A cool December afternoon, I drove over to his place. He was taking me on my first coyote hunt.

He’d been contacted by some horse owners who were nervous about coyotes running through their stables. They worried it could turn ugly for their animals. He’d told me it would be a good chance for me to learn, and I wasn’t about to pass it up.

We loaded my gear into his pickup and drove out to the property. The stable sat practically in their backyard, which was going to make setting up a little different than out in the wide open.

As we walked through a low, muddy stretch near the barn, my boot sank deep. I yanked, lost my balance, and went straight down on my ass in the muck.

“Great,” I muttered.

He chuckled. “You wanna call it? You’re already soaked, and you’re gonna freeze your ass off.”

“I’m fine,” I told him, brushing at my jeans pointlessly.

“Wait here.” He disappeared toward the barn and came back a few minutes later holding a pair of insulated bibs. He handed them over. “Here. Put these on so you don’t turn into an icicle. Literally.”

They were way too big, of course, and he had to knot the straps for me, but the second they were on, I was warm. I looked ridiculous, but warm was better than cute out here.

We stacked a little blind out of hay bales and he set the call. Once he hit the switch, the eerie yips echoed across the pasture. We both scanned, waiting.

A light tap on my side made me glance at him. He was pointing left. Two coyotes were loping toward us at a steady trot. They dipped behind a downed tree and I adjusted my rifle. When they stepped out again, they cut their angle and were headed straight in front of us.

“Get ready,” he whispered. Then he made a squeaky noise with his mouth. The coyotes froze.

“Go."

I squeezed the trigger, and mine folded instantly. His shot cracked a beat later, dropping the second one. Adrenaline surged through me, and we high-fived, smiling ear to ear.

We hauled our kills back, and this time I managed not to bust my ass in the mud. We loaded up and I hugged him, thanking him for making my first coyote hunt one I’d never forget.

“Leave the bibs on,” he said with a grin. “No sense messing up my seat.”

Back at his place, we unloaded, and he rang up a buddy who’d take the coyotes and turn them into hats. Then he invited me inside.

“I’ll make supper, wash your clothes,” he said. “No reason for you to sit in your truck and ruin your seats.”

In the mudroom, I stripped out of the bibs. He told me to grab something from the spare room I’d stayed in before, then toss my dirty clothes in the laundry basket. I did, setting the basket outside the bathroom door. I couldn’t help smirking at the thought of him seeing the pink camo undies I’d picked that morning.

He carried the basket downstairs while I showered. Afterward, I towel-dried my hair, pulled on a t-shirt I’d found, and padded barefoot into the kitchen. The shirt was too short to wear by itself, but I didn’t care.

“That smells amazing,” I said.

He turned, did a double-take, and looked me up and down before meeting my eyes.

“Ravioli in tomato cream sauce with sausage,” he said. “But looking at you, I should’ve made tacos.”

I cackled. “Or clams.”

He shook his head, grinning. “You know that shirt’s too short, right?”

“I can handle it if you can.”

He smirked. “Your dad oughta spank you more often. But I’m guessing you’d like that too much for it to help.”

I wiggled my ass at him. He rolled his eyes, plating two generous piles of ravioli. 

It was ridiculously good — creamy, savory, gone way too fast. We threw the dishes in the dishwasher and moved to the family room. He took one end of the couch; I flopped against him, pulling a blanket over myself and leaning back into his chest.

“Katie, what are you doing?” he asked, voice low.

“Getting comfortable,” I said, tilting my head up to him. “Am I bothering you?”

“No, but I’m not sure your dad would approve.”

“He knows I’m not an angel.”

“So I hear.”

“What’s he told you?”

“That you get boys stopping over at all hours. Cameras, remember?”

I blinked. “Didn’t realize he watched the whole farmyard.”

“Why do you do it? The attention? The thrill?”

I shifted, sliding into his lap, wrapping my arms around his shoulders. “All of that. And because I want to. And I know you want to too. I’ve caught you eye-fucking me when you thought I wasn’t looking. Wondering what it’d be like to touch me, press me down, use me.”

His jaw flexed. “Jesus Christ, Katie. You could make a priest sin.”

I smiled. “I already have.”

The tension snapped like a live wire. My hands explored his chest, and he ran his fingers through my hair. We kissed — slow, deep, teeth occasionally scraping, tongues tangling. My hips pressed into his, rolling slightly, teasing him through the fabric of his shorts.

I grinded gently, feeling him harden under my ass. He cupped my butt, lifting me slightly, rocking his hips against me. Every breath we shared was heavy, every glance charged. 

His hands slipped under my t-shirt, running across my sides, sliding over my ribs, teasing the soft skin of my stomach. I arched into him, lips back on his, tongue dancing. His cock was rock-hard, pressing into my thigh. The sheer raw hunger between us — it was electric.

We kissed and touched until I felt the pull, the need building like a tide. I leaned down, sliding off his lap onto my knees, hands working his shorts down. His cock sprang free, hard already. I didn’t hesitate, taking him into my mouth.

He held my hair, guiding me, flexing his hips to deepen the rhythm. My gag reflex hit a few times, tears pricking my eyes, but I pushed through, moaning as I sucked his cock.

“Stick your tongue out,” he ordered.

I did, and he flexed his hips, feeding me more. I gagged slightly, tears stinging my eyes, but pushed myself to take it. A rough thrust, then another, and suddenly he was in my throat.

“Good girl,” he muttered. He pulled out, tipped my head back, and licked the tears from my cheeks. Strange, filthy, hot as hell.

He helped me stand and led me to his room. I climbed onto the tall bed, legs spreading instinctively. His tongue found my clit first, licking, sucking, teasing. Then he shifted to my ass, tongue sliding in and out, teasing every sensitive inch. I writhed under him, gasping, hands clutching the sheets.

 I should’ve done this sooner. I wanted, no, I needed this! 

Finally, he slid up between my thighs. The head of his cock pressed into me, stretching me slowly. I looked up, heart hammering. The first push in stole my breath. Each thrust was deliberate, powerful, making me gasp and moan, my body melting under his weight.

The rhythm built, slow then fast, his hips driving deep. I felt the pressure building fast, the orgasm rolling through me hard and sudden. My body let go, and I squirted, soaking him.

“Fuck,” he growled, pounding harder, chasing his own orgasm.

Another wave slammed me, moans spilling from me as my body shook. He groaned, driving into me relentlessly, his cock filling me, sweat mingling with mine. Every thrust, every slap, every low growl drew him closer.

We moved together, shifting angles, grinding, rolling, until my body shook under another massive orgasm, coating him, marking him as mine. He drove deep, hips locked tight against me, and I felt the hot flood of his cum spill inside.

I trembled against him, breathless, used by an older man! And even as we slowed, even as I pulled him into me, I knew this wasn’t the end. It was just the beginning, and I was already craving the next time.

My head was in a haze. I’d just been rocked by a man I’d known for years, and all I could think about was how much I wanted more, I needed more. He lay next to me and rested his hand on my belly, thumb drawing lazy circles.

“You know, Katie,” he said, voice serious, “you’ve been given a gift. You’re beautiful — banging body, killer blue eyes, great tits, and an ass that couldn’t be any nicer.” He paused as he was crafting each word. “You’re a gift for the boys at school and for older men, too. In return, your gift to us is your body: your mouth, your boobs, your pussy, your ass — all of you.”

The way he said it stopped me, in a good, dizzying way. “Sex isn’t just physical,” he went on. “It’s a huge mental thing. It relieves stress, it brightens a mood, it makes life lighter. So please — keep that line of boys stopping over, keep being the slut you are meant to be. You’re doing a service to humanity.” He grinned, like he’d just delivered a sermon.

I wasn’t sure what to say. It was bold, a little ridiculous, and somehow exactly what I needed to hear. He shifted, eyes darkening. “Speaking of healing,” he added, “I’m gonna go down and lick those meaty flaps for a while, then I’m going to slide my cock up inside your ass. What do you think of that?”

“You’re going to go down on me after you already came inside me?” I asked, excited.

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I?” He sounded amused. “The only time someone skips that is when they are immature or they don't care. Real men who know what they’re doing? They eat everything.”

“That’s… different,” I said, breathless as he laughed softly.

“That’s the difference between boys and hunters,” he said. “Hunters shoot more often, go deeper into the bush — and they eat what they shoot. So get your legs open. It’s snack time.”

He lifted my leg and moved between my thighs. His tongue made one long, scorching stroke from my asshole up to my clit. “Goddamn,” I breathed.

He stayed there a long time, and I loved every second. He licked and nibbled like a pro, skilled and relentless, until my body betrayed me in a string of orgasms that left me trembling and breathless. He tossed my salad with a dominance I’d never felt before, and when I thought I couldn’t take another second of pleasure, he found ways to push me higher.

When he finally pulled away, he walked over to the cabinet behind the door and fished out a few things. He came back to the bed with a small pile, and the first thing he held up was a collar. “SLUT,” it read, stamped bold. He smiled at me. “This is not derogatory. This is what you are and you should embrace. Sit up.”

I sat. He circled the collar around my neck and fastened it with a soft click. It felt strange and right at the same time — like being marked.

Next came leather cuffs. He wrapped them around my wrists and made me lie back. My hands were clipped to something I couldn’t see above my head; the restraint made my pulse quicken and my nipples become rock hard. Then two clothespins were rolled across my nipples and pinched on. Sharp pain. Hot, immediate. They made me yip!

“It’s okay, Katie,” he murmured. “A little pain is good for your soul. Like when I slide my cock up your ass in a few minutes — your pain is my gain.” He wore an evil grin that made my stomach flip.

He positioned himself between my knees and picked up the bottle of lube. A thick, slippery film glistened on his finger as he eased it toward my asshole. The first touch made me squirm. He pushed one finger in slow, rotating it until I felt the stretch. The tiny invasions were intense — uncomfortable and electric.

“Relax. Open for me,” he whispered.

I tried. I wanted it. But it still stung. He withdrew that finger, added more lube, and slipped a second in. My body clenched, then slowly surrendered bit by bit as he worked me. The sensations were new and raw — humiliation and thrill braided together.

When he drew his fingers out, he coated himself in more lube and aligned himself with my puckered entrance. He pressed the head of his cock against me, slow and deliberate. I remembered what worked from past times — the small push, the breathing — and gave a little outward push as he urged.

“Good girl,” he said, smiling as the head slipped in. “Do that again.”

I pushed, and my asshole opened, swallowing the head. He eased deeper and deeper until he was balls deep. For a second, it felt like everything in my guts had rearranged. He started to thrust, slow at first, testing me, then building into a steady, forceful rhythm.

“There you go — fuck yeah, Katie, like a champ!” he growled, voice rough with approval.

He held my legs back and hammered into me. The stretch was immense — tight, consuming. I wasn’t sure how long he went on. Time blurred, each heavy pump creating a mix of pain and perverse pleasure that left me raw and aching. He pushed harder and faster, and that animal intensity in him sent electricity through me. Every thrust felt like it owned me.

When his pace finally broke, he slammed into me one last time and the familiar sound and look washed over him — the release he couldn’t hide. He busted his load deep inside me, hips tight against mine, a low groan.

He leaned down and kissed me, hard and wet, tasting salt and pure lust. “Can you imagine what your mother would think if she could see you now?” he whispered in my ear. “I think she’d be proud.”

He eased his cock back out slowly. “Nice gape, Katie. Not so little right now.” I barked a laugh between gasps.

He unhooked my cuffs, freeing my wrists. My arms felt deliciously heavy and useless for a second, then alive. The clamps on my nipples were finally taken off, and the relief was enormous, like a pressure valve opening. He asked, casual as if we’d both just had coffee, “Do you want to go home or spend the night?”

My phone buzzed — Dad. I flipped it open and lied smooth as glass. Told him the hunt went well, the friend made supper, and that I fell asleep on the couch watching a movie. I said I was in the spare bedroom and would head to school in the morning. Lying felt fine. I felt no shame. In fact, I felt dangerous and free.

After I hung up, he strolled over and teased me about still wearing the collar during the call. I’d forgotten it was on; realizing made my pussy tingle all over again. “Maybe I’ll get you a tattoo to cement your title on that tan body of yours,” he said.

Oddly, that didn’t scare me. Maybe he was right about how I was wired.

“Come on,” he said, and we went to the spare room. I cleaned up quick, peed, and we slipped under the covers. I curled into him, warm and sated. We kissed again, soft this time, and I thanked him for the most insane, amazing day. He shrugged, casual.

“You’re welcome. I’d do this with you again — anytime, anywhere.”

Good, I thought. Very good.

“And one more thing, Katie,” he warned gently as I drifted toward sleep. “Don’t confuse lust with love. I’m more likely to share you with a group of my friends than I am to marry you.”

I looked at him, half-asleep, and smiled. “I’d be okay with that,” I murmured.

“That can be arranged,” he said, and the words slid over me like another promise.

I closed my eyes with a grin. My body was still buzzing. My mind, wondering where all of this would lead me.