Kyle returned from the kitchen with a tall tumbler, swirling and clinking with ice. He set it down beside Tiffany’s tape recorder and gazed in admiration at the fullness of her breasts.
“Beautiful,” he said, smiling into her eyes.
She struggled for breath. “Nature’s bounty,” she joked.
“They are indeed,” he said. His voice, close now, no more than three feet away, rode like a caring lover’s tongue up along Tiffany’s swollen pussy-lips, pulsing at her clit. She gasped for breath, struggling to hide his effect on her. “Now then,” he said, releasing the Pause button and resuming his seat on the sofa, “where did I leave off? Ah, yes.”
Right around the time El Paso’s famed marshall Dallas Stoudenmire got himself killed on the streets of that fair city, Lily Mae Dalton and Hefty Jake Gentry converged—from opposite ways and unbeknownst to one another—on the unsuspecting town of Stinking Springs, New Mexico.
Town? Hell, it was more like two bricks and a board, a few bent nails, some windows, and a whole heap of prayer and pretending. But back then I called it home, me all of eighteen and knowing no better.
I knew one thing though: My dick was dying to jilt my fist, to wrap itself snug and warm in some gal’s wet hot pussy.
My friends’ dicks too. We pooled our meager funds and drew straws. I won the draw. Went right over to Hank Plowright’s smithy, two doors down from the saloon, where he was stoking the fires, preparatory to shoeing a horse. I held out my coins and a grimace broke over his big beefy face. “She’s up those stairs, boy,” he said. “This buys you fifteen minutes.
No more. If your skinny little pecker ain’t disengaged from my daughter’s twat in fifteen minutes, I’ll double-brand your balls, so help me God. Now git!”
I got.
Not two minutes later, Annie and me were free of all fetter and jouncing the fuck out of her springs (they’d suffered a load of jouncing) right there on her mung-stenched bed by a wide-open window that let out onto the main street. Many’s the time me and my friends’d loiter beneath that window, listening to some cowpoke grunt his wages into good old Annie Plowright, blazing a trail to heaven. Now ’twas me that clambered up her cumulus flesh, hand over fist, approaching the pearly gates of here-I-come-Jesus.
But over the noise of our jouncing, I heard Stinking Springs leap suddenly to life. Doors slammed, dogs took to howling like coyotes, boots pounded on the planking down below, and voices rose up in holler and shout. Couldn’t say at first whether ’twas anger, or joy, or fear, or something else that provoked it.
Annie heard it too. She slowed her hips and hove her eyes toward the window. “What the heck’s goin’ on out there?” she asked.
I told her I didn’t know. Didn’t much care one way or the other. Not where I was situated at the moment.
“Can the crap, Kyle,” she said. “I care what’s raising such a ruckus. Pull out and let me up.”
I did and damned if she didn’t lean on the sill, poke her head out the window, reach behind her, and shove my stiffness back up inside her like she was a bitch and I was her spry old hound dog. Felt good to ease into her again and lean down along her back, gathering those big balloony bazooms into my hands. Her hair, which was the color and consistency of straw, smelled like a hayloft, but I nuzzled her neck anyway and found a pleasing rhythm below.
I could see just about the whole stretch of street and most of the buildings over yonder. Folks were lined up three-deep in front of the bank and off in either direction. Faces filled the windows. I thought to pull back for modesty’s sake, but no one was taking any notice of Annie and me. They had their sights trained in one direction or the other. What struck me as odd though was that, without exception, the women were staring off to our left and the men sharp right.
The doorbell rang.
Kyle looked up, smiled at Tiffany, and hit the Pause button.
“Must be Dawn and Felicity,” said Kyle. “Always forgetting their keys. ’Scuse me a second, lovely lady.” He rose and went to the door.
Tiffany took the opportunity to kick off her shoes and undo the top buttons of her blouse. She found the old man’s voice surprisingly seductive, and its effect seemed to be cumulative: He looked better with each passing moment. She couldn’t remember being so horny.
The door burst open under Kyle’s hand and two women loaded down with bags of groceries rode the explosion in. They planted wide-mouthed burrowing kisses on his cheeks, kisses that left bright crimson smears. Then they breezed by him, chattering nonstop, into the kitchen. The brunette (Felicity she guessed), tall, lithe, and taut-muscled, sizzled with spring-loaded zest. Her companion, Dawn, was a billowy blonde, as buxom and luscious as a peach tree plumped up and brimming with sun-blushed fruit.
Kyle shrugged happily. “My live-in lovers,” he said, resuming his seat. “They may wander in and out. Pay them no mind. They’ve been told not to bother us.”
“Your live-in what?”
Dawn poked her head around the kitchen door. “Kyle honey… oh, hi… um, sorry, Miss—”
“Tiffany,” she said. “Tiffany Walker.”
“Oh sure, now I remember. Like Tiffany lamps. You look swell. Soft as a peach. Kyle sure can pick ’em, can’t he?”
Then to Kyle: “You want something to eat, baby?”
“You and Felicity,” said Kyle, “I want your sweet tangy nectar oozing all over my face and delighting this old man’s tongue.”
Dawn beamed a smile that could melt diamonds. “Ooh Kyle honey, you’re making me flush and pucker all over.” She blew him a kiss and was gone.
“Now where were we?” Kyle asked. “Tiffany?”
She was feeling light-headed. “Um?”
“Undo one more button, will you? For my sake.”
She did as he asked.
Kyle smiled and fingered Pause again.
With my rod tucked snug inside Annie and my palms to either side of her elbows on the window sill, I could see Hefty Jake riding into town off to our left, his jet-black stallion snorting like a raging bull. Jake’s manhood rode before him, standing up stiff as a knight’s lance. Its tip glistened like red brass in the sunlight and its shaft was as hard and empurpled as dark amethyst.
At the peal of a high whinny to my right, I swung my head about and took in, not far distant, Lily Mae astride a milk-white filly, its chestnut mane flowing free. Jesus God I just about let fly with Old Faithful then and there. Annie was dull meat beside this vision. Lily Mae rode in without a stitch, high-breasted, full-hipped, with a face that begged to be fucked and loved, and hair that tumbled long and blond down her back. Her black leather saddle, studded all over with silver, glistened where her pussy-lips kissed it. Lily Mae dismounted. The sight of her shapely legs and the gape of her golden-haired gash made my heart clamor and half the town gasp. She dropped to the street like a gymnast coming off the parallel bars.
Touching boot to ground, Hefty Jake slapped his steed smack on its ebony rump to give himself room. Then he tore off his clothes and flung them aside. I saw Sadie Flynn the preacher’s wife faint and fall in front of the bank. No one noticed her but me, they were all so busy goggling their eyes. You could tell Jake was riled and upset. Put off his stride. He wasn’t used to streets that stayed empty of womenfolk this long.