Page 53 of Blowing Off Steam

“So might you,” Calliope pointed out.

Field said, “You’ve got that cunning honeymoon ensemble. Change into that.”

Calliope put her palms on her bosom. “But I want to wear this dress! This is the last time in my life I ever intend on wearing a wedding dress, and I want to get my satisfaction out of it.”

“You’d look just as exquisite ragged out in your honeymoon getup. Here, allow me to help you.”

Field rose and took Calliope’s hand but saw that Rushy looked a bit dejected. Field had worried about this, although Rushy protested that it wasn’t so. Rushy proclaimed that he was perfectly content with their arrangement—that Field should be the one to sign the marriage license and that they would continue their mutually gratifying understanding. Now Rushy just looked forlorn. Nobody would notice if Field took Rushy by the hand and led him down the saloon gallery. People were jammed into this room like moldy, musty sardines, and no one was paying attention to the other patrons who were groping each other’s vitals. They had discontinued their public exhibitions aboard “The Coitus Boat,” but their private displays went on as ever.

Field asked, “Does Cincinnatus know where to cut across Gonzalez’s wheat field?”

Cincinnatus had been selected to be the sole pilot today, one of the most difficult days of the El Dorado’s career, with floodwaters bringing down trees and the visibility of underwater snags almost nil in the murky swirling water. But Cincinnatus knew his soundings, echoes, and signs, and he was proud to be given this task. Now the river waters were so high one could steam directly across fields and islands, using tall trees or chimneys of farmhouses as guides, cutting down travel time. Field had not heard of any steamers being wrecked on anyone’s roof, so far.

“He’s fine, he’s fine,” said Rushy, practically shoving Field into the stateroom and locking the door behind him.

Turning her back to the men, Calliope began unpinning her veil. Field stayed her by placing a hand on her bare shoulder above the sloping sleeves of her elaborate dress. Turning her to face the full-length mirror, Field propped his chin on her sun-browned shoulder. “Look at how stunning you are. Isn’t she stunning, Rushy?”

Rushy’s apparition appeared in the mirror, grinning foolishly despite his own disarrayed state. “I want to make love to the bride, but it’s your turn first, buddy.”

A surge of warm color raced up Calliope’s bared bosom at this suggestion. It had been agreed awhile back that Calliope would remain a “virgin” until her wedding day. It was a silly, old-fashioned notion and they had done everything under the sun aside from fuck her six ways from Sunday. But Calliope liked the idea, and Field readily agreed with her. It would make it that much better when it happened.

“Yes.” Calliope smiled. “But you have to let me…arrange myself first.”

She reached out to the washstand and picked up a little object that resembled a sponge. Placing it in a dish, she uncorked a bottle of whiskey or some other amber-colored liquid and dribbled it on the sponge. With glimmering eyes she handed it to Field as though it were an oyster’s pearl.

He had seen hookers use contraception in this manner, and they had agreed to wait for awhile before having a child. “Do you want me to…”

“Insert it? Yes.” To display her intentions, Calliope leaned with both palms against the washstand, waggling her ass at Field.

Field crunched Calliope’s lush satin skirts in his hand, tucking a handful into the sash at her waist. Above the feminine little pearl-handled derringer she had cinched inside her garter, she wore no drawers at all. She spread apart her heeled slippers on the carpet and lifted her ass higher—Field needed no more encouragement. He slid the pocket pistol from her garter, placing it on a shelf, and pressed the dripping sponge against her mushy labia lips. Manipulating her from the rear, Field admired the view—her flaring hips widening out to an ass shaped like an upside-down heart, her blonde muff fringed with damp tendrils. He rubbed the sponge against her swollen pink clitoris, and she gasped like a steam valve.

Behind him, Rushy slowly eased the fancy frock coat from Field’s shoulder. Rushy nuzzled his neck with his hot mouth as he slid the material off past Field’s wrists. “You thrust that juicy, long prick up her beautiful cunt,” he advised.

Field’s cock was already stiff as a hammer, and he nudged the booze-soaked sponge inside Calliope’s slick pussy. He brought his other hand round her pubic bone to diddle her clitoris as she inhaled sharply. Watching her in the mirror was incredibly arousing—her bosom heaving, how she brought up a knee to prop herself wide open against the washstand, just her lacquered fingertips supporting her against the marble.

Field stuffed the sponge up as far as seemed practical, having never inserted one himself before. It was odd to be tickling her womb as though he were a doctor but also strangely stimulating, toying with his bride wearing such an opulent, luxurious gown. Reluctantly his dripping fingers slid out of the passageway. Whenever Rushy nibbled at his neck, gooseflesh spread down his chest, stiffening his nipples, making his cock twitch. “Why don’t you get on your knees and give her a good tongue-lashing. That’ll be her wedding gift.”

“I’m no damned good at that, remember?” Rushy murmured and swiftly slid a palm down Field’s abdomen to grip a handful of his bulging penis. Rushy’s other hand deftly unbuttoned Field’s shirt collar while he nipped at hiss earlobe. “Why would I,” Rushy breathed and plied an enormous, fat lick to the length of his neck, “when you’ve got the most talented, biggest mouth on the river.”

Field chuckled then, as much from ticklishness as from humor, allowing Rushy to delve his hot hand into his broadfall and withdraw his drooling cock. His pants dropped below his knees as Rushy nestled his packed, bulging crotch against the cleft of his ass.

But Calliope was impatient. “Boys, please!” She wagged her ass like a saucy dancer, gyrating her swollen clitoris against Field’s fingers. “I’m not just standing here for my health. Well, maybe I am, but…Please!”

It required great concentration to maintain Field’s deft fingering of her jutting appendage while positioning the head of his cock between her labia. She offered herself to him so vulnerably, her ass in the air all wide open like that. Field knew he wanted to feel her come around his prick. His first wife Victoria had adored it when he’d diddled her like this and had claimed to experience crisis, but it was difficult to know for certain, when women didn’t spew jism like men.

Now, with the muted light flooding in from the porthole bathing her, Calliope was offering herself to him. And Field very nearly ejaculated when his prick slid inside her the first inch.

“Ah,” Calliope gasped. “You have such a beautiful bull’s pizzle.”

Field slapped her ass to get her to stop speaking that way, or he’d come immediately. “Silence, woman!” he declared with mock authority.

Then Rushy started talking nasty and all hope was lost. “That’s right, you big stallion. Give it to her. Give it to your wife. Our wife. You’re just full of the devil. A big, lusty buck humping this stunning, comely woman.”

With a thud, Rushy’s gun belt dropped to the deck. His hot, dry prick stabbed Field between the buttocks. He didn’t know what he’d expected Rushy to do while he fucked Calliope. Stand there taking notes? Studiously give Field demerits for lacking in style? Field had taken many objects up his ass and had fucked Rushy in the same manner till the cows came home, but he’d never accepted anything as monumental as Rushy’s penis up his ass.

“Don’t you want to lick her pussy?” Field asked, attempting to sound very casual and mild about it.

“No,” Rushy murmured in his ear, salaciously licking the rim of it. The clink of a tin, and Field knew Rushy was smearing bear grease all over that mammoth pole. When Rushy’s fingertips greased up his anal sphincter, Field recoiled and tensed. Raising up on his toes, he thrust even farther into Calliope’s steamy twat, perhaps to get away from the monstrous appendage he knew was about to impale him. His fingers against her clitoris stilled. “I want to ride you Italian fashion. You’ve fucked me, Field. You’ve known what it’s like to shoot your load inside my tight asshole. Now I want you to feel what it’s like to be surrounded by the two people you love the most in the world. Fucking Calliope. And being fucked by me.”