My cock was suddenly awash in whorish cunt-fluid.
“Glory be, what a man!” gushed Annie.
“Lily Mae Dalton,” shouted Jake. “You plant your pert little butt right back on that filly and ride out the way you came. This town belongs to me.”
Her voice shot back smooth as silk, filling the air like the aroma of angel-pussy. “Tell you what, Hefty Jake. I’ll hump you for it. First one what makes their offering to the God o’
Love skedaddles on out of here and leaves Stinking Springs to the other.”
“You’re on, gal,” he replied. “Bring that gilded twat of yours over here. Let’s see what you got.”
“Meet you halfway,” she said, and the face-off began.
You could feel the air compress and ripple between them as they drew closer—Hefty Jake tanned and muscled, his pecker swaying like an ancient oak in a high wind as he walked; Lily Mae with breasts that jutted and hung, a tight flat plane of belly, hips that flared like nasty tempers, and a pussy that was pure invitation. A water trough began to bubble as Jake strode past it. Then it broke into a full boil, steam rising up from its troubled surface. Two tumbleweeds skittered into one another just behind where Lily Mae’s heel detonated a puff of dust.
They burst into flame, flared and crackled, and hissed out.
When Jake grabbed hold of Lily Mae’s right hip and her fingers closed about his shaft, a whipped-up gust of wind dusted the citizenry. It shoved them back against buildings, brought their hands to their mouths. The wind hit me and Annie as well, gale force. It made it hard to breathe. Hard to keep my eyes open. Behind us, combs and bottles clattered off Annie’s dresser to the floor. But I kept stoking her hole, and both of us let our fears fuel our fucking. It was sweet, I’ll tell you. Sweet as it gets.
If you’ve ever seen a skilled artisan daub paint on canvas or turn a pot on a wheel, that’ll give you an idea what it was like watching these two legendary lovers have at each other.
Foreplay and fondlement at once tender and rough, full of fire and ice, imbued with all the love one sex is capable of feeling for the other and all the scorn as well—that’s what blessed my eyes. Like an apprentice doing his level best to ape his master’s nimble movements, I tried to mirror Jake’s dancing fingers. After a fumble or two, it was clear from the way Annie moaned and groaned that my efforts were paying off.
During this segment of Kyle’s narrative, Dawn and Felicity had passed through the living room to the hall at Tiffany’s back, on their way to the bedroom, she supposed. Dawn lingered to stare at Kyle, listening rapt and tapping an index finger against her lips. But Felicity coaxed her out of the room and glanced an apology at Tiffany, who waved it off good-naturedly and wondered when Kyle would finish so she could jump his bones.
Now a door opened behind her and the voices of Kyle’s two fuckmates danced in her ear.
“Dawn, can’t you wait? They won’t be long.”
“It’s okay. We can do him while he talks.”
Kyle stroked his chin and sighed at Tiffany. He radiated a patriarch’s wisdom, she thought, and the sweet sensuality of youth. “You don’t mind, do you,” he said, “if I indulge their whims? They’re used to being taken care of the instant they get home.”
When she had first entered Kyle’s apartment, the very idea would have outraged her, made her march right back out again.
But she was deep in Kyle’s world now, deep in the magic of his voice, deep in what felt, as incredible as it seemed, like love. What he now proposed sounded as natural as breathing.
“Yes… yes, that’s fine.”
“Come on in, girls.” Then, to her: “Tiffany, would you kindly remove your skirt and blouse?”
She rose to obey as Dawn and Felicity swirled over to the sofa and eased down on either side of Kyle. Felicity looked statuesque in her black bodybriefer, lace with a see-through mesh front. Dawn’s aroused nipples pressed forward into a red charmeuse tank top. She had left the panties off and her creamy thighs scissored smooth and lovely as she walked.
Laughing, they stripped Kyle where he sat. Then, kneeling on the sofa to either side of him, they bent to mouth him.
Tiffany, in bra and panties—plain cotton underthings she now felt mildly ashamed of—sat down, woozy from the turn-on and finding it hard to swallow. Kyle’s gorgeous cock, bowing this way and that like a polite courtier as the women tongued its knobby head, made her cunt muscles flex with hunger. Her idle fingers, gentling along the outlines of her furrow, touched damp cotton.
Kyle reached toward the tape recorder. “One more bit left to my story, Tiffany. Then you can join us.”
“Yes, Kyle. I’d like that. Hurry, please. Please hurry.”
Well sir, Jake and Lily Mae grappled with one another that day in the dusty street. And somehow, even though the winds whipped up again and got worse, much worse, I could see them going at it plain as day. Free-swinging signs banged about like blasts of thunder. When Jake shoved a few fingers inside Lily Mae, the sign for Phelps’ Feed & Grain tore clean off its hinges and crashed to the planking below, nearly shattering the toebones of my old schoolmarm Miss Pritchard.
And when Lily Mae took a good long suck on Jake’s dick, the buckboard belonging to the sheriff burst into flame and that flame whooshed onto the tail of the old swayback that pulled it. Poor doomed nag galloped hellbent out of town like a stud in heat.
Tearing off like that more’n likely prolonged the beast’s life a tiny bit, because just then Jake and his nemesis joined up genitals, sweet as you please. When that happened, the earth gaped open right in front of the bank and swallowed a whole row of horses tethered to the hitching post. One moment they were standing there, dumb as clothesracks, on solid ground.
The next, down they slid into a chasm, legs flailing, necks straining, their eyes wide with terror, their tethers snapping from the dropped weight of them. The earth whomped shut, crushing a terrible waste of good horseflesh in one thin vertical grave, a grave that gushed thick ribbons of blood and lay shut then beneath a shimmering puddle of red.
Despite the quaking of the building we were in, I kept on mimicking Jake, and Annie was lost in shudders of joy at what I was doing. Then, twin telltale groans rose up from the street, getting-ready huffings and puffings that issued from both their throats. At each rising moan, the wind racheted upward a few notches. Chickens went fluttering by the window; small dogs; a babe out of arms. Skirts flared up, handkerchiefs flew to faces, but still the townsfolk squinted through their dust-battered eyelids at the copulating desperadoes.
Then orgasm hit the onlookers. Orgasm hit me and Annie. Hell, orgasm hit the whole godforsaken town. Tops of buildings burst open and geysered their contents into the sky. Bank over yonder became one great spurt of paper money mixed with spangles of gold coin, like tight sperm spinning its way through seminal fluid. But no one had a chance to scoop up any of that money, because just when it reached its high point, the fireball hit. I was watching Jake—I was one with Jake doing Lily Mae—so I know where that fireball originated.
The two of them were gripping each other hard. Their heads swelled up reddish purple trying to keep from being the first one over the edge. Then they reached that divine inflection point together, eye to eye at last. But it was too late to let it out, because their bodies burst asunder and the fire of their passion flew in all directions. Townsfolk were incinerated like bugs under a blowtorch. A great wave of flame washed up against the buildings like the pounding shudder of a hundred-foot breaker at the beach. Orange engulfment raced up toward us. At the last moment, I closed my eyes and held my breath.
It hurt bad. Real bad. But I managed, half-blind, to drag myself and Annie down the burning stairs. She was dead. I didn’t know that at the time. Me, I came within a hair of dying.