongue darted out, impossibly pink and wet, and swiped a slow, deliberate stripe up the hard length of his fly, tasting denim and salt and him through the fabric.
Colt’s knuckles tightened white on the whiskey bottle neck. His denim-blue eyes, reflecting the fire, slid down to her. He took a slow sip, the liquid catching the light as it swirled in the glass. He didn’t speak immediately, just watched her lick his zipper again, her tongue tracing the metal teeth with kittenish flicks. He watched her fingers work herself between her legs, the wet sound growing slightly louder, the scent of her arousal mingling boldly with the woodsmoke and jasmine.
"Cheap little slut," he finally rumbled, his voice like gravel dragged over dry earth. He didn’t move, didn’t encourage, just observed. "Dressed like nothin' at all. Kneelin' there like a fuckin' beggar. That cunt drippin' just from the thought of suckin' dick?" He took another slow sip, his eyes never leaving hers. "Prove it."
Rae’s breath hitched. Her hand stilled between her legs. This was it. The invitation. Her fingers flew to his belt buckle, the cold metal biting her knuckles as she fumbled. She yanked the leather free with a sharp pull, the clink loud in the room. Her gloss-slicked fingers scrambled at the button of his jeans, then dragged the zipper down with a harsh rasp.
His cock sprang free, thick and heavy, already fully erect, the angry red head glistening with a bead of pre-come. The musky, masculine scent of him, sharp and primal, hit her nostrils. It was more intimidating, more real than the denim-covered promise. She hesitated for a fraction of a second, the memory of his previous rejection a cold knot in her stomach.
"Don't fuckin' stall, bitch," he growled, shifting his hips slightly, bringing the tip closer to her parted, gleaming lips. "You begged for it. Show me how good you can be for once."
Driven by the command and a surge of terrified desire, Rae leaned forward. Her pink-glossed lips parted wide. She didn’t tease. She took the swollen head into her mouth, all at once. The heat and salt of him flooded her senses. She hollowed her cheeks, sucking hard, her tongue swirling around the sensitive ridge. A low groan rumbled from Colt’s chest. His free hand, rough and calloused, tangled instantly in her hair, not yanking yet, just holding, a possessive anchor.
"Fuck yeah," he hissed, tilting the whiskey bottle towards his mouth again but not drinking, his eyes fixed on where her lips stretched obscenely around his girth. "That's it. Suck it. Like a good little whore. Get it wet."
Rae obeyed, sinking deeper. She took more of his length, forcing her jaw wide, feeling the thick vein pulse against her tongue. She bobbed her head, creating suction, her lips sliding slickly along his shaft. Her gloss smeared, mixing with his pre-come, creating a sticky sheen. She pulled back almost to the tip, flicking her tongue rapidly over the slit, tasting his salt, then plunged down again, taking him deeper. She gagged slightly as the head nudged the back of her throat, but pushed through, forcing herself to relax, breathing harshly through her nose.
"Deep," he commanded, his voice thick. His fingers tightened in her hair, guiding her rhythm. Not gently. He pushed her head down firmly, forcing her to take more. "Take it fuckin' deep. Swallow it, Rae. Show me that fuckin' throat."
Tears sprang to her eyes as he held her down, her nose pressing into the coarse hair at his base. She choked, her throat convulsing around the intrusion, but she didn't fight. She swallowed convulsively around him, the muscles working, trying to accommodate him. The sound was obscenely wet, a guttural choking mixed with sucking. He held her there for three agonizing seconds, feeling her throat spasm, before pulling her back just enough to let her gasp for air, thick strings of saliva and gloss connecting her lips to his cock.
"Again," he demanded, his breathing ragged now. "Down. All the way. Now."
He forced her head back down. Rae went willingly this time, bracing herself, opening her throat as best she could. She took him deep, her lips pressed flush against his pelvis. She gagged violently, her body shaking, tears streaming down her cheeks, mixing with the sticky mess on her lips. She focused on swallowing, on the rhythmic clenching of her throat muscles, on the overwhelming presence of him filling her mouth, her airway. She felt utterly used, utterly owned, and a dark, shameful spark ignited deep in her core. Her free hand, forgotten between her legs, started rubbing her clit frantically again, her hips rocking minutely against her own fingers.
Colt watched her struggle, watched the tears, watched the desperate movement of her hand on her pussy. A savage satisfaction tightened his features. "That's my filthy cocksucker," he grunted, his hips thrusting shallowly up into the tight, wet heat of her mouth. "Chokin' on it. Takin' it like you were fuckin' made for it. Rub that clit, you dirty slut. Get yourself off while you gag on my dick."
He started fucking her mouth in earnest, his grip like iron on the back of her head, controlling the pace. Short, sharp thrusts that bumped the head hard against the back of her throat, making her choke each time. Deeper, grinding strokes that made her eyes roll back. Her world narrowed to the slap of his balls against her chin, the salty-bitter taste flooding her mouth, the burning stretch of her jaw, the rough texture of denim against her cheek, and the frantic, slippery circles her fingers made on her own clit. The degradation, the suffocating fullness, the sheer rawness of it, collided with the physical friction and sent her hurtling towards the edge.
Her muffled cries vibrated around his cock as her orgasm hit, sharp and unexpected. Her body locked, her thighs clamping together around her hand, her cunt pulsing wildly as she came untouched except by her own fingers, while simultaneously choking on his thrusting cock. The conflicting sensations – the suffocating invasion and the violent release – were overwhelming.
Colt felt her throat clench rhythmically, felt the tremors wrack her kneeling body. A deep, animalistic sound ripped from him. "Fuck! Swallow it, whore! Take my fuckin' load!" His thrusts became brutal, erratic pistons. He shoved her head down hard, burying himself to the hilt in her spasming throat as his cock pulsed violently. Thick, salty spurts of come erupted directly into her gullet, filling it. Rae gagged convulsively, struggling to swallow the hot flood as it pumped down her throat. Some escaped, thick white strands leaking from the corners of her stretched, bruised lips, dripping onto his jeans and the floor.
He held her down until the last shudder passed through him, until he was spent. With a final grunt, he pulled his softening cock from her ruined mouth. Rae collapsed forward, catching herself on her hands, coughing violently, sucking in great, ragged gasps of air. Strings of saliva and come hung from her chin. Tears and smeared pink gloss streaked her cheeks. She trembled uncontrollably, her chest heaving.
Colt leaned back into the couch, taking a long, slow pull from the whiskey bottle. His eyes, heavy-lidded and sated, roamed over her kneeling, trembling form – the tear tracks, the gloss smeared like war paint, the come glistening on her chin, the abject posture. He reached down, his fingers rough but almost gentle as he pushed a sweat-dampened strand of blue-streaked hair behind her ear.
"Told you you could be good," he murmured, the southern drawl thick with satisfaction. He traced the sticky mess on her lower lip with his thumb. "When you remember your place." His gaze drifted lower, to the hand still pressed between her trembling thighs. "Looks like you enjoyed bein' my nasty whore, too… we should get you a uniform. So you don’t have to be naked all the time but your place and role is still obvious… maybe a little tight vest, low cut, so it pushes up those tits. And a tiny denim skirt that covers barely anything and no panties?”
Rae’s raw throat still burned from his come, her lips stinging and swollen. She wiped the sticky mix of saliva, gloss, and his release from her chin with the back of her hand. The taste lingered, salty and bitter, a tangible reminder of her submission. "A uniform?" she rasped, her voice ruined. "Like… like a real one?"
Colt’s boot nudged her bare hip. "Get movin’, girl. Top drawer, my dresser. Find somethin’ that fits the description." His eyes, half-lidded and heavy with satisfaction, tracked her as she pushed herself up on shaky legs. The firelight painted shadows across her bruised skin, the fading marks from the truck hood and the counter stark against her paleness. She walked unsteadily towards the dim hallway, the ripped fishnets hanging uselessly from one ankle.
The bedroom smelled like Colt – leather, sweat, and sun-baked cotton. She yanked open the top drawer of the scarred oak dresser. Inside lay a jumble of worn t-shirts, folded flannels, and… there. A tiny, faded denim scrap that barely qualified as shorts. It looked like it had been hacked off mid-thigh with a rusty knife. Beside it, a thin black lace camisole, flimsy and far too small for her breasts. No panties. Her fingers trembled as she shed her ruined fishnets completely and pulled the ragged denim up her legs. It barely covered her ass, the frayed edges scraping the tops of her thighs. The camisole strained over her nipples, the lace offering zero support, pushing her tits up and out obscenely. She felt absurd. Exposed. Perfect.
She walked back into the living room, the rough floorboards cold under her bare feet. The denim scrap rode up with each step, exposing the lower curve of her ass. Colt watched her approach, his gaze a physical weight. He didn’t speak. Just set the whiskey bottle down with a thud. His eyes raked her, head to toe, lingering on the way the camisole struggled to contain her, on the sliver of bare skin above the denim’s low waistband, on the nakedness beneath the ragged hem.
"Spin," he ordered, his voice low.
Rae turned slowly, feeling the air on her bare ass cheeks. She heard his sharp intake of breath. "Christ," he muttered. "That’s barely a fuckin’ belt." He stood, closing the distance between them in two strides. His calloused hand landed hard on her ass cheek, the smack echoing in the room. She yelped. "Got a hungry lookin’ hole back here too," he growled, his finger roughly tracing the tight, hidden pucker between her cheeks. It wasn't a touch she'd expected. A jolt of pure panic mixed with something darker shot through her. "Didn't try this door before. Seems it needs a key."
She froze. "Colt, I… I haven’t…"
"Shut it." His hand tangled in her hair again, pulling her head back sharply. His other hand gripped her hip, fingers digging in. "Spread your legs wider. Bend over the arm of that couch. Now." His command brooked no argument, the porch swing, the kitchen counter, all leading to this inevitable escalation. The air crackled with tension thicker than the woodsmoke.
Trembling, Rae obeyed. She planted her hands on the worn leather armrest, pushing her ass back towards him. The tiny denim scrap offered no modesty. She felt horrifyingly open, exposed. His rough fingers traced the cleft of her ass again, then pressed firmly against her tight, virgin rosette. "Gonna be tight," he grunted, almost to himself. She heard the slick sound of him spitting into his palm. Felt the wet warmth as he rubbed it roughly over her clenched entrance, a crude lubricant. "Gotta loosen you up for my cock, bitch." One thick finger pressed in, just the tip, stretching the impossibly tight ring of muscle. It burned. She cried out, fingers clawing at the leather.
"Fuck, that’s tight," he groaned, working the finger deeper, twisting cruelly. The intrusion was sharp, alien, terrifying. Rae panted, tears springing to her eyes again. He added a second finger, scissoring them brutally, stretching her open. The burn intensified, a deep, tearing ache. "Take it," he snarled, thrusting his fingers deeper. "Your ass is mine now too. Just another hole for me to fuck raw." He pulled his fingers out, the sudden emptiness almost a relief, but short-lived.
The blunt, swollen head of his cock replaced them, pressing insistently against her stretched, burning entrance. It felt impossibly large. "Colt, please," she whimpered, the plea choked. "It’s too much…"
"Beg for my cock in your ass," he demanded, grinding the thick head against her. "Beg your owner to fuck this tight little shithole."
Tears streamed down her face. Shame warred with the degrading thrill of his ownership. "Please," she gasped, the words ripped from her. "Please, Colt… fuck my ass. Please, use it. Fuck your whore’s asshole. I need it. Need you to own it." Her voice cracked on the obscenity.
He thrust. Hard. The thick crown breached her, forcing the impossibly tight ring of muscle wider with a brutal stretch. Rae screamed, a raw, guttural sound. Fire ripped through her. He didn’t stop. He gripped her hips like vices and slammed forward, burying his cock to the hilt in one savage stroke. She felt impaled, split open, completely filled in a way that made the porch swing and kitchen counter feel tame. Her vision blurred. Her knuckles were white on the couch arm.
"Fuuuuck!" Colt roared, his hips flush against her ass. "Like a fuckin' vise! Gonna milk my cock dry, you tight little ass-whore!" He pulled back almost out, the drag agonizing, then slammed home again. The brutal rhythm was relentless, each thrust a fresh assault on her raw nerves. The slap of his hips against her flesh was loud, punctuated by her ragged sobs and his guttural grunts. It hurt. God, it hurt. But beneath the searing pain, deep in her violated core, a treacherous pulse of heat began to throb, a dark echo of the pleasure he always wrung from her. She felt owned utterly, body and soul, every forbidden entrance claimed.
He fucked her ass with relentless power, his cock pistoning into her tight channel. Sweat slicked both their bodies. Her cries turned into broken whimpers, her body rocking violently under his assault. "Whose filthy ass is this?" he demanded, punctuating each word with a deep, grinding thrust that made her see stars.
"Yours!" she sobbed, pushing back against him, accepting the violation, needing it. "Your asshole, Colt! Only yours!"
"Damn right!" His pace quickened, becoming frantic. "Gonna fill this tight shithole! Breed it full! Take it!" His fingers dug into her hips hard enough to bruise. He slammed into her one final, brutal time, holding deep as his cock pulsed violently. Hot jets of come erupted inside her deepest, most forbidden place, flooding her, marking her internally. He groaned, a deep, shuddering sound of conquest, grinding his hips to empty every last drop into her clenched channel.
He stayed buried for long moments, his breath hot on her sweat-slicked back. Then, with a wet, sucking sound, he pulled out. A thick trickle of his seed mixed with blood seeped from her ravaged entrance, running down her inner thigh. He stepped back, tucking his softening cock away with a grimace. Rae collapsed over the couch arm, trembling violently, her ass burning and throbbing, feeling utterly destroyed. The tiny denim scrap was pushed high, offering no coverage to the evidence of her degradation.
Colt picked up his whiskey, drained the last of it. He looked down at her trembling form, his expression unreadable in the firelight. "Good girl," he stated flatly. "Learned another lesson." He turned, his boots heavy on the floorboards. "This is what you will wear from now on. Tight skirts and shorts that cover nothing, no panties and tops that push those tits out and up. Got it?”
The rough denim scrap bit into her tender ass, still throbbing from the brutal taking. His seed, thick and sticky, leaked from her abused back hole, a shameful warmth trickling down her inner thigh. "Got it?" Colt's voice was low, final. SHE NODS EAGERLY. Her head bobbed fast, strands of dark blue hair sticking to her tear-streaked cheek. The movement made the flimsy lace camisole dig tighter under her breasts. "Yes, Colt. I got it." Her voice scraped her raw throat, still aching from his cock. "Tiny skirts. No panties. Tits out."
He grunted, swiping the back of his hand over his mouth, his eyes never leaving her trembling form bent over the couch arm. "Stand up. Lemme see my property properly dressed." His boot nudged her hip. Rae pushed herself up, wincing as the movement pulled at her ravaged asshole. Her legs shook. She turned to face him, forcing her shoulders back as the camisole strained, her nipples hard points against the thin lace. The ragged denim shorts barely covered her pussy lips, the dark thatch visible beneath the frayed hem. Firelight glinted off the wetness slicking her inner thighs – his spend mixed with hers. She felt utterly displayed, a piece of meat in a butcher's window.
Colt circled her slowly, the worn floorboards groaning under his boots. His gaze was a physical scrape over her skin. He stopped behind her. Calloused fingers trailed up the back of her thigh, skirting the edge of the denim, then traced the hot, swollen curve of her right ass cheek. She flinched. "Still red," he observed, his thumb pressing into a tender spot. "Good." His hand slid down, cupping her cunt from behind, two thick fingers shoving roughly through her wet folds. "Slick little fuckhole's drippin' again already. Missin' my cock already, Rae? Or just rememberin' it in your ass?"
She gasped, her hips jerking involuntarily against his intrusion., "Yes, Colt. Always miss it." Her body betrayed her, a fresh pulse of wetness coating his fingers.
"Always?" He chuckled, a dark, rumbling sound. He twisted his fingers inside her, curling them, finding that swollen spot deep within. She cried out, her knees buckling slightly. He held her up with the hand still gripping her hip. "Damn right, always. This cunt knows its purpose." He pulled his slick fingers out with a lewd pop, then brought them to her mouth. "Clean 'em. Taste what a greedy slut you are."
Her green eyes met his in the firelight. Without hesitation, she opened her mouth, taking his fingers deep, sucking the salty-musky tang of her own arousal off his skin. Her tongue swirled around his knuckles. He watched, that satisfied smirk playing on his lips again. "Good fuckin' girl," he murmured. He pulled his fingers free, leaving her lips glistening. "Now, crawl." He pointed to the worn rug in front of the fireplace. "On your hands and knees. Show me how you present yourself."
Rae lowered herself, the rough wool scratching her knees, the denim shorts riding up further, exposing the full, bruised curve of her ass. She arched her back, pushing her ass high in the air, presenting herself like an animal in heat. The position pulled at her tender asshole, a sharp reminder, and made the camisole gape, offering the firelight a direct view of her heavy, lace-confined tits swaying beneath her. She kept her head down, hair falling forward, staring at the intricate patterns on the rug.
Colt crouched behind her, his shadow engulfing her. His hands landed heavily on her ass cheeks, spreading them wide. He leaned close, his breath hot on her exposed pucker, still red and glistening faintly with traces of blood and his seed. "Fuck, look at that," he breathed, almost reverently. "My mark." He pressed the pad of his thumb against her loosened, abused rosette, not pushing in, just applying pressure. Rae whimpered, burying her face in her arms. "Opened you up good, didn't I? Made this tight little hole mine." He traced the stretched rim, making her shudder violently. "Gonna fuck it again soon. Real soon. Keep it trained for my cock. Just like your greedy cunt." He slapped her ass sharply, making her yelp and lurch forward. "Stay up. Don't fuckin' sag."
He stood, moving around to face her kneeling form. His boot nudged under her chin, forcing her head up. Her eyes, wide and wet, looked up at him. He unzipped his jeans slowly, freeing his cock. It was already half-hard again, thick and intimidating. He tapped the swollen head against her slick, gloss-sticky lips. "Suck me hard, Rae. Show me you remember how to earn your keep." The implicit threat hung in the smoky air – refusal meant the ass again, sooner rather than later. She opened her mouth, leaning forward, her pink tongue darting out to lick the salty tip. Her hands braced on his dusty boots as she took him in, hollowing her cheeks, determined to be good. To avoid the fire in her ass. The rhythm of the swing, the cold counter, the humiliation of the uniform – it all narrowed down to this: his cock filling her mouth, the bitter-salt taste, the desperate hope to please him enough, just for now. Outside the low cabin window, the first heavy drops of rain began to spatter against the dusty glass.