I groaned, grabbed fistfuls of her hair, tried to lose myself in it.
Then the door banged open.
Old Yeller trotted in proud as a peacock, Jumper stumbling behind him on the end of the rope he’d somehow dragged in. Mule still leaking, eyes wild. Dog hopped right back up, mounted her ass this time, and started round two right there on Ma’s rag rug.
Slap-slap-slap. Bray. Yip. Squirt.
Ma popped off my dick with a wet gasp. “You gotta be shitting me.”
Dog was grinning ear to ear, humping away, knot swelling again.
My cock shriveled like a salted slug.
Ma stood up, face redder than a branding iron. “Ain’t no damn dog ever stopped me from making my boy cum and he ain’t starting today.”
She ripped her dress off over her head, naked as Eve, and shoved me flat on the table. Plates crashed to the floor. Climbed on top, grabbed my half-dead dick, and stuffed it back in her pussy like she was loading a shotgun.
“Get hard, Travis. Get hard right fucking now.”
She slammed down. Once. Twice. Pussy so wet it sounded like boot in mud. I felt blood rush back south.
Old Yeller barked like he was cheering her on. Jumper farted in terror.
Ma rode me like the end of the world. Tits slapping my face. Ass bouncing so hard the table legs screeched across the planks. She reached back, shoved two fingers up her own asshole, and growled.
“Cum in your mama, boy. Do it before that dog finishes in that mule again.”
Couldn’t fight it. Shot so hard my vision went black at the edges. Filled her till it bubbled out and ran down my balls onto Ma’s best tablecloth.
She kept grinding, milking every drop, then collapsed on my chest, both of us soaked in sweat and sin.
Old Yeller finally popped loose with a wet slurp, turned around, and licked Jumper’s bloody cunt clean like it was ice cream.
Ma lifted her head, hair stuck to her face, and looked dead at the dog.
“Next time you feel frisky,” she told him, “you come knock on my door. Least I’ll say thank you when you’re done.”
Old Yeller wagged his tail, trotted over, and licked a streak of my cum off the floorboards.
Reckon that’s why we never did get around to shooting him.
Mule still walks a little bow-legged, but she don’t kick him no more when he climbs aboard.
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Chapter Two: Red Rocket West
Hotter than two rats fuckin’ in a wool sock that afternoon. I was out back swingin’ the axe like I was tryin’ to kill the whole damn planet. Sweat pourin’, muscles burnin’, chickens cluckin’ nervous like they already knew shit was comin’.
Then the coyotes showed up.
Three of ‘em, struttin’ in like they owned every inch of dirt from here to hell. Scar-eye up front, gray fur matted with old blood, one eye already milky from some past ass-whuppin’. Snowflake the white bitch beside him, tail high, pink slit flashin’ every time she stepped. And Deuce, big black bastard bringin’ up the rear, starin’ at the cabin with his tongue hangin’ out like he could smell Ma’s pussy from the fence line.
Scar-eye walks straight to the coop, locks eyes with me, and rips a hen’s head clean off. Blood paints my boots red.
“What you gonna do about it, you little bitch?” he growls.
I grin, axe heavy in my hand. “Gonna feed your balls to the hogs, you talkin’ freak.”
He laughs, drops the twitchin’ body. “Your pa killed our mama last winter. Today we burn your shitpile homestead, kill you slow, and breed that fat-titted woman of yours till she’s leakin’ coyote pups out every hole.”
Ma’s at the window, hand already down her dress, bitin’ her lip.
Scar-eye nods at Deuce. “Go fetch the bitch.”
Deuce grins and starts trottin’ toward the cabin.
That’s when Old Yeller comes strollin’ up from the water hole with Arliss ridin’ his back like a naked, filthy jockey.
(continued)