Blowing Off Steam Read online

  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.”

  “Oh, damnation,” Field sighed, giving Calliope a few short jabs. A great shudder traveled up his spine, tightening his balls, to be seated inside his beloved like that.

  “Field!” she reminded him sharply. Her head hung down loosely, and a fine tremor went up the back of her legs, vibrating Field’s cock. “You’re being remiss!”

  Field tried to concentrate on diddling her button, but he was being assaulted by sensations from all angles. Calliope’s inner cunt clutched and squeezed his prick every time he stroked her clitoris, the virginal lace of her veil slung back over her bare shoulder. The rain picked up now, pattering loudly against the texas’s roof—they had chosen a stateroom that wasn’t directly over the engine room or under the pilothouse. Rain always made him feel safe, loved, and secure. Although the storms had wreaked destruction in Sacramento, it was a force of nature that surrounded him with primitive, protective warmth.

  And the hot, greasy tip of Rushy’s prick was pressed urgently against his anus.

  “Now.” Rushy whispered in his ear, almost evilly. His giant mushroom cockhead breached the rigid anal ring, and Rushy gasped as a shudder wracked his body. He regained his depraved composure, though. His hands, now free, slid up Field’s torso to pinch his nipples. “Now you’re going to know what it feels like to be speared by this massive bull’s pizzle. That’s it, relax. Take me.” Rushy slapped his ass, and Calliope gasped, apparently able to feel the vibration through her inner cunt. Rushy nudged his penis another inch inside Field. “Take me, Field,” Rushy growled into his ear. “Take my big, hulking cock up your ass. Land’s sake, you’ve got a delectable ass.” Slap. “Juicy.” Slap. “Delicious.” Slap.

  Before Field was even aware, Rushy was nearly completely inside his bum. The fullness of the big tool sent jism surging through his own cock, almost exploding out the tip inside the squeezing carnivorous flower of Calliope’s cunt. Rushy proceeded to jiggle his hips with an apparent aim to tickling the inner sensitive spot Field himself had found inside Rushy’s channel, and Field realized he was holding his breath, waiting for it.

  “Field!” Calliope gasped in exasperation. “I know he’s fucking the stuffing out of you, but you’re neglecting your duties!”

  Oh, dear Lord! Here he was on his wedding day, fucking his bride, and all he could think was I’m being cleaved stem to stern by this massive penis. Renewing his efforts toying with Calliope’s clitoris, he put his all into it. Swinging his hips in wild abandoned arcs as though he tried to buck Rushy off, he pounded Calliope’s pussy so vigorously his balls made loud slapping sounds against her squishy labia, against his own fingers.

  He diddled her as though his life depended on it, and her response was gratifying. “Ah! Ah! Ah!” she yelped in time to his thrusts. She devolved into mindless gibberish or perhaps another language. In the mirror, Field saw her face twisted into paroxysms of various emotions—he saw ecstasy, bliss, fear, surprise, all sweeping across her flawless countenance in rapid succession. He sped up his ministrations to her slimy knob, and her abundant breasts nearly burst the bodice of her gown as she returned his thrusts, swiveling her hips with careless wantonness.

  Rushy must have taken this cue, for he stabbed Field with longer strokes. Field saw Rushy, too, in the mirror. The beautiful sinews of his hips moving under the skin as he rapidly hammered his ass. The curtain of sandy hair flopping over his eyes, his nostrils flaring in his intense concentration.

  “My love,” Field gasped. Then was unsure to whom he was referring.

  It didn’t matter. He could tell Calliope was close to orgasm by the way her face suddenly stilled, her eyeballs flickering under their closed lids. A great cloud of her pussy’s delightful shellfish odor wafted into his nostrils and mouth as he concentrated on diddling her clitoris in exactly the manner he knew got her off.

  When her face froze into the most aghast expression of all, Field knew he had her. Her inner cunt clamped down around his prick as he drove it in. He exploded in such an encompassing convulsion of sheer pleasure he forgot to breathe. Calliope’s pussy milked him with an endless roll of spasms that so constricted his cock he imagined all the blood’s circulation would be cut off.

  Rushy chose this nitwitted, unthinking juncture to drive his meat into Field’s ass, spewing the most obscene filth imaginable. “That’s it, Field. Take my cock. Take me like a man. You love it. I know you love it. You love being fucked by a big, long, fat cock like this. You’re wild after my massive tool. Take it, oh God, take it!”

  Rushy erupted so violently, Field was driven even farther inside Calliope, the rough edges of the sponge inside of her grating against his sensitive glans. He clutched Calliope’s torso to his as Rushy flooded his ass with hot semen, each twitch and burst of his enormous penis making Field gasp and shiver with pleasure.

  “Oh, holy Mary,” Calliope panted. “You two will be the death of me.”

  And Field relaxed then, all the angst and anxiety stripped from him in one big guffaw. He drew Calliope’s torso up so he could speak against her ear, his breath ragged. “Mrs. Trueworthy. I love you, do you know that?”

  * * * *

  Calliope thought she was going to die.

  She could see where a girl could die in the throes of orgasm. Or should she say triple orgasm? She heaved and pitched like her entire body was a ship during a storm, wracked with tremors and spasms that clutched at Field’s admirable prick. How he could coordinate his fingers and penis at the same time was beyond her—especially with Rushy’s enormous prick up his ass.

  Gasping for the tiniest shred of breath, her orgasm drove all sensation into her cunt. Watching Rushy in the mirror fucking her husband up the ass only aroused her to greater heights, and when Rushy’s torrential orgasm flooded Field’s ass, it was as though she was being filled all over again. It took many long moments for the twinges to subside, and Field’s fingers toying with her clitoris became almost painful.

  “Mrs. Trueworthy,” Field murmured against her ear. “I love you, do you know that?”

  Calliope couldn’t help but giggle as she pushed his hand away from her pussy. “I think I get the idea,” she admitted.
<
br />   Shoving herself off the washstand, she stumbled the few steps to the bunk and collapsed in a sitting position, panting. “Oh, dear Lord. I’ve got to take this sponge out.”

  When she looked up, the two men were still engaged like dogs humping, unable to separate. What a glorious sight, two muscular men locked together like that in such frenzied rapture, Field’s flagging penis visibly pulsating as it bobbed in the air.

  But Rushy leaped to attention when she mentioned the sponge. In a flash he was on his knees between her thighs, the skirts of her gown still cinched in her sash. “Let me do it,” he said eagerly.

  “Why would you want to—oh, my!”

  As Field flopped down in the stateroom’s only chair and watched as though amused, Rushy dove into her muff, slathering and lapping, snorting hot breaths against her thighs.

  At first Calliope recoiled. Her clitoris was way too sensitive right now to be licked. But after a few moments of hesitation, she began to relax into the tongue-lashing. He was certainly enthusiastic, and eager, and…Ah. The inner walls of her pussy shivered all over again, as though she had not just had the most whopping orgasm in the history of all memory!

  What was going on? Rushy slathered away like a wild dog at the kill—feasting, she realized, on Field’s seed. She propped her heeled slippers against the bunk’s frame and touched his Adam’s apple as he gulped heartily. What a madman, not satiated even after coming in the ass he’d coveted for so long!

  He licked and laved as though his life depended on it, and as Calliope relaxed into enjoyment, it struck her that she might actually have another orgasm. Was that even possible? Her former husband had diddled her enough, and certainly Field was very talented in the area of “mouth congress,” but never had she come again so soon. In fact, it usually took her several hours of rest before she—

  Oh. Dear. Lord. Again! Her entire pelvis was flooded with current of blissful ecstasy, her uterine muscles clenching so spasmodically she felt herself expel a gush of liquid against poor Rushy’s mouth. She gripped a handful of Rushy’s hair and rode his mouth, gasping, “Oh—oh—oh!”

  But he drank her up, not disgusted in the slightest, lapping even more fervently, if such a thing was possible. This orgasm was different than the one that had come before it—mellower, infused with sleep, as though her pussy was telling her it needed to nap.

  Very shortly, she was pushing Rushy away, too, crying, “Stop! Stop!” She must have sent him spinning, for when she sat upright, he was on his ass on the carpet, looking ridiculous with his pants down around his ankles, still clad in his fancy shirt and cravat, although the necktie was a bit worse for wear.

  “Bully for you, Rushy!” Field cried, slapping his partner on the shoulder. “See? You’re not so damned lousy at that, after all.”

  A feminine, furry feeling came over Calliope, and she wiggled her shoulders, smiling coyly at the men. Her men. “No, he’s not so damned lousy. And Rushy? Congratulations. You look like the cat that ate the canary.”

  “I’ll have none of that,” Field insisted proudly, standing to button his pants. “Rushy, you’re going to have to work like a beaver to beat me at this pussy-licking business.”

  “Hey,” said Rushy, wiping his face with his palm. He ran what was left on his hand through his floppy hair. “It’s mighty little of this world’s goods I’ve got. Now I’m good at two things. Piloting a steamer and licking pussy.” He gave Calliope a lopsided grin. “Licking newly wedded pussy.”

  Calliope smirked at Rushy and peeled off the bodice of her dress. Field was right—she was shivering in that damp, clammy thing, and her honeymoon ensemble was perfectly smart. She stood to step out of the skirts, and as Field took the wet wedding dress to hang to dry on a hook, a rap sounded at their door.

  “’Tis only me!” came Tobias’s slurry voice. Calliope had become exceedingly fond of the quirky, spirited mountebank. Particularly after she had heard the reliable news that he had definitely been the proprietor of Dr. Johnson’s Magical Medicine Show in Texas before coming to Sacramento as a lawyer. She had seen the placard in his stateroom that proclaimed him as the “Great Wizard of the West,” capable of dealing with illusions involving The Learned Bottle, the Animated Orange, and the Invisible Pigeon.

  “Oh, it’s his old Enchanted Loaf again.” Calliope giggled, referring to another one of Tobias’s illusions. Illusions. Such silliness. “Let him in.”

  So Field unlocked the door, although Calliope had now stripped off her camisole to don one that felt roasting warm in comparison. “O Great Wizard!” intoned Field. They would never tire of that one.

  Tobias frowned with irritation. “Now, I hate to interrupt you newlywed funsters. But ol’ Samuel Brannan, who has up until now been hiding from you down on the main deck with various cattle, has approached me, desiring a meeting.”

  The trio stopped dead in their tracks. Sam Brannan? He had not dared confront them since their former employer Soquel Haight had somehow mysteriously scared him off from his threats, probably with even scarier threats of his own. “Is this some new threat?” Field inquired.

  “What a jackleg!” cried Rushy. “Today of all days, to come to us with some extortion attempt! Sacramento is twenty feet underwater, and it’s our wedding day.”

  Tobias held out calming hands. “No, no, it’s definitely not a threat. Fact, I’d venture to say he wants to extend an olive branch. Get in on the ol’ People’s Line action, fair and square.”

  “Fair and square?” Calliope echoed, her fingers pausing on the buttons of her rose-colored silk traveling costume. “Since when has Brannan ever been fair and square?”

  In fact, when Haight’s agents had come to the El Dorado the day after the explosion to inquire about Celestial corpses, Brannan had been among them. Field had told them the corpses had all been blown to kingdom come, and the reporters who gathered around excitedly scribbled how there had “only” been fifteen dead “from the flowery Celestial realm,” probably counting the six already-deceased among the ricemen. Since nobody cared much about dead ricemen, the matter was quickly put to rest. Some rowdies and loafers had tried to harass the El Dorado river men about the lost ofuyung, but when they realized it was Haight’s fault, they’d begun to harass Haight instead.

  Haight must have known it was his own error that caused the El Dorado’s explosion, for he never pressed them to repay him for the lost o-fuyung. The peewee riceman with the plaid cap was never seen again in California, so Field must have put him permanently out of action when he’d tossed him over the rail. However, the traitor Stan Sitwell had been seen in Haight’s company, proudly sporting a puny derby hat atop his hulking frame and looking menacing.

  When word had spread that Soquel Haight was responsible for the explosion, many owners who had formerly pledged to join The Combination had joined the People’s Line instead, among them the Cleopatra, who had been racing against them that fateful day, as well as the Jack Hayes. Collis Huntington, too, had thrown his lot in with the People’s Line, and of course Mark Hopkins, when he saw what a hero Field was for pulling all those passengers from the river after the explosion.

  Field had disinterred three o-fuyung corpses from the smoking ruins. So they had some capital to repair their boat and had sent the three bodies back to San Francisco for proper burial in Kwangtung. Herr Bloch, their ardent admirer and lumber baron, had staked them to some excellent redwood on the cheap to rebuild the El Dorado.

  “I think he’s turned over a new leaf,” said Tobias, “like many have. Including me.”

  “You?” Calliope scoffed. “Now you’re doing things out of the kindness of your own heart?”

  “You obviously haven’t seen my invoices,” said Tobias. “But nearly all of these new People’s Line members have hired me as their personal attorney. Even Huntington! Hell, I can charge them for three hours for things it’ll only take me an hour to do.”

  “That’s some new leaf,” Field agreed.

  Tobias continued, “As for H
aight? I don’t need Haight as a client anymore. I’ve got new standards! Haight’ll be lucky if they let him race chickens at the local fair.”

  “Dear Tobias.” Calliope kissed his cheek, surprised that it made him blush. “Tell Mr. Brannan we’ll be right out to talk.”

  “OK. Oh, and Cincinnatus told me to tell you, Rushy.” Tobias squinted at the ceiling as if trying to recall the first mate’s exact words. “He said we’re about to cut across Hop Chong’s potato patch, and there’s a giant farmhouse that wasn’t there before.” He relaxed, as now he could stop remembering.

  “A new farmhouse?” asked Field. “That was built in the past week since we last steamed to Sacramento?”

  “No,” said Tobias, unconcerned. “One that evidently became unmoored from its foundation during the last twenty-four hours and floated into the middle of…” Irritated again, Tobias waved them away. “Well, into the middle of Hop Chong’s potato patch.”

  The three El Dorado crew members stared at each other, wide-eyed.

  Then they all sprang for the door at the same time.

  Field, being a newly wedded and therefore polite man, allowed Calliope to squeeze through the short, narrow doorway first.

  Once in the crowded, festive saloon where patrons clamored for the food being served under the lashing rain against the skylights above, Calliope turned to the two men, stuck inside the doorjamb shoulder to shoulder. “You silly oxen!” she declared and yanked Field by the hand. Apparently Tobias was shoving from the other side, for they both popped out of the doorway at the same time, stumbling over their untied bootlaces.

  “Come on!” said Calliope, jerking Field toward the saloon exit.

  “A house in the middle of Hop Chong’s potato patch?” Rushy wailed, right behind them. “Why didn’t that numskull tell us that first, instead of going on and on about his invoices?”

  Field shouted, “Maybe he should go back to working with invisible pigeons and leave the river boating to us.”