Chapter 13: Evening
The screen door slapped softly against its frame behind them, a familiar, hollow sound that spoke of long summers and lonely winters. Lori stepped out onto the wraparound porch, the weathered boards groaning a welcome under her bare feet. The air was cooling rapidly as the sun bled out across the Texas horizon, painting the sky in strokes of orange and bruised purple. She carried two tall glasses of iced tea, the condensation already beading on the glass and tracing cold paths over her fingers.
Marty was already settled in one of the rocking chairs, her own body settling into the familiar contours of the wood. She took the proffered glass with a grateful murmur, her eyes scanning the vast, quiet land that stretched out before them.
Lori sank into the chair beside her, the motion causing a fresh, pleasant ache to bloom deep within her. The remnants of Colt’s possession were still evident on her skin. A pearlescent streak, now dried to a faint, shiny patch, traced a path from her collarbone down between her breasts. She made no move to wipe it away; it was a badge, a testament. The gentle evening breeze felt like a cool kiss on her heated skin.
For a long while, they just rocked in companionable silence, the rhythmic creak of the chairs keeping time with the crickets’ first tentative songs. The scent of dust and sagebrush was slowly being replaced by the deeper, cooler aroma of the coming night.
“He’s become such a good man,” Lori said finally, her voice soft, almost lost in the vastness. It wasn’t a question, but a statement of profound fact.
Marty took a slow sip of her tea, the ice cubes clinking. “He has. It’s in his hands. The way he touches things. The way he touches you.” She didn’t look at Lori, her gaze fixed on the darkening silhouette of the barn. “There’s no hurry in him anymore. Not like when he was a teenager, all fumbling and frantic. It’s all purpose now.”
A slow, deep smile spread across Lori’s face. She let her head fall back against the chair, her eyes closed. “I know. When he gets that look… that quiet, focused look he usually saves for a busted fence post or a sick calf… and he turns it on me.” She shivered, though the air was still warm. “My God, Marty. It just undoes me completely.”
She opened her eyes, staring at the ceiling of the porch where a few early bats were beginning to flit. “This afternoon, in the kitchen. He was so deep. I could feel him in my throat. And he just… held there. Not moving. Just owning that space inside me. Letting me feel every inch of him. I was pounding that chicken and all I could think was, ‘This is it. This is what I was made for. To be his anchor. To take this beautiful, hard part of him and make him feel so good he forgets everything else.’”
“He loves your ass,” Marty stated, a simple, raw observation. “It’s like a religion to him.”
Lori’s laugh was a low, throaty sound. “He’s obsessed. Has been since he was old enough to know what it was for. I remember catching him staring when he was about fifteen, just before his father left. The guilt on his face. It near broke my heart.” She rocked forward, the chair groaning in protest. “Now… now I love it. I love the way his eyes darken when I bend over. I love the way his hands grab onto it, like he’s trying to get a handful of me to keep. He says it’s the perfect handful. Says it’s so soft and so strong at the same time.”
She took a deep breath, the memory a physical warmth in her belly. “He fucks my ass like he’s trying to get home. Like it’s the only place in the world that makes sense to him. And the thing is, Marty, for him, it is. I am. And I love the burn. I love that first stretch, that feeling of being too full, of taking something I wasn’t quite built for. And then my body just… opens up for him. Lets him in. Lets him ruin me for anyone else, not that there ever could be anyone else.”
Marty nodded slowly, a knowing look in her eyes. “He’s built for it. That cock of his. It’s a damn masterpiece. Thick. And that curve…” She whistled softly. “It finds places inside a woman you forget you have.”
“He knows how to use it,” Lori agreed, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, as if the land itself might be listening. “He’ll have me on my hands and knees, fucking my ass slow and deep, and he’ll reach around and play with my clit until I’m screaming, and then he’ll angle himself just so and I swear to God, Marty, he hits a spot that makes me see stars. It’s not just a feeling in my ass; it’s like he’s fucking my soul. I come so hard I forget my own name. I just become his. Lori? Gone. I’m just… hole. For him.”
The crude word hung in the air between them, stark and beautiful in its honesty.
“And when he comes…” Lori continued, her voice dreamy now. “My God. You know. You’ve tasted it. You’ve felt it. It’s not just a little spurt. It’s a… a flood. It’s like he’s pumping me full of his very life. I can feel it, hot and thick, pulsing inside me, filling me up. I can feel his balls tightening against me, and I know he’s giving me everything he has. He never holds back. Not a single drop. And I want it all. I love feeling it leak out of me afterwards, for hours. It’s a reminder. It’s his mark.”
Marty shifted in her chair, a slow flush creeping up her neck. “I remember the first time I really understood,” she said, her voice also quiet. “It was last spring, during the calving. You were in San Antonio for that veterinary conference.”
Lori nodded, remembering the trip. “He was here alone with you.”
“He was. It was a long night. We’d been up for hours, helping a heifer. We were both exhausted, covered in blood and afterbirth. We came back to the house just as the sun was coming up. He was standing at the sink, washing his hands, his shoulders were so tense. I went to him, put my hand on his back. I could feel the stress knotted up in him.” Marty took a long drink of her tea, the memory vivid in her eyes.
“He turned around and looked at me. He didn’t say a word. He just unzipped his jeans and pulled it out. It was already half-hard, just from the exhaustion and the adrenaline, I think. He pointed to the floor. Right there in front of the sink.”
“And you got on your knees,” Lori said, not a question.
“I did. I didn’t even think. I just dropped. I took him in my mouth, and he was so tired, he just leaned back against the counter and let me do all the work. I sucked him, slow and deep, trying to take all that tension out of him with my mouth. I could taste the sweat on his skin, the faint, metallic taste of the barn. It was the most real thing I’d ever done.”
She rocked a little faster, the memory animating her. “When he was close, he fisted his hands in my hair. Not hard, but firm. He said, ‘I’m gonna come, Marty. You’re gonna swallow all of it.’ And then he did. Oh, Lord, Lori. It was like he’d been saving it for a week. It just kept coming. Thick, hot ropes of it, shooting down my throat. I had to swallow again and again, and it just kept coming. It was so much I thought I’d choke. It filled my stomach. I could feel the warmth of it inside me. When he was finally done, he pulled out, and I was panting, tears in my eyes from the effort. He looked down at me, and all the tension was gone from his face. He just looked… peaceful. He smoothed my hair back and said, ‘Thank you, Marty. I needed that.’ And I knew. I knew right then that this was part of my job, too. Taking that from him. It’s a privilege.”
Lori reached over and squeezed Marty’s hand. “It is. It’s the highest privilege.”
“Another time,” Marty continued, a sly smile playing on her lips, “he woke me up. It was the middle of the night. I was asleep in my room. I felt the weight on the bed and then his hand over my mouth. ‘Be quiet,’ he whispered. He was already naked, his skin hot. He flipped me onto my stomach, pulled my hips up, and just drove into my pussy from behind. No lube, nothing. Just spit on his hand and slicked himself up. I was so asleep, so wet from dreaming, maybe, that he just slid right in.”
Her breath hitched at the memory. “He fucked me like that, hard and fast, his hand still over my mouth so I couldn’t make a sound. The whole bed was slamming against the wall. I was coming in minutes, biting his hand, my whole body shaking. He came inside me, pumping so deep I thought he’d hit my cervix. Then he pulled out, kissed my shoulder, and left. Just like that. I lay there for an hour, feeling his come leak out of me, listening to the house settle, and I’ve never felt more used or more cherished in my whole life.”
“He knows what we need,” Lori murmured. “Sometimes I think he knows our bodies better than we do.”
The darkness was nearly complete now, the last sliver of sun gone from the horizon. The landscape was a sea of shadows, punctuated by the lone, yellow square of light from the barn where Colt was presumably still working.
“The other nasty things…” Lori said, her voice a low, confessional whisper in the dark. “He loves to make me taste myself. After he’s been in my ass, he’ll pull out and shove his filthy, slick cock right into my mouth. Makes me clean him with my tongue. And I do. I love the taste of me on him. It’s the most intimate thing. It’s like we’re this closed circuit. Nothing wasted.”
She paused, gathering the memory. “And last week, he came home from class and I was napping. He woke me up by spreading my legs and eating my pussy until I came twice, screaming into the pillow. Then he flipped me over, pushed my face into the mattress, and fucked my ass raw while he played with my tits, twisting my nipples until they were sore. He came in my ass, and as he was pulling out, he caught it with his hand and smeared it all over my face. My eyes, my lips, my hair. He told me to wear it. So I did. I made his dinner with his dried cum flaking off my forehead.”
Marty let out a soft, shuddering breath. “Jesus, Lori.”
“I know,” Lori said, and there was a fierce pride in her voice. “It’s depraved. It’s wrong by every standard there is. But it’s our truth. It’s the language of our love. It’s crude and it’s physical and it’s so, so real.”
They fell silent again, the weight of their shared confessions settling around them like a cloak. The stars were beginning to pepper the vast Texas sky, cold and sharp and indifferent.
The crunch of boots on gravel announced his return long before he emerged from the darkness. Colt walked up the porch steps, his form a solid, moving shadow against the lesser dark of the night. He smelled of cold air, horses, and honest sweat.
He stopped between their two rocking chairs, looking from one woman to the other. His face was in shadow, but they could feel his gaze.
“All quiet on the north fence,” he said, his voice a quiet rumble.
“Good,” Lori said, her own voice soft.
He looked down at Marty, then at the glass of iced tea, mostly melted now, in her hand. “You finished with that?”
Wordlessly, she handed it to him. He drained the last of the watery, lukewarm liquid in one long gulp, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He set the empty glass on the porch rail with a soft click.
Then he unbuckled his belt.
The rasp of the leather through the loops was unnaturally loud. The button of his jeans popped open. The zpper came down with a slow, deliberate rasp. He wasn’t looking at either of them, his gaze was fixed on the star-dusted horizon, but his intention was as clear as the moon that was beginning to rise.
He pushed his jeans and boxers down just enough to free his cock. It was thick and heavy in the dim light, already fully erect, a testament to the relentless virility they had just been discussing. The scent of him, musky and purely male, cut through the cool night air.
He took a step towards Marty’s chair.
She didn’t need a command. She simply stopped rocking, let her legs fall open, and leaned forward, her hands resting on her knees. An offering.
Colt moved to stand in front of her. He laid a hand on her head, not pushing, just resting it there, a gentle weight. With his other hand, he guided himself to her lips.
Marty opened her mouth, her tongue coming out to meet him. She took the head of his cock into the warm, wet cavern of her mouth, her lips stretching into a perfect ‘O’ around his girth.
Lori watched, her breath catching in her throat. This was always a sacred thing to witness. The utter submission of it. The profound trust.
Colt let out a soft sigh as Marty’s mouth enveloped him. She began to move, her head bobbing slowly, rhythmically. There was no frenzy, no desperation. It was a performance, a ritual. She used her tongue, swirling it around the sensitive head, tracing the prominent vein along the underside. She took him deep, until her nose was buried in the coarse hair at his base, and Lori could see her throat working to accommodate him.
One of Marty’s hands came up, cupping his heavy balls, rolling them gently in her palm. The other hand stroked the length of him that her mouth couldn’t reach, her movements in perfect sync with the motion of her head.
Colt’s hand tightened in her hair. His hips began to move in tiny, involuntary thrusts, meeting her rhythm. His breathing deepened, becoming ragged. The only sounds were the wet, soft sounds of her mouth on him, the creak of Lori’s rocking chair as she stilled it, and the distant cry of a coyote.
“That’s it,” Colt murmured, his voice thick and low. “Take it all. Just like that. Your mouth was made for this, Marty. So good. So fucking good.”
Marty moaned around him, the vibration seeming to go straight through him. He shuddered.
Lori could see the muscles in his thighs tensing. She knew the signs. He was close.
“Gonna come,” he grunted, his voice stripped down to its rawest elements. “Don’t spill a drop.”
Marty increased her pace, her devotion absolute. Her sucking became more urgent, more demanding, pulling the climax from him.
Colt threw his head back, a sharp, guttural cry tearing from his throat. His body went rigid, his hips stuttering forward, holding deep in her mouth.
Lori watched, mesmerized, as the first powerful pulse hit. She saw Marty’s throat convulse as she swallowed. Then another. And another. Colt’s grip on her hair was white-knuckled, his whole body bowstring-tight as he emptied himself into her willing throat. It seemed to go on for a long time, a series of deep, pumping releases that Marty accepted without hesitation, her swallows audible in the quiet night.
When it was finally over, he slumped slightly, his body going limp. He slowly pulled his softening cock from her lips, which glistened in the starlight. A single, thick pearl of cum escaped the corner of her mouth and traced a path down her chin.
Colt reached down, his thumb gently wiping it away. He then brought his thumb to her lips, and she opened her mouth, sucking it clean with a final, soft sigh.
He tucked himself back into his jeans, the zipper sounding final this time. He leaned down and kissed the top of Marty’s head. “Thank you,” he said, his voice quiet and full of genuine affection.
He then turned to Lori. He didn’t say anything. He just looked at her, his eyes dark pools in the night, and she felt the look like a physical touch. It held everything: the memory of the afternoon, the love for this woman who served them both, the deep, unshakable bond that tied the three of them together in this strange, perfect arrangement.