Page 24 of Blowing Off Steam

So Calliope humped Rushy’s ass with her mound and exhorted, “That’s good, Field. Good. Slide your hand inside his shirt and pinch his delicious nipples. Get him hot and hard.” She couldn’t see, but she could tell by Rushy’s fiery snorting that he was being stimulated to unbearable heights, and he now knew how it felt to be unable to do anything about it. Craning her neck around Rushy’s arm, she commanded Field, “Now. I bet his crotch is bulging so he’s about to burst his buttons. Grab him, Field. Take his entire prick in your greedy hand and squeeze.”

What had been designed to drive Rushy out of his mind was now doing the same to Calliope. Field snaked a hand down Rushy’s chest, lustily clutching Rushy’s muscular pectoral before tickling his way down the lean abdomen to grab a handful of straining meat. Rushy grunted his approval, his sucking mouth still latched onto Field’s. Calliope proceeded to hump her mons veneris up and down the crack of Rushy’s ass just as her last hairpin came undone and fell to the wooden deck with a click.

The sudden foreign sound made her look aside, as though she’d forgotten where she was. The three gray-haired captains of industry sitting at one table looked at them mildly, slightly skewed in their seats as though watching a vaguely interesting banjo demonstration. The bartender must have completely bunked in for the night, and the industrialists did have moderate geriatric erections, so Calliope continued to direct Field.

“Doesn’t that feel good, Field? Knowing how well you’re arousing Rushy, but he can do nothing about it?”

“Damnation.” Field ardently slurped at Rushy’s mouth. “I’ve wanted to feel this massive cock for so long now.” He groped the bulging prick through the trousers in that expert way men had after decades of pleasuring their own cocks. Rushy now whimpered like a cowering dog, and Calliope could bet apples to another fruit no one had ever heard of that he’d never been manhandled like this, completely at another man’s mercy.

Rushy detached from the kiss by banging his head back against the stateroom door, his panting coming all in a sudden rush as though he had finally cracked. As he humped Field’s groping hand, his rump also fucked Calliope’s steaming pussy, her spongy labia lips rubbing against her swollen clitoris, nearly bringing her off. She had never achieved so many simultaneous near-orgasms while everyone was fully clothed.

“Damn it all to hell,” Field groaned, taking a deep bite from the exposed expanse of Rushy’s throat. He massaged Rushy’s bulging tool with such enthusiastic expertise, using the heel of his hand to manipulate the glans that strained so eagerly, Calliope could view the outline of its pleasing mushroom shape through the fabric. Against the pit of Rushy’s throat, Field harshly uttered, “I want to just fuck you in the Italian way, you magnificent fucking stallion.”

Calliope could tell then by the way Rushy suddenly choked as though drowning, hips jerking as his haunches contracted, that he was spewing inside his own trousers. A gush of pussy juice flowed down her inner thigh, and she joined her tongue near Field’s to lick Rushy’s vulnerable throat.

“Isn’t that good, Captain Wakeman?” she teased as Field’s eager palm coaxed more spurts from him. “Milk him, Field. Milk that delicious cock.”

Bully for Rushy! As Field had predicted, what had been planned as a punishment had turned into Rushy’s reward—although he would feel sticky and grimy in a few minutes.

“Hey! I told you to go to sleep!”

Reflexively, Calliope cried, “Oh, dear Lord!”

The three outlaws—and probably the three captains of industry as well—all leaped to attention at the painfully shrill shout. Oddly, it was Rushy who first detached from their clutch and took a few authoritative steps toward Tobias, who was leaning out his stateroom door and yelling down the saloon gallery.

“Avast, you windbag!” Rushy hollered, loud enough to wake up the wolves. “Mind your own Ps and Qs! Get back in your bunk before I have you keelhauled!”

Calliope didn’t know what “keelhaul” meant, but it seemed to do the trick, for Tobias vanished into his stateroom as though Rushy was about to fling some cow shit at him and slammed the door.

Rushy turned toward them with a deep sigh, adjusting his cock with a pained grimace. “Field. Why did you give him a stateroom in the texas?”

Field laughed fully, and it was a beautiful sight. “Like I had any choice? All right, get on with you. I’ll see you at sunrise.”

Grinning with exhaustion, Rushy staggered off to his stateroom, and Field looked about to strike for his. As an afterthought, he turned to Calliope as she opened her door.

“Hey. How did you get that opium out of my locked stateroom?”

His look was so mild and attractive, and he was so disheveled and handsome, a surge of affection welled in her chest. Over her shoulder she said saucily, “Oh. You know us naughty schoolgirls. We have our methods of doing things.”

Field moved toward her with outspread arms as though about to kiss her, but Calliope dove into her room, closing and locking the door behind her. She giggled to herself, but she was too tired to even bother frigging herself. Tonight.

CHAPTER TEN

“Is this the right place?” Field asked.

“The sign says ‘Haight, Agent.’”

The two men looked quizzically at the unassuming storefront and the sign that also advertised live chickens. A place where, apparently, bachelors could get their laundry done. Next door to the building was a livery stable roofed with dried tule fronds. Miners and emigrants seeking new mounts argued loudly over a pack of shivering mules and raw-boned horses, and swarms of flies erupted wherever the water cart sprinkled, turning horse shit into a smelly swamp.

Field wondered, “This is the office of the big bug? I smell a rat.”

“It won’t be the first time old Tobias has steered us wrong. But he claimed this Soquel Haight fellow is the biggest bug in Sacramento. That he has all the big dogs in the palm of his hand.”

The door opened then, and Field was amused to see Sam Brannan step out. Field scanned Rushy’s face since it was always funny to see the panic-stricken expression whenever Brannan was nearby. This time was no exception, and Rushy nearly fell back against the window that was covered from the inside by butcher’s paper, his face white and aghast.

“My boys!” Brannan cried heartily. “Captain Wakeman!” Without prompting, Brannan stuck out a mitt to shake Rushy’s limp hand.

“Uh,” said Rushy.