Howl

 

Lucy, Howl at the moon, shoot out the lights. 

Six pack of beer and a bottle of wine, and 18 year old lucy is Howling at the moon, shooting out the lights, being bad and having a good time. Lord, how she got them britches on, probably won’t be for much longer as she stumbles around the cap fire, plaid shirt hanging open letting her big tits swing free in the moon light. Lucy is a stunning brunette with sun-bleached blonde streaks in shoulder-length hair; flushed complexion and glazed, half-lidded brown eyes. Athletic build accentuated by toned abdomen and pronounced bust (clearly braless under unbuttoned flannel shirt). Wears tight jeans, leather boots, and carries a cheap liquor bottle clutched loosely in one hand. 

The fire crackled and spat, throwing sparks into the black Texas sky. Lucy stood swaying in the dirt, high heel boots wobbling near the tailgate, jeans riding low on her hips like they’d been painted on. The plaid shirt hung open, flapping with every sway of her body. Moonlight painted silver across the heavy sway of her tits, nipples peaked from the chill and the thrill. She tipped the bottle of cheap whiskey to her lips, amber liquid spilling down her chin, dripping between her breasts in sticky rivulets.

“Fuck yeah,” she laughed, voice husky from the beer, wine and now whishey. She raised the .22 rifle one-handed, the other still clutching the bottle. *Crack.* A lightbulb on the string above the camp exploded in a shower of glass. *Crack.* Another. The boys whooped from their lawn chairs, half-drunk and half-hard, watching her like she was the only thing worth seeing in the whole damn county.

Lucy spun, hair whipping across her flushed cheeks, sun-bleached streaks catching the firelight like gold. She stumbled, caught herself on the cooler, and grinned wide. “Who’s next?” she slurred, eyes glassy and wild. “Who wants to see me *really* misbehave?”

Bobby—lanky, stupid, and nineteen—stood up too fast, beer sloshing over his knuckles. “I’ll take that bet, Luce.”

She crooked a finger. “Then come here, cowboy.”

He crossed the dirt in three strides. Lucy shoved the rifle into his hands, grabbed the front of his shirt, and yanked him down to her level. Her mouth crashed into his, all teeth and tongue and the sharp bite of merlot. Jake groaned, hands going to her waist, thumbs brushing the warm skin above her jeans. She tasted like smoke and sin.

Behind them, the fire popped. Someone killed the last string light with a rock. Darkness swallowed the camp, broken only by the moon and the orange glow of the flames.

Lucy broke the kiss, breathless. “My Jeans,” she panted. “Get ’em off me.”

Bobby’s fingers fumbled with the button, the zipper. The denim peeled down her thighs like a second skin, catching on the curve of her ass before she kicked free. No panties. Of course. She stood there in nothing but the open shirt and the night, goosebumps racing across her skin.

She turned, slow, letting the firelight lick over every inch. Her stomach was tight, abs flexing as she breathed. Her tits swayed heavy and free, nipples dark against pale skin. Between her legs, a neat strip of dark hair glistened—already wet, already aching.

“On your knees,” she said.

Bobby dropped like he’d been shot. Lucy threaded fingers through his hair, guiding him forward. The first swipe of his tongue made her gasp, hips jerking. She tasted herself on the night air—salt and sweet and the faint copper of adrenaline. The bottle slipped from her grip, rolling into the dirt, forgotten.

She rode his mouth slow at first, grinding against his tongue, thighs trembling. The moon watched. The fire watched. The other boys watched, silent now, hands in their laps. Lucy’s head fell back, throat exposed, a low moan building in her chest.

“Fuck—*yes*—”

Her orgasm hit like a backfire, sharp and sudden. She shuddered, knees buckling, but Jake held her up, licking her through it until she shoved him away with a laugh that cracked like a whip.

She turned, eyes finding Cody in the shadows—quiet one, always watching. “Your turn.”

Cody didn’t need telling twice. He was behind her in a heartbeat, hands rough on her hips, cock already out and heavy against her ass. Lucy bent forward, palms braced on the cooler, shirt falling off one shoulder. The head of him nudged her entrance, slick and ready.

“*Now*,” she growled.

He thrust in with one stroke, filling her so sudden she cried out. The stretch burned perfect. Cody’s hands gripped her waist, pulling her back onto him with every snap of his hips. The slap of skin on skin echoed over the crackle of the fire. Lucy’s tits bounced with each thrust, nipples brushing the cold metal of the cooler.

She reached back, nails digging into his thigh. “Harder.”

He gave it to her. The rhythm turned brutal, desperate. Lucy’s moans turned to broken sobs of pleasure, her body coiling tight again. Cody’s hand slid around, fingers finding her clit, rubbing rough circles until she shattered a second time, clenching around him so hard he cursed and followed her over, spilling hot inside her with a groan.

They stayed locked like that for a moment, panting. Then Lucy straightened, shirt hanging off her elbows, cum and sweat shining on her thighs. She turned, slow, and faced the fire.

“Who’s next?” she asked again, voice raw.

The night was young. The moon was full. And Lucy was just getting started.