The humidity in Citrus Grove hung like a wet rag. Crickets screamed in the palmettos. A single yellow bug light buzzed over the sagging porch of the old shotgun house, throwing long shadows across the peeling paint and the two cheap lawn chairs that had seen better years. A cooler of ice and cheap American beer sat between them. The air smelled like cut grass, diesel from the truck in the yard, and the faint sweetness of orange blossoms from the groves a mile down the county road.
Colt sat in the bigger chair, legs spread, a sweating can in one hand. Daisy had been pacing, restless after a long shift at the diner, her tank top already damp between her breasts. She dropped into his lap without asking, the way she had since they were kids, only now her ass was heavier, her hips wider, and the thin cotton of her shorts left almost nothing between them.
She felt it immediately.
His cock was already thick and hard, trapped against the crease of her ass through his basketball shorts. Daisy froze for half a second, beer can halfway to her mouth. Then she shifted, grinding down just enough to confirm it wasn’t her imagination. Colt’s breath hitched. He didn’t push her off.
“Jesus, Daisy,” he muttered, voice low.
She took a long swallow of beer, throat working, then leaned back against his chest. Her tank top had ridden up. No bra. The night air tightened her nipples until they stood out like they were begging. She rolled her hips again, slower this time, feeling the fat ridge of him pulse against her.
“You’re hard as a fuckin’ fence post,” she said, not looking at him.
“You sat on me.”
“I sit on you all the time.”
“Not like this.”
Daisy set her beer on the porch rail. She reached back, found the waistband of his shorts, and slid her hand inside. His cock jumped in her fist, heavy, hot, the head already slick. She stroked him once, from root to tip, then again, slower. Colt’s hands came up and settled on her thighs, thumbs digging in.
“You been thinkin’ about this?” she asked.
“Every time you wear those little shorts.”
She squeezed him harder. “I need you to suck my tits.”
Colt didn’t answer with words. He yanked the tank top up over her breasts. They spilled out, full and pale in the bug light, nipples dark and tight. He palmed one, then the other, thumbs circling. Daisy arched, pushing them into his hands. He leaned around her, mouth closing over the left nipple first. He sucked hard, wet, noisy, tongue flicking while his teeth grazed. She gasped and ground down on his cock, the fabric of her shorts already soaked through.
He switched sides, sucking the right one even harder, pulling it deep into his mouth until her whole breast was stretched. Daisy’s head fell back against his shoulder. One of his hands left her tit and shoved down the front of her shorts. Two thick fingers found her cunt already dripping. He pushed them in without warning, curling, rubbing that spot that made her thighs shake.
“Fuck, Colt—right there—”
He kept sucking her tits like he was starving, switching back and forth, leaving them shiny and red while his fingers fucked her in short, filthy strokes. Daisy rode his hand and the thick cock under her ass, beer forgotten, porch forgotten. The only sounds were the wet suck of his mouth, the slick noise of his fingers, and her broken little moans.
She came on his fingers first, clenching hard, soaking his hand and the front of his shorts. Colt didn’t stop. He kept sucking her nipples and pumping his fingers until she was twitching and oversensitive.
Daisy stood up on shaky legs, yanked her shorts and panties down, and kicked them aside. She straddled him again, this time skin to skin, and reached between them to line his cock up. The head was fat, flushed, leaking. She rubbed it through her folds, coating him, then sat down in one slow, stretching drop.
They both groaned.
He was thick enough that it took her a minute to take all of him. Daisy planted her hands on his shoulders and started riding, rolling her hips, lifting and dropping so every inch dragged along her walls. Colt’s mouth went back to her tits immediately, sucking one while he pinched the other. The porch chair creaked under them. Somewhere down the road a dog barked, but neither of them cared.
“Harder,” she whispered. “Fuck me like you mean it.”
Colt grabbed her ass with both hands and started thrusting up to meet her. The wet slap of skin filled the night. Daisy’s tits bounced in his face; he caught a nipple again and sucked like he was trying to pull milk. She came a second time, tighter, milking his cock, but he didn’t stop. He stood up with her still impaled, carried her two steps, and laid her back on the porch boards. Her legs went over his shoulders. He folded her in half and drove in deep, pounding her into the wood.
The bug light painted everything yellow and dirty. Daisy’s tits jiggled with every thrust. Colt leaned down and sucked them again, never missing a stroke, spit running down her chest. She clawed his back, heels digging into his shoulders.
“Gonna come in you,” he growled against her breast.
“Do it. Fill me up, brother.”
He slammed in one last time and came hard, pulsing, flooding her. Daisy felt every spurt. He kept rocking through it, grinding the last of it into her, still sucking her tit like he couldn’t let go.
They didn’t stop.
Colt pulled out, flipped her onto her hands and knees on the porch, and ate her from behind, tongue pushing his own come back into her, then licking up to her clit. Daisy pushed back against his face, moaning into the night. When she was shaking again he stood, lined up, and fucked her doggy-style, one hand reaching under to squeeze and slap her tits while they hung and swung.
Later they made it inside. Kitchen table. He sat her on the edge, spread her legs, and sucked her tits while he fingered her until she came again. Then he bent her over the table and took her from behind, slower this time, deeper, talking dirty the whole way.
“These tits been drivin’ me crazy since you turned eighteen.”
“Should’ve sat on your lap sooner.”
He came in her a second time, then they stumbled to his bedroom. Daisy rode him reverse, back to his chest so he could reach around and play with her tits while she bounced. He sucked the side of her neck and pinched her nipples until they were dark and sore. She came so hard she almost blacked out.
They fucked until the beer was gone and the sky started lightening over the groves. Daisy ended up on her back again, Colt between her thighs, sucking one tit then the other while he ground his still-hard cock in lazy circles. She held his head there, fingers in his hair.
“Don’t stop suckin’ them,” she whispered. “I like it when my brother does it.”
He didn’t stop.
By the time they finally passed out, her tits were covered in bite marks and spit, her cunt was swollen and leaking, and the porch boards outside still smelled like sex and cheap beer. The sun came up over Citrus Grove the same as always. Nobody else needed to know what happened on that porch.
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