Blowing Off Steam Page 19

Rushy had never had his face in a woman’s muff before. While experienced with the general anatomy of a woman, one simply didn’t bury one’s face in a hooker’s dripping mound. Who would pay for that smelly sensation? However, Calliope was clearly clean and primped, and Rushy found himself fascinated with the extension of her clitoris. He took a few experimental breaths and flicked out the tip of his tongue like a lizard.

  “Oh!” she gasped. “Son of a bitch!”

  She must have been silenced then by a kiss from Field above—Rushy couldn’t see, his nose being buried in her asshole while he lapped the length of her clitoris. He licked her the only way he knew, as though lapping at the most under-endowed male on the face of the continent. Steady, his tongue stiff like a finger, he lapped while Calliope mewled and bucked her hips against his face. He was gratified by a splash of honeyed pussy juices running over his chin.

  “Oh, land’s sake, Field!” Calliope cried. “That’s good, isn’t it? Buried inside his tight asshole? Ride him, you big stallion. Fuck your big, muscular friend. Shoot your load inside that tight, sweet ass.”

  Freshly invigorated by the urgings of his paramour, Field pumped Rushy almost urgently now. Each thrust of his slick cock made Rushy’s own cock twitch, and that minx Calliope slapped his erection then gripped it in her little fist and milked him with precision.

  “Ah!” Rushy cried out involuntarily, instantly on the edge of spending his built-up load. Immediately Calliope slapped his prick, declaring, “Bad boy! Lick me, faster, faster! Eat my big, bulging clitoris! Suck on it!”

  Rushy obliged. As Field’s penis swelled inside him, urgently rubbing that exquisite spot behind his pubic bone that brought him to the verge of orgasm, Rushy coordinated his devouring of Calliope’s cunt. Squirt after squirt of deliciously sweet juice flowed over his chin as he flicked his tongue the length of that bulging appendage. His sense of power inflated as he lapped, knowing he was bringing both Field and the experienced former hooker to the apex of their crises.

  Calliope grabbed a handful of Rushy’s hair and demanded, “Suck it like it’s a penis, Rushy! You’re good at that. Suck it like it’s a little tiny cock and you want me to erupt all over your face.”

  Gnarling and drooling like a feral pig, Rushy put his all into it. Maybe it was Field knowing that Rushy was supping on his beloved, but instantly Field’s prick expanded like a taut blood sausage, and he ejaculated deep inside Rushy. Rushy was so awed at the sensation, every nerve inside him so afire he could actually feel the spurts of deliciously hot semen pumping up against his sensitive gland. Oh, land’s sake. He would never shy away from being fucked by another man. By Field.

  Calliope was cooing to Field. “That’s good, Field. Tasty, isn’t it? Sweet, nasty, delightful. Isn’t it tasty, coming inside your friend’s asshole?”

  Field was so choked up he couldn’t speak as his entire body shuddered into the powerful orgasm. Jerking and gasping, he continued pumping inside Rushy. Rushy was distracted by his friend’s eruption, and he craned his head around Calliope’s crotch to get a glimpse of Field’s enraptured face.

  Calliope, ever on the alert, spanked Rushy’s cock again. “Bad, bad! Neglecting your duties!”

  To Rushy’s surprise, it was Field who tossed the woman off Rushy’s face—she probably wouldn’t have left voluntarily. Disengaging from Rushy, Field towered overhead on his knees, his giant reddened hose of a cock still twitching, and he shouted, “You’re no damn good, Rushy!”

  What was he talking about? Calliope sat sprawled on her bare ass in the sand, looking just as quizzical as Rushy felt. She protested, “Field! Who are you to say if he’s no damned good? Why don’t you ask me if he’s no damned good?”

  But Field was on some pressing, crucial mission. “You want to watch an expert lick a woman’s pussy? Watch! Watch Callie’s face. See how fast I can get this done!” And, to Rushy’s intense surprise, Field fell onto his chest between Calliope’s thighs, lifting her with his powerful shoulders, and dove right in.

  “Field!” she howled with an undertone of laughter. “You can’t just—” But her instant cry was like the death knell of a giant shorebird. High-pitched, keening, and roaring like every animal in the barnyard rolled into one. Digging into the sand with her clutching fingers and the tips of her toes, Calliope lifted her hips to Field’s face. As she whimpered, “oh—oh—oh” Field applied giant cow’s licks to her elongated clitoris, like a man slaking his thirst at a bucket.

  Fascinated, Rushy crawled over, sitting obediently on his haunches with hands clasped between his knees. Calliope’s mouth was an enormous, surprised O, her howls and cries swallowed up into the pit of her stomach. Her inner thigh muscles clamped about Field’s neck as he slurped voraciously—as though a woman’s pussy were a ten-course cordon bleu meal and her nectar sweeter than honey.

  And Field had been correct. Her crescendo arrived swiftly. The emerald between her jiggling titties shivered with her speeding heartbeat. She held her breath as she entwined her ankles around Field, and he munched at her pussy, making it look like a desirable task indeed.

  Rushy watched with bated breath. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d seen a woman orgasm. Sure, he’d had congress with women who weren’t hookers. Many passengers on his boats—frigid “hysterical” wives who simply wanted to be touched correctly, upcountry gals going into the big city for a lark, or older women—yes, older women. Some of them begged for it like a dog in heat. Rushy could see why when he looked at the deadly boring pills they married. But one didn’t usually go about bothering to bring these women to orgasm. Most of them probably didn’t know such a thing existed.

  Calliope, however…Calliope was a wild and brazen stunner. When the waves of her orgasm died down and she squirmed like a beached fish on her back, Field sat back in satisfaction, wiping his face with the back of his arm. He shot Rushy a superior look, his prickly hair skewed every which way. He grinned a little boy grin and looked about to crawl to Rushy, so Rushy said petulantly, “I’m no good, eh? You’re just the supreme cunt-lapper of all time, aren’t you? I’m the one who got her good and prepared.”

  Calliope flopped a weak hand onto the sand. “Boys, boys,” she said without conviction.

  Field did crawl over, and he gripped the back of Rushy’s neck. Looking intently into Rushy’s eyes, he whispered, “I love you.”

  He kissed him deeply then, as if to stave off any potential conversation about love. He climbed over Rushy’s lap and straddled him so that Rushy’s erection knocked against his asshole, Field’s own flagging prick pressed against Rushy’s abdomen.

  They kissed for several long minutes, their rapture only broken by some odd Celestial sounds Calliope was making nearby. “Mh'hóu yisi,” it sounded as though she said, which Rushy knew to mean “excuse me.” But it was Field who pulled away first and glanced with mild curiosity at the two Celestial women standing on the beach, several feet from where Calliope was dressing. One was Chiao Kuo, the former San Francisco hooker and Calliope’s current galley helper.

  All three Celestial women were of great help to Calliope and they followed her about like ducklings. Maurice had latched onto them as though they were older sisters. Apparently they were saying that Cincinnatus had tapped the big bell twice, which now sounded again. It was time to weigh anchor.

  Rushy stood and reached a hand down to help up Field. “Here we go again,” Rushy said jovially. “Random crew members witnessing us in the throes of passion.”

  Field shook sand from his pants before stepping into them. “I doubt it’s any big surprise to them. Think on what they’ve witnessed in their time.”

  When they’d dressed, Calliope took each river man by the crook of his arm, and they wandered the path back to the El Dorado. The willows rustled slightly in the cooling late-autumn air.

  “Am I no damned good, Calliope?” Rushy inquired.

  It wasn’t heartening that Calliope had to pause before answering. “Well. Let’s just say Field is better. Whe
n it comes to that.”

  Rushy tossed a lock of sandy hair from his eyes. “I’ll show you. I’m just as good as Field.”

  “Ooh,” said Calliope. “I like this competition.”

  “I don’t,” said Field. “You keep your damned mouth off my beloved pussy.”

  “Hey!” said Calliope. “Let me speak for myself, Captain. We can share, can we not?”

  “I suppose,” said Field reluctantly. “We can try.”

  Rushy patted Calliope’s hand. “It doesn’t require too much effort to love you, Calliope.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Having thrown down the gauntlet, Stockton Cousins turned and walked in the rain to the landing stage.

  Tobias immediately removed his wide planter’s hat and sliced the air with it. “You’d be out-and-out dough-heads to even contemplate this race! Captain Cousins’s boat is a member of The Combination.”

  Rushy said, “Exactly why we should do it. We’ve got to let The Combination—and all the people of San Francisco—know that we’re not going to be beat.”

  Tobias rolled his eyes. “Let’s start with a glance at reality. You two are terrible smugglers. You’ve got six corpses stuffed with opium in your hold, and you’re going to race the fastest boat on the river? Well, congratulations. You just left your son a half of a broken steam boiler. That’s all he’s going to have in his inheritance when your boat blows up.”

  Field had predicted that Tobias would not take kindly to their decision to stop transporting opium. “Why should the El Dorado blow up? And the Cleopatra is the second fastest boat on the river.”

  Tobias moved in closer to hiss, “We still haven’t found that shrimpy riceman who rigged your wheel and, do I need to remind you, is in the employ of Soquel Haight.”

  “Yes,” Calliope agreed. She had come on deck from her galley when she heard about Captain Cousins’s challenge. She held a wooden mixing spoon, brandishing it with malice. “Who is to say that peewee isn’t hiding around here somewhere, prepared to polish off more pirates?”

  “Well,” said Tobias. “Your two dead pirates were just the perils of their occupation. Pirates getting murdered? It’s probably been known to happen. I wouldn’t worry about it. Has anyone come looking for them?”

  “No,” said Field. “I’m glad, because I’m not a good liar.”

  Tobias waved a calming hand. “If you’re dedicated enough, you can make any lie believable. I once told a woman I was Charles Dickens. It worked because I believed it.”

  The three El Dorado crew members looked at Tobias blankly. Finally Field broke the silence. “Well. This is definitely our last corpse run, anyway. We just can’t stomach doing business with such a brutal thug as Haight. Look what his baboons did to Rushy! I’ll just have to rely on my El Dorado income to send my sister.”

  “Making a corpse run nets you twenty times more than hauling passengers,” Tobias pointed out. “Having a conscience gets expensive. How do you propose to inform Haight you’re no longer doing business with him? He’s not going to just say ‘That’s swell, fellows. Let me send your sister all of my money anyway, because I’m such a philanthropist.’”

  “We know that,” said Field. “We’re willing to take the consequences. He can’t force us to transport his product.”

  Tobias looked to the hurricane deck above their heads. A soft, quiet early-winter rain had at last started to fall over San Francisco’s bay. Field was looking forward to steaming in the rain, the engine room finally relatively cool. Rushy had told him stories of rainy, lazy trips upriver, snug in the pilothouse while the little iron stove glowed warmly. “You apparently haven’t dealt much with opium kingpins. They don’t read from the same book of Mother Goose as you. Soquel Haight is as much of a criminal as those pirates who tried to steal your boat.”

  “Which is why,” Field said pragmatically, “we’re going to stop doing business with him.”

  “Yes,” said Calliope. “We can earn our own money, fair and square.”

  “Ah!” wailed Tobias, flinging a wild arm at the bay. “You’re all crybabies! Captain Fulton, Captain Kidd, you should be kissing my ass! More like ‘Captain Crybabies,’ if you ask me. This is the way of the world. I say live it or live with it!”

  “We’ll take our chances,” said Field. “I’d best get back to the engine if Cousins wants to weigh anchor at two. Send Stan Sitwell over, will you? I’ve got him keeping his eyes peeled for that peewee. I’ve got to make sure he didn’t tamper with anything mechanical.”

  “There are laws, Captain Crybaby!” Tobias called as Field strode into the engine room. “Have your headmaster read them to you!”

  It was evident that Tobias Fosburgh was just sweating because he didn’t want to lose his percentage of the corpse business. They would still hire him to execute the legal end of their People’s Line company. But a shred of Tobias’s harangue seeped into Field’s brain as he oiled a side lever. Live it or live with it, indeed. Why, then, was Tobias’s threatening parting image looming over him like a creature from a scary novel? His upraised warning arm brought to mind a Frankenstein mutant.

  Soquel Haight’s blood would boil when they told him they were getting out of the business. Haight would get nervous that they would tell the authorities his shifty business—although who they would tell was anyone’s guess, since Samuel Brannan ran the Vigilante Society and wouldn’t care, for obvious reasons.

  No, they would be in Haight’s bad books. Anyone who joined the People’s Line would be.

  They ran past Rio Vista and were nearing Squaw House in Steamboat Slough without incident. The Cleopatra lagged a good five cables behind them, having perhaps just taken on some damp wood and having an inferior engine besides. Field was unconcerned as the rain continued a bit harder now. Rushy was right—it was invigorating to steam in the cool air, and colonies of swallows twittered and dove, casting dark clouds across the steely waters. Above in the texas, the cheers and hoorahs of passengers floated down to the main deck along with the occasional champagne glass, and the El Dorado was too far in the lead for anyone from the Cleopatra to shoot at her.

  Stan Sitwell approached, elbowing Field in a brotherly manner. Field thanked God Stan had ceased fondling his balls, perhaps after a lecture by Haight. “You go above,” he suggested. “I’ve got it under control. Go see that feisty Miss Calliope.”

  That sounded fine to Field. He wanted to see if Calliope was able to take a break from cooking, and they could enjoy a cocktail in the cool, refreshing out-of-doors air. The galley was just aft the engine room, so it was a quick jaunt for him to find Calliope at her baking board, rolling out a pie crust.

  Field went to her swiftly. He had an urgent question to ask her.

  “Possum!” she cried, her usual cheery self, holding her floury white hands away from her hips as though she held bombs. “Have you come to help me make mincemeat pie?”

  Field held her jaw gently in his hands. “I was hoping you could take a break. It’s stimulating to feel the rain on your face after so many months without.”

  With the back of her powdery hand, Calliope wiped a lock of hair from her eyes. Field helped her by securing the lock behind a hairpin. “I’d never turn down an invitation for a champagne cocktail. Let me finish rolling this and Chiao Kuo can do the rest.”

  “Are you teaching them English, or are they teaching you Chinese?”

  Calliope looked so fetching with her head tilted thoughtfully as she rolled. “I suppose a little of both, although I’ve told them many times it’s best if they learn English if they want to get ahead. It’s the language of trade and industry, after all.” Chiao Kuo and her two friends had been afraid to “go up the hill” when recently moored in San Francisco for fear their “owner” would find them, and Calliope had drastically altered their hairstyles and given them new American clothes.

  Calliope was so practical. Her character fit and melded itself to Field’s in every way possible. “We don’t have so many Kwangtungmen back
East. Not in Troy or Amsterdam, anyway. In Amsterdam, where my son currently lives—as far as I know, anyway—there are mostly wallpapered shit fires from Scotland, like me.”

  Calliope looked at him sideways. “You’re from Scotland?”

  “My parents were. My father was a jeweler from Glasgow.”

  Calliope didn’t appear to be thinking about Glasgow as she lifted the pie crust and placed it on the pie. “Field. Do you think…Will you be going back to Amsterdam when you get enough money to take care of your son?”

  Field did not know how he was planning to casually bring the subject around to his goal, so this was a fine opportunity. Almost without thinking, he tossed his head back and said, “I would go back to New York if you didn’t marry me.”

  Calliope’s fingers stilled, crimping the piecrust edges with a fork. Chiao Kuo apparently knew enough English to take the fork from Calliope’s hand and gently shove her toward Field. When Calliope looked into Field’s eyes, her own sapphire irises appeared vacant, perhaps shocked. Field didn’t blame her. “Who…Who said anything about marrying?”

  He might as well barrel ahead now. The jig was up anyway, so he pulled the box from his pocket and opened it. “I’m saying something about it, Miss Callie. I sincerely, truly hope you will marry me.”

  Her jaw went slack, and she seemed reluctant to accept the box. Her hands fluttered about it like the wings of a bird. “Marry? Why, Field. Do you think that’s wise?”

  Field frowned. Wise? What were they doing, selecting universities to attend? “Of course it’s wise, my puss. I’m in love with you.” He allowed the hand that held the box to drop to his side, beginning to admit defeat. His first wife had ripped the box from his hand and tried on the ring. “You are beautiful, tender, happy, resourceful, talented.”

  At last she smiled. “And you are all of those things.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not ‘beautiful.’” Field took one step closer to her so that her bosom pressed lightly against his abdomen. “But together as a team, Callie, we can buoy each other up. Take care of each other. Be friends to each other.”