After supper

The screen door banged again as Joe’s daddy called out, "Boy, supper’s on!" The smell of fried chicken and collards drifted through the humid air, mixing with the scent of motor oil. Joe shifted his weight, kicking at a loose bolt on the ground.

"Gotta go," he muttered into the phone, voice thick. "Your mama ain’t… she ain’t gonna keep you from me forever, alright?"

Wendy’s breath was shaky. "I know."He could picture her chewing her bottom lip, the way she did when she was trying not to cry.

Joe thumbed the phone off, the screen going dark with Wendy’s silence still clinging to it. He wiped his palm on his jeans, leaving a smudge of grease from the busted carburetor he’d been fiddling with all afternoon. The porch light flickered as moths battered against it, their shadows darting across the warped floorboards like something alive.

Inside, the screen door whined on its hinges as he shouldered it open. The kitchen air was thick with the smell of hot grease and pepper, the table set heavy with a chipped platter of golden fried chicken, greens glistening in their pot liquor.

Joe pushed the last bite of biscuit through the slick of collard pot liquor on his plate, watching the crumbs soak up the green-tinged grease. His daddy Jim sat slumped at the head of the table, a half-peeled chicken leg dangling between his grease-shined fingers as he stared at the flickering ball game on the little TV above the icebox.

"Need me to finish up the tractor?" Joe asked, rolling his fork between his knuckles. The metal tines caught the yellow light, throwing a wavering stripe across the Formica.

Jim sucked the meat off the bone before answering, the wet click of his teeth loud in the humid kitchen. "Nah.

" He tossed the gnawed-clean leg onto his plate and wiped his fingers on his napkin, leaving dark streaks. "But you best check that leak in the Ford 'fore mornin'."

Joe's fork clattered onto his plate. He pushed back from the table so hard the legs screeched against the linoleum. His daddy didn’t even look up, before Joe was out the door. The screen door slapped the frame twice as Joe bolted through it—once on his way out, once when it bounced back.

The screen door hadn’t even settled when Anne stepped back into the kitchen, her hands damp from the sink. She glanced at the empty chair where Joe had been, then at Jim’s grease-streaked shirt.

"Where’d that boy run off to like the devil was on him?" she asked, wiping her palms on her apron. The words hung in the air, sharp as the smell of burnt coffee still clinging to the percolator.

Jim grunted, thumbing the last bite of biscuit through the collards. "Woman troubles," he muttered, not bothering to look up from his plate.

Anne’s lips pressed thin. She wiped her hands again on her apron, though they were already dry, and stared at the empty doorway where Joe had vanished. The cicadas outside droned louder, filling the silence between the scrape of Jim’s fork and the swinging screen door.

"I hope everything’s alright with him and Wendy," she said, more to the flickering porch light than to Jim. A moth thumped against the screen, wings frantic.

Jim sucked his teeth, reaching for another chicken leg. "Ain’t none of our business," he muttered, the words muffled by a mouthful of meat. Grease glistened on his stubble.

Jim wiped his mouth with the back of his napkin, the chicken grease leaving a slick trail across his knuckles. He pushed back from the table with a grunt, the chair legs groaning against the linoleum. The screen door whined as he shouldered through it, his boots heavy on the warped porch boards. Out in the yard, the cicadas' drone swelled louder, drowning the distant creak of the shop door swinging open.

Anne watched him go, then turned to the sink where the percolator sat, its glass knob still dark with old coffee grounds.

Anne untied her apron strings with quick fingers, letting the flour-dusted fabric pool at her feet. The humid kitchen air prickled against her bare skin as she stepped out of her shorts, leaving only the damp lacey cotton panties, clinging low on her hips. She reached into the icebox, the chill raising gooseflesh on her arms as she pulled out the peach cobbler, still warm from the oven hours before. The syrup dripped between her fingers when she scooped a portion onto a chipped dessert plate.

Her bare feet slapped against the porch boards, the wood still radiating the day’s heat. Through the screen, she could see the yellow shop light cutting a jagged rectangle in the dark.

The shop door creaked on its hinges, letting in a sliver of yellow porch light that cut across the oil-stained concrete. Jim looked up from the tractors exposed engine block, wiping his hands on a rag black with grime. The rag froze in his grip when he saw Anne standing there—nothing but that old flour-dusted apron tied loose around her waist and those lacey cotton panties riding low on her hips. The peach cobbler dripped between her fingers, syrup glistening in the shop light like liquid amber.

Moths battered against the shop lights above them, their shadows shuddering across the tool racks. Jim’s throat worked, the smell of motor oil and sugar thick in the air.

Jim’s calloused fingers crushed the greasy rag as his gaze traveled up Anne’s bare thighs, catching on the damp cotton clinging to her curves. "Damn, honey," he rasped, motor oil and peach syrup thick in the air between them. "I wasn’t expecting this kind of dessert."

Anne’s breasts strained against the apron’s thin fabric with each breath, the ties digging into soft flesh as she stepped closer. The shop light flickered overhead, throwing shadows across the swell of her hips where the panties cut in. Jim’s boot scuffed against the concrete as he closed the distance, his rough palm finding the warm dip of her waist.

Anne arched into him, the apron ties straining as her heavy tits pressed against Jim’s grease-streaked shirt. "Your dessert’s right here," she breathed, guiding his rough hand lower, past the damp lace, until his calloused fingers caught on the wet heat between her thighs.

The shop light buzzed overhead, throwing their tangled shadows across the oil-slick floor as Jim’s other hand fumbled with the apron strings. The fabric gave way with a soft tear, baring her flushed skin to the humid air. A moth thudded against the hot bulb above them, wings frantic, as Jim’s stubble scraped down her neck.

I want you to taste me Jim lick my wet pussy. Jim’s breath hitched as he dropped to his knees, the concrete biting into his denim-clad thighs. His calloused hands gripped Anne’s hips, pressing her back against the workbench as his tongue traced the damp lace clinging to her. The peach syrup still sticky on his lips mingled with her salt as he hooked his thumbs under the cotton and dragged it down her trembling legs.

Anne gasped, fingers twisting in his sweat-damp hair as his mouth found her bare flesh. The shop light flickered above them, casting shuddering shadows across the oil-stained floor where her toes curled.

Anne’s fingers trembled at the apron strings, the frayed cotton whispering against her flushed skin as she tugged them loose. The fabric slid from her shoulders, catching for a heartbeat on the swell of her breasts before pooling at her feet in a flour-dusted heap. The humid shop air clung to her bare stomach, to the sweat-slick hollow of her throat, as she stood there in nothing but those soaked lace panties—the delicate fabric gone nearly sheer, clinging to every curve.

Jim’s ragged exhale filled the space between them, his grease-streaked hands hovering just above her hips. “Taste me Jim eat my pussy lick me”.

Jim’s calloused hands slid up her trembling thighs, his breath scorching her skin as he dragged the ruined lace aside. The first slow lick sent a shudder through Anne’s body, her hips jerking against his stubbled jaw as his tongue found her swollen flesh. He groaned against her, the vibration making her knees buckle—his grip tightened, pressing her harder against the workbench’s edge as he devoured her with rough, hungry strokes. Peach syrup and her own slick sweetness mingled on his tongue, every flick and suck wringing **** noises from Anne’s throat.

The shop light buzzed louder, moths throwing frantic shadows as her fingers twisted in his hair, urging him deeper.

Anne’s hands flew to her heavy breasts, fingers kneading the flushed flesh as Jim’s tongue plunged deeper. Her nipples hardened under her own rough touch, the ache between her thighs growing sharper with every wet stroke of his mouth. The shop light flickered as she arched back, her tits swaying with each ragged breath, fingertips pinching and pulling at stiff peaks while Jim’s stubble scraped her inner thighs.

A broken moan tore from her throat when his teeth grazed her clit—just enough to sting—before his tongue soothed the burn in slow, torturous circles. Her hips jerked against his face, syrup and sweat glistening where his grip bruised her skin.

Anne’s back arched violently as Jim’s tongue lashed at her clit, the rough drag of his stubble sending electric shocks up her spine. "Oh shit—Jim—right there, fuck—" Her thighs trembled, clamping around his head as her fingers yanked his hair hard enough to hurt. The peach syrup on his lips smeared across her inner thighs, sticky-sweet and mingling with the salt of her sweat as her hips stuttered against his mouth.

The shop light flickered above them, moths battering the hot glass in frenzied circles as Anne’s moans climbed higher, broken and gasping.

Anne’s breath hitched as she dragged her gaze down Jim’s grease-streaked shirt to the thick bulge straining against his denim fly. "Damn, I need it," she panted, her syrup-slick fingers trailing down her own quivering stomach.

Jim’s grin was all teeth as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, peach glaze smearing his stubble. "Glad I could help," he rasped, thumb hooking into his belt loop. "Now what about me?" He rocked his hips up, the worn denim pulling taut over his cock.

Anne’s fingers curled around the thick heat of him, her thumb smearing a bead of precum down his length as she exhaled sharply. "My, what do we have here?" she murmured, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. Jim hissed through his teeth when her nails scraped lightly up the underside of his cock, the calloused pads of her fingers tightening just shy of rough.

His hands dug into her bare back as she leaned forward, her breath hot and uneven against the flushed head of him. She dragged her tongue in a slow, filthy stripe from base to tip, tasting salt and musk and the faint metallic tang of engine grease still clinging to his skin.

Anne moaned around him as Jim’s fingers tangled in her hair, his hips jerking when she hollowed her cheeks and sucked hard. “That’s it, my dear—suck my fat cock just like that,” he growled, voice thick with lust.

Her tongue swirled around the head, teasing the slit before plunging down again, taking him deeper until her nose pressed into the coarse hair at his base. Jims hands on her back as Jim guided her rhythm, his grip tightening when she gagged slightly—just the way he liked.

A bead of sweat rolled down his temple as he watched her, the shop air thick with the scent of peaches, engine oil, and sex.

Anne pulled off his cock with a wet gasp, her lips swollen and glistening. "Oh Jim," she panted, scrambling to her feet, her fingers already clawing at his belt buckle. "I have to have you inside me—fuck me, Jim, now."

His hands were rough as they grabbed her hips, spinning her toward the workbench. Grease-stained rags scattered as he bent her over the metal surface. The cold steel bit into her bare stomach when he pressed against her, his cock dragging through her slick folds before notching at her entrance. Jim fucked Anne from behind that’s it fuck me harder fuck me.

Jim pounded Anne’s pussy from behind “that’s it fuck me harder fuck me fuck with that fat cock.”

Jim drove into her with a brutal snap of his hips, the slap of skin on skin echoing off the shop walls. "That's it—fuck me harder, Jim, god—" Anne's voice cracked as she clawed at the workbench, her knuckles whitening against the grease-smeared metal. Every thrust sent shockwaves through her, his cock splitting her open so deep she felt it in her ribs.

"Take it, take my fat cock," Jim grunted, his fingers digging into her hips as he yanked her back onto him, each stroke rougher than the last.

The sharp slap of Jim’s heavy balls against Anne’s ass echoed with every brutal thrust, his thick cock pistoning into her with relentless ****. Her tits swayed wildly beneath her, soft flesh slamming against the cold steel of the workbench, nipples hardening from the friction.

“Fuck—Jim, yes—” Anne gasped, her fingers scrambling for purchase as his hips hammered into her, each snap of his pelvis sending a shock of pleasure up her spine. Sweat slicked their skin, the scent of sex and motor oil thick in the air.

Anne’s fingers found her swollen clit, rubbing tight circles as Jim’s thrusts grew more erratic. The rough pad of her middle finger pressed just right, sending sparks up her spine every time his cock bottomed out inside her. “Oh—fuck—Jim, I’m gonna—” Her voice shattered into a moan as her thighs trembled, the bench rattling beneath them.

Jim’s breath came in ragged grunts, his grip bruising on her hips as he dragged her back onto him harder. “Come on that cock, sweetheart,” he snarled, the headboard slam of his pelvis punctuating every word.

Anne’s back arched violently as her climax tore through her, a raw scream ripping from her throat as her cunt clenched around Jim’s cock in pulsating waves. “Oh god—Jim!” Her thighs shook as she gushed around him, slick heat coating his thrusting length as he drove into her relentless, his balls slapping against her dripping folds.

Jim growled, fingers biting into the soft flesh of her hips as he fucked her through it, each snap of his hips prolonging her shuddering pleasure. “That’s it, milk my cock,” he grunted, the wet squelch of her orgasm loud between them.

Jim could feel his balls tighten as his climax was building I’m close where do you want my cum Anne.

Jim’s thrusts turned jagged, his cock swelling impossibly thicker inside her as a ragged groan tore from his throat. “Goddamn—Anne—!” His balls drew up tight against her dripping cunt, the veins along his shaft pulsing as heat coiled low in his gut.

Anne whimpered, her own climax still rippling through her as she arched back against him. “Cum on my ass -oh fuck—cover my fat ass “Jim—” Her words

Anne whimpered, her own climax still rippling through her as she arched back against him. “Cum on my ass -oh fuck—cover my fat ass Jim—” Her words dissolved into a moan as Jim’s fingers dug into the plush flesh of her hips, his cock throbbing violently against her inner walls. With a ragged groan, he pulled out at the last second, his thick shaft glistening with her slickness as he dragged the swollen head up the cleft of her ass.

Jim’s cock jerked violently, thick white ropes of cum erupting across Anne’s trembling back in hot, sticky streaks. The first pulse splattered between her shoulder blades, glistening against her sweat-slicked skin as the next shot landed lower, painting the plump curve of her ass in pearly strands.

Anne gasped as each spurt burned against her flushed flesh, her fingers clawing at the workbench while Jim’s grip on her hips kept her pinned. His cock twitched against her ass with every jet, his low growl reverberating through the shop as the last few spurts dribbled messily down between her ass checks.

Jim slid his cock back into Anne’s dripping pussy with a filthy, wet shove, burying himself to the hilt as his orgasm still pulsed through him. Anne cried out, her swollen walls clamping around him in ragged spasms as he fucked her through the last waves of his release, each shallow thrust milking thick ropes of cum deeper inside her.

“Oh God, Jim—yes, fill me up,” she whimpered, her ass still glazed with his cum as she ground back against him, greedy for every last drop. His hips stuttered, his cock twitching inside her as he rutted mindlessly, the last of his release painting her insides in hot, sticky streaks.

Jim slid out of her with a wet, filthy sound, his softening cock glistening with their mixed release. His calloused palms smoothed over Anne’s trembling back, smearing his cum across her flushed skin in possessive streaks. She shuddered beneath his touch, her breath still ragged, her thighs slick and sticky where they pressed against the workbench.

"Look at you," Jim murmured, his voice rough with satisfaction as he dragged a thumb through the mess on her ass, painting her plush curves white. "Dripping with me."

Anne arched into his touch, a whimper catching in her throat as his fingers traced the crease of her ass, pushing his own spend back against her swollen flesh.

Anne shuddered as Jim's smacked her ass cheeks, the warm stickiness smearing against her throbbing flesh. "You know I do, baby," she panted, pressing her ass back against his touch. "Goddamn, look how bad you needed this—" Her words broke off with a moan as Jim suddenly gripped her hips again, his still-hard cock nudging against her slick entrance.

"Need more," she growled, her voice rough with hunger as she shoved back with one brutal thrust. Anne cried out, her nails scraping against the workbench as he filled her completely, his balls slapping against her sticky thighs.