Page 28 of A Good Prospect

“I know how you feel.” Ophir dared his hand to stray lower, and he inhaled sharply to finally touch the sultry hair of the oily, dark pubic bone. Sal didn’t flinch when Ophir boldly tickled the covering of skin there—no, he squeezed Ophir’s neck tighter and inhaled sharply. “It’s hell having to look upon something you want, and not be able to have it.”

“Ophir.” Sal gulped. “I won’t rest, I won’t give up, you know that.”

Ophir twined his fingers around the trunk of the prick hard as granite, surprised to actually feel the pulse of a vein there. “Maybe she doesn’t want either one of us,” Ophir said hoarsely. He slid his hand down to meet Sal’s, cupping his balls. Brazenly, Ophir squeezed the fullness of the scrotum, so burgeoning it had drawn up close to Sal’s body, full of his sweltering, delicious jism. “Maybe we’ll never get to suckle her lovely teat, or fill her navel with our tongues.”

Sal withdrew his hand from his balls, apparently content to let Ophir stimulate him. He let it dangle at his side, but Ophir had a feeling, from the rapid shallow pants puffing against his face, that Sal was also dangerously close to orgasm. “No. That can’t be. She’s a widow. She will want sex. You saw her swim. Saw her bathe. She wants sex.”

Ophir must be even bolder. “You think she wants this?” he hissed, and shamelessly gave Sal’s cock several lunging, twisting jerks of his fist that turned the man into a helpless puddle of entrails. Sal squeezed his eyes shut and tossed his head back in that vulnerable position that had got Ophir so hot moments ago. The full, muscular throat was so inviting that Ophir could not resist laying a couple of biting sucks there, but he wanted to see Sal, so he had to pull back a bit. He frigged the enormous appendage, so tight and weighty with semen that a few drops squirted out the tip.

“Sí,” Sal gasped, touching his forehead to Ophir’s again. “I think she wants this. Ay dios. Do it. Dios sí, do it.”

“Why would she want this, Sal?” Ophir teased, rubbing his thumb in the circular pattern that Sal seemed to favor over the bulging crown of the prick, while vigorously massaging the handful of swollen balls. “Because you are a nasty, hot, handsome hijo de puta who doesn’t give up until he gets what he wants?”

That did it. Salvador exploded in Ophir’s pumping hand, hips jerking spasmodically. Sal’s strangled cries seemed to get stuck in his throat. “Ai…ai…ai…” The warm jet splashed against the underside of Ophir’s jaw as he encouraged his partner.

“That’s right…Show me what Tamasin’s missing. What is she missing, Sal? Big, hot streams of your raw jism spurting out this big, long Californio prick. That’s right. Don’t stop.” He milked the penis heartily as surge after surge of delicious semen spurted, running down Ophir’s throat, over his collarbone, trickling down beneath his shirt.

He slowed his pumping as only another man would know to do when Sal began hissing for breath, squeezing his eyes shut hard so little frown lines of agony and ecstasy appeared. Now Ophir petted the long cock with the flat of his hand, and massaged the balls gently, almost lovingly. The two men would not kiss, for that would have been admitting their lust was for each other and not for the girl who bathed in the river.

“Buen chico…” Ophir soothed him.

At last Salvador relaxed enough to exhale fully, and he wove the fingers of both hands together around Ophir’s neck. He attempted to chuckle a bit, although his panting prick still dangled at half mast between them. “Sí, exactamente,” he laughed. “Just like that.” Shaking his sweaty head so that salty drops sprayed onto Ophir’s face, Sal pulled back and said cheerily, “That is what I think the woman wants.”

Ophir smiled too, slapping his throbbing erection against Sal’s flagging one. He didn’t mind. He had many nauseating memories of being manhandled by other men, but not a one clouded his feelings for frigging a man. He’d never done it before, so there was nothing to ruin the powerful and freeing sensation of wrapping his hand around such a stupendous organ and bringing such a commanding and stalwart man, well, literally to his knees. Ophir liked the feeling of wielding this power. It meant that Salvador might return for more, when Tamasin shied away in fear. “I’ll bet it is, buddy,” he said agreeably, cradling Sal’s testicles in his palm.

He could tell by Sal’s nervous laugh that he was about to pull away, to button up his calzoneras and talk about looking for whatever bandits had probably already kidnapped Tamasin by now. It was a shame to act like nothing had ever happened, but just as Sal detached himself from Ophir and turned toward the river to smooth down his shirt, an engaging lilt came from the bushes.

“You devilish fellows!”

Tamasin seemed perfectly unsurprised to discover her two employers facing each other with cocks slapping together. In fact, she came forward fully clothed in a fresh Californio outfit, her short skirt displaying her ankles, her head kerchief covering the fact she hadn’t replaited her coiffure, perhaps in her eagerness to laugh at them. Still on their knees, both men instantly swiveled to face her, cocks bobbing in the air, calzoneras shoved down to their knees. There was no explaining this one away, but Ophir had a feeling they didn’t have to.

As the men tried to stand and stuff their cocks away from sight and laugh simultaneously, Tamasin sashayed over girlishly. “You devils! Do you do this all the time? No wonder you’re always so happy.”

The men looked quizzically at each other. Salvador was the first to gain his composure. “Sure.” He turned to Ophir for affirmation. “I mean, why not, right?”

“Oh, yeah, yeah,” Ophir agreed. “We do it all the time. There’s nothing wrong with it.”

Salvador even started getting a bit carried away in his enthusiasm. “Right! It’s completely normal. You know, out here in the wild frontier, we men do all sorts of unexpected things.”

Ophir was still buttoning the ball and chain closure below his groin, but he wanted to cut off Salvador’s relish for his subject, so he said, “You enjoy this sort of thing, right, Tamasin?”

Her smile faded a bit, and she looked at his boots with uncertainty. “I…” Then she cheered. “I would like to enjoy that sort of thing, yes! I think it’s possible.”

The two men shared warm, conspiratorial glances. Now they had opened up this topic, a world of possibilities were laid bare to them, but just then a “halloo” echoed down the canyon, and all three heads looked up.

Knut.

Tying his sash at his waist, Salvador stalked up to Tamasin. “But we don’t generally go around discussing it, do you understand? People like Knut, or my mother, or religious Californios in general don’t appreciate it.”

Tamasin’s delightfully round berry mouth opened gently. “Yes,” she agreed. “Like the nuns in the asylum. They say the wasting of seed for other than procreation in marriage is a sin.”

Ophir pointed at the ground. “Exactly.” He even clapped a hand on her shoulder, to solidify her membership in this new club. “Knut is afraid of ladies, in case you haven’t noticed,” he grinned.

“Oh, I noticed! He turns away as though burned if he happens to glance at my ankle.”

“Hola amigos…”

Knut was getting closer, so they had to retrieve their mounts and go meet him. They set out, and the feeling of being a team now was palpable. Ophir was struck that Knut could have seen them in the grip of eroticism like that, if Tamasin so easily peeked over the lip of the bench where they grappled. The feeling they were indulging in a bit of secretive but passionate shenanigans gave their furtive glances more meaning, and suddenly the future seemed to promise more joy, too.