Page 43 of Working the Lode

“Three-Fingered Jack and Feliz?” Bowmaker questioned mildly. He pressed his erection to Joaquin’s ass, so succulent, so rounded, so firm. “Aren’t those the chaps I whaled on at Sutter’s Fort?”

Valenzuela craned his neck to address Bowmaker, nestling against his throat. Bowmaker slithered his fingers through Joaquin’s sleek hair and breathed hotly against his temple. “Feliz was the one you elbowed in the jaw,” Joaquin admitted. “He still wants to raise your hair for knocking out his tooth. But Garcia was the one you crippled. He still can’t get on his mount without assistance.”

Bowmaker lowered the neckline of Zel’s chemise so that one plump breast bounced free. She smiled leonine to indicate her approval as Bowmaker urged Joaquin’s face toward her. “Effective methods, you would say?”

Joaquin licked Zelnora’s breast with a fat tongue. Watching another man lick his woman aroused Bowmaker, wondering what Zelnora must feel having a strange man accost her while her fiancé watched. She grinned lazily, gripping Valenzuela’s shoulders with her fingertips. Bowmaker slid one sure palm around the slope of Joaquin’s luscious ass, running two fingers between his spread thighs to tickle the sensitive bulge between his balls and asshole.

Joaquin muttered, “You have very effective methods, pelirrojo,” before diving down to slurp Zelnora’s nipple into his mouth.

Ho, boy, Bowmaker wanted to feel that dark hot pole in his fist again. He was no longer ashamed to enjoy the hard plumpness of another man’s stimulated prick as it pulsated in his grip. But tonight he needed to please Zelnora. He wanted her to esteem Valenzuela just as much as he did, and that would mean risking his own jealousy while watching the bandit pleasure his woman.

“It would distress me if you needed assistance mounting,” Bowmaker murmured into Joaquin’s ear.

Zelnora was inching up her skirts. He was slightly shocked to hear her salaciously say, “Joaquin needs no assistance mounting.”

Bowmaker nibbled on the velvety side of Joaquin’s neck. “Kiss her,” he commanded.

It was odd, watching Valenzuela clamp his lips over Zelnora’s eager mouth. Bowmaker’s instant reaction was to yank a handful of Valenzuela’s hair till his neck snapped, and paste him in the nose. He stayed this overwhelming feeling by deepening the bites to Valenzuela’s neck and unbuttoning his calzoneras with long, nimble fingers.

He would direct Valenzuela. If he was the one guiding their actions, he reckoned he would not feel this possessive envy whenever Joaquin laid a hand on Zel. So he squiggled his tongue up and down the side of Valenzuela’s strong neck while sliding a palm down his belly to unleash his cock. Fingering the long, dusky prick caused Joaquin to rock his hips, pressing his erection into Bowmaker’s hand, deepening his wet kisses upon Zelnora. With his thumb, Bowmaker described unctuous wreaths about the crown of the prick, making Joaquin gasp against Zel’s mouth and gooseflesh sprinkle the globes of his curvaceous butt.

Bowmaker revealed his own cock, desiring to rub drops of semen against that succulent ass. It was no different than rubbing against a woman’s backside, after all, although Bowmaker could not fool himself that he did not handle a slick, hot penis. The sweaty meat pulsated as Valenzuela humped his palm, Bowmaker rotating his pumping as though milking a cow, up, down, and over the tip of the erection. The bandit’s pleasured moaning incited Bowmaker to release his own ecstatic growls while he nibbled on his earlobe, daring to glide the entire length of his mammoth penis against the juicy ass. Joaquin grunted, whether with approval or not, Bowmaker only knew by the sudden pulsing of the cock in his hand. As Zelnora’s thighs were spread and she panted invitingly, teats bouncing happily, Bowmaker urged the quivering prick toward her pussy.

Valenzuela was pressed between the two lovers. Perhaps as it would have taken too much effort to complain or extricate himself, he allowed Bowmaker’s massaging fingers to guide him to Zel’s honeypot, and with a deep groan he entered her to the hilt.

“Ah, eres una mujer encantadora,” Joaquin uttered against Zel’s mouth.

Bowmaker was surprised to hear Zel reply in Spanish also. “Eres una hombre apuesto,” she sighed. You are a beautiful man.

Now that he had his friend pleasantly seated, to further stave off the jealousy that a foreign body lay atop his fiancée, Bowmaker thought it only equitable to pleasure himself against that delicious raw butt, uplifted for his taking. Plunging his hand between the outspread thighs, he cupped the pulsating testicles in his palm, abrading their fullness with loving squeezes and mushy caresses. Valenzuela fucked Zelnora slowly, holding himself up on his elbows and gazing down into her face, eyes locked onto hers. Only occasionally did his pupils quiver and contract with ecstasy. Otherwise he was the picture of concentration, as though he wished to remember every pore on his beloved’s face.

Ho, boy, the buoyant succulence of Joaquin’s ass as Bowmaker smeared his quivering cock over the trembling, meaty muscles. He could gratify himself against that ass—why not? It would be nearly the same as fucking Zelnora himself, to hump that delicious butt in tandem with Joaquin’s thrusts. Arousing the bulging balls with his palm, Bowmaker positioned himself gently atop the desperado and lunged his hips, stroking his cock against the smooth flank.

“That’s good, Cormack,” Zelnora urged sweetly, without removing her gaze from Joaquin’s. “Fuck his heavenly rump. Revenge yourself for how he shamed you.”

Fuck another man? That thought had not occurred to Bowmaker—at least, not today, so far. Yet the idea filled him with such lust he nearly climaxed against the resilient ass, and it seemed that Joaquin spread his thighs even wider to signal his acceptance. Yes, he would revenge himself for that public cock-slapping he’d received, when several odious brigands had stood around with erect pricks enjoying the sight of Valenzuela demeaning his pride, as well as his stiff and yearning penis.

Greasing up his pole with spittle, Bowmaker gently fingered the tight opening. Had Valenzuela debased other men in this manner before? He was certain this snug passage had never accommodated another man’s cock. When he slid a finger up the ass, shocked at the slick heat clutching him, Joaquin inhaled sharply, but did not alter the slow, languid fucking he was giving Zel.

Bowmaker growled against the other man’s throat. “You like that, you debauched bandit? I’m doggone if you ain’t dreamed of having a prick up this tight little ass. I’ll fill you up”—he gasped when he pressed the crown of his penis against the opening—“with a bucket of my hot seed, while I—“

“Fuck me like a man, Bowmaker.”

Joaquin’s imperious demand rang out in the little cabin, divine with elegant Castilian tones. It was a command Bowmaker could not ignore, and he humped his prick farther up the blistering asshole.

Joaquin seemed to lose his control then. His head slumped forward on a rubbery neck and he choked on his moans. Not even Zelnora’s nearly virginal pussy had been as hot and tight as this, and it was beyond ecstasy to feel against the underside of his prick the throbbing of Joaquin’s bulging penis inside Zel. He would erupt soon if he did not still himself, but a few more jabs of his bursting prick and Joaquin was jetting spurt after spurt inside the woman.

He could feel it! How odd, the flow of semen up Joaquin’s prick, the clutching at his own prick, the twitching and spasms urging and milking an orgasm from him.

“There. How’s that.” Bowmaker moaned in staccato sentences. “You want this. A man’s jism inside. Your sweet ass. Go ahead. Spew that jism. You want it. You. Want. Me.”

“Fuck me, Cormack,” Joaquin gasped, and that was when Bowmaker went off.

He ejaculated load after load, though he had dared to stuff only half the length of his meaty penis into that asshole. It was the Cormack that got to him, calling him by his given name so intimately, setting him off. Erupting inside the narrow channel, Bowmaker drifted in and out of consciousness while the rapture poured over his entire body. A sheen of sweat broke out along his back and thighs, cooling him, feathering against his swollen balls.

Who knew how long they lay like that, clammy and panting, half-awake and twitching with the ebb of orgasm. It was Zelnora who shoved the bandit off of her, squirming off the bedstead and padding off somewhere. Both men rolled onto their backs and eventually blinked up at the ceiling. Both simultaneously flung their limp hands onto their own bellies, both embarrassed they acted in synchronicity.

“Heaps of beaver,” Zelnora breathed.

Bowmaker raised himself on his elbows, swarms of transparent bubbles swimming before his eyes. Zelnora stood before the window glass, peering out into the darkening field.

“There’s a strange horse!” she declared before swinging out the door.

At last Bowmaker and Valenzuela looked at each other.

“’Strange horse’?” they both said at once.

Just then Valenzuela’s horse whinnied. It sounded neighborly to Bowmaker, but all the same the two men shot off the bedstead as they buttoned their pants.

At the window, Valenzuela whispered, “Who is that?”

Bowmaker was stunned. “Erskine.”

It was then he realized. He had earlier heard the horse whinny, maybe ten minutes before. While he was sliding his prick up another man’s ass.