Karen Mercury (9 page)

Still shuddering with bliss, Foster hunched himself over Worth’s broad back and growled, “You’ve never been fucked by a man?”

“
God, no!
” Worth finally gasped all in a rush. “Don’t stop!”

Foster’s cock stayed rigid inside Worth as he frigged the monstrous tool. “You like having another man’s prick inside you?”

“Yes,” Worth gasped. “Don’t stop, you bastard.”

Foster pinched Worth’s nipple, rolling the hardened nub between thumb and forefinger as he murmured lewd things next to his ear. “You like it when another man frigs your giant cock. You like having another hard, muscular body slapping up against you.”

When he pinched the nipple to the point where it would cause pain, Worth cried “
Ah!
” in a strangled voice.

Foster felt the semen churn up the length of the prick and explode onto the mirror. It was extremely gratifying to watch the blobs hit the mirror, the shiny arc of jism splashing forcefully. A surge of affection for his friend welled up inside Foster’s chest, and he slid his free hand lower to joggle the full ball sac almost lovingly, murmuring, “That’s good. Feels so good, doesn’t it? A man’s hand is bigger, firmer, more experienced. You’re hung like a bull, Worth. Your prick is so meaty and juicy in my hand.”

Worth gasped and writhed as though intent on collapsing, and at length Foster allowed his prick to slide out of his friend’s ass. He gave the delicious rump one more slap for good measure then casually went to clean his prick in the washbowl. Worth panted, looked at the ceiling for mercy, and whipped the towel from his shoulder to dry his sweaty chest.

But when Foster stepped into his drawers, he realized he still wasn’t satisfied. Buggering Worth had only served to irritate him in another, new way. He realized that now he was attracted to more than just Worth’s enticing ass, his athletic chest, his dimpled face. Foster had no problem with being temporarily attracted to the sway of some fellow’s buttocks or a hefty horse’s cock jiggling within his eyeshot.

No, it was the way Worth had just submitted to him that got to Foster. Worth was a strapping buck, a gangling strongman. He didn’t need to submit to anyone. No, Worth had submitted because he was, at heart, an innocent lunkhead that wanted to please others. Now Foster was aroused by Worth’s gentle heart.

And he didn’t want to be. So he strode over to Worth, who had only just stepped into his own drawers, twirled him around, and grabbed his stupid chiseled chin. This fellow was such a shining example of masculinity that even his juicy lower lip shined with moisture. Foster was glad for the additional irritation, as it gave even more power to his words. Jutting his hips forward, he pinned his adversary against the vanity.

“Keep your damned paws off her, Worth.”

Worth didn’t back down, however. He gripped Foster by the wrist and wrenched his arm away, his eyes fiery. “She can make up her own mind! And you’re not even staying in town. You’re going back to the army.”

“Boys?”

Both men whipped their heads around to face the doorway.

This was how they were posed when Tabitha Hudson innocently poked her head into the bathroom, much to Foster Richmond’s chagrin.

Oh, how joyously silly men could be! Men never failed to amuse Tabitha with their antics.

It was evident to anyone with even half a brain that they had been engaging in some sort of sexual play before she had entered the bathroom.

Tabitha’s knowledge was enhanced because she’d been standing with her ear glued to the door for many long minutes. Foster was obviously frigging Worth because, in between the grunting and groaning, Tabitha heard him growl, “Your prick is so meaty and juicy in my hand.” This came directly after Foster had declared Worth to be “hung like a bull.”

During all this patter, Tabitha had clung weakly to the doorknob, waiting for the opportunity to turn it. She certainly couldn’t barge on in right now and interrupt their orgasms. Men would contract some sort of penile gangrene if interrupted in the process of an orgasm. Their penises turned black and atrophied, or something of that nature. No, she couldn’t barge in now.

So she clung to the door like a life raft. Her labia bloomed with moisture as she listened to the slap of flesh against flesh. It sounded as though Foster was the aggressor, and this excited Tabitha to untold heights. Her husband Parker had been a believer in “free love,” and this occasionally extended to inviting another male of their group to join in their antics. Tabitha would never allow another woman to join for fear of jealousy, but Parker seemed fine with adding one of his friends. Although the two men would never touch each other, it always made Tabitha randy to see how much more aggressive Parker became with the addition of another male. Like two battling elks locking horns, two men in heat elicited the most martial and barbaric behaviors from each other.

That was probably the case now, as Foster apparently slapped the athletic Worth on his shapely rump—while buggering him? Tabitha couldn’t tell, but her active imagination filled in for her. She wiggled her hips with her thighs clamped tightly, creating friction in her labia. She had not seen Jeremiah yet today, and Ivy had gone back to her ranch in the Snowy Mountains, so Tabitha felt free to lift a hand to her breast, pinching the nipple through the bodice. She hadn’t realized she was so prepared to lock horns herself.

Then she felt a bit of sorrow that these two he-men were obviously androgynes, men who preferred the company of other men. She would never get to enjoy a romp with the rough-and-tumble Foster Richmond, as he preferred the charms of the well-hung Worthing Ludlow.

Why had he kissed her in front of the Cactus Club, then? He had told her to never go away! Perhaps he was just overcome with joy at finding his dog. Perhaps androgynes could sometimes bring themselves to kiss women, if overcome with joy.

Yet something else was wrong with this image of the two bumfucking men. Tabitha had been having creeping feelings that perhaps she was in love with Foster Richmond. Last night after retiring, she had sat at her bedroom desk sipping her sherry, languidly musing on his soft, spiky ginger hair, the rounded globes of his ass, and his straight, aristocratic nose.

She must have fallen asleep, for the next thing she knew, she awoke to discover she was holding a pen in her hand and had apparently written some highly disturbing things while sleeping. She had heard of sleepwalking before—she had once possibly mistaken a closet for the privy in the dead of the night—but…
sleep writing?
The most frightening aspect of what she’d written was that apparently it was someone named Bettina who had taken over the pen and was writing about her life in a place named Campeche.

Campeche? It sounded Spanish, but Tabitha had never heard of it or anyone named Bettina. Even creepier, the rounded, elaborate handwriting wasn’t even her own.

I miss my love,
Tabitha’s sleeping hand wrote.
All I do is pace along the beach with my eyes to the green sea. I feel my eyeballs must be saturated with saltwater, and then I realize I am crying. I do not remove Pierre’s ruby necklace even when I bathe and—

“Keep your damned paws off her, Worth.”

What?
Why would Foster be warning Worth away from her? If they were happy androgynes, why would Foster even care? Tabitha’s ear plastered to the door pricked up, and she forgot all about the strange Spanish town apparently populated by French people.

Worth retorted angrily, “She can make up her own mind! And you’re not even staying in town. You’re going back to the army.”

Foster is going back to the army?
He had told her he was perhaps not returning to the army, right after they had kissed in front of the Cactus Club. Apparently he had since then changed his mind. Without forethought, perhaps because she felt slighted, Tabitha peeled herself from the door and opened it.

“Boys?”

Oh, what a sight! All Tabitha’s anger fell from her when she saw Worth gripping Foster’s wrist in his powerful fist, Worth’s erection at half-mast, swelling the crotch of his crimson drawers. That they struggled was evident by the bulging of their naked biceps. Tabitha was heartened to see she had been correct in her assessment of both men as able-bodied bucks. But she was also disappointed to realize she would never be allowed to touch either one of them.

It was humorous the way their fearful eyes regarded her. “Relax, boys,” she said, entering the bathroom tentatively. “Your secret is safe with me.”

Although Foster was clearly the aggressor the way he pinned Worth to the table with his sinewy hips, he disgustedly shoved away from his partner, putting distance between them. But Foster’s luscious half-erect cock was cradled so tightly in his own drawers, Tabitha could make out the outline of the bulging glans.
My, my
. She would have to find her own beau soon, even if it were only some piddling or dubious fancy man. She needed to have an orgasm that wasn’t coaxed from the tips of her own fingers.

“What secret?” Foster gaped.

“There’s no secret here!” Worth agreed.

“Don’t worry,” Tabitha said soothingly. “I just wanted to let you know. I just came back from Henry Zuckerkorn’s office at the
Frontier Index
, and he’s agreed to pay me to cover society events. There’s a fandango tonight over at the Elks Club, and I was thinking, if you still plan to be around, Foster, you fellows could accompa
ny—”

Foster apparently hadn’t heard a word she had said. Tugging a clean shirt over his head, he interrupted her before his spiky flaming hair even popped out from the collar. “Tabitha! I don’t know what ‘secret’ you’re referring to, but we have none. Now, what’s this about Zuckerkorn? I want you to keep your eyes skinned for that perverted fellow. He likes women to dress up in schoolgirls’ uniforms.”

The men were yanking items of clothing on right and left. Tabitha sidled up to Foster and spoke suggestively. “I wasn’t born yesterday, Foster. Two he-men like you grappling like sexual wrestlers? And please. Your penises are still so erect you can’t even cover them with your pants and leggings.” In fact, Foster’s fervent efforts to cinch his leggings around his crotch only served to display his swollen prick even more enticingly.

“You’re mistaken, Miss Hudson,” Worth said politely. He yanked his own shirt down to cover his crotch, not tucking it in as a civil photographer should have. “We’re no ganymedes. I certainly don’t want to start out in a new town with the wrong impression.”

“It’s quite all right, Worth,” said Tabitha. She wriggled her shoulders seductively. “It’s actually quite stimulating. You fellows have given me a fresh surge of energy that I can dance off at the fandango later.” She dared to glance once more at Foster’s jutting prick, which he now decisively covered with his fringed shirt. “If I’m lucky.”

Foster laughed nervously. “Tabitha, no. You’ve got the wrong idea. We are very much terrible—
terrible
, right, Worth?—terrible lady-killers. Just ask Harley. He was acquainted with this Orianna gal I was practically engaged to wed two years ago, here in Laramie. We have a son together, so how could I be a ganymede?”

Worth said from the side of his mouth, “Ah, you might want to stop there, Foster. Quit while you’re ahead.”

A
son!
Of course, Tabitha wasn’t even courting Foster. Why should he have told her he had a son before? He had no obligation to tell her that. And now Tabitha knew who Orianna was. According to what Harley had said at the Cactus Club, Orianna had “left on the train for California.” Foster had termed her a “bitch” in a moment of anger over Phineas.

Well. At least the bitch had left on the train for California two years ago. But Tabitha was irritated all the same to hear that Foster had constructed a life before meeting her, for she now snapped, “Then why is there semen dripping down the mirror?”

The men’s faces turned both white and red at the same time. Their mouths hung open, and no sounds came out.

It was Worth who leaped to the mirror and feebly wiped it clean with a handkerchief. Tabitha had expected he’d been the one responsible for the mess. She giggled while Foster hemmed and hawed and fidgeted with his gun belt.

He said, “So about this fandango! Why, of course I intend to stay in town. I need to find out who killed Phineas. If your offer is still there, I’d be glad to accompany you to this fandango.”

Tabitha’s chest was flooded with pleasure. How swiftly her emotions were changing lately, as though she merely bobbed on an ocean of constant ever-changing waves! Now she was reminded of the ocean that lovesick Bettina had been scanning for god knew how long, and for some reason it reminded her of Caleb. “That would be lovely. I admit I’m glad you’re staying in town, if only for a little while.”

“Perhaps longer,” Foster murmured, running a hand through his brilliantly flaming hair.

Tabitha was even more pleased. “Some messenger just came with a note from Caleb Poindexter. Remember, that master conjuror I mentioned to you?”

Worth asked, “Is that the fellow who lives out in a tepee and sleeps with cats?”

Tabitha made her mouth a thin line. She had a feeling she’d be hearing stories like the one about the cats any time she brought up the name Caleb in Laramie society. “Yes, he lives in a tepee with a band of Sioux, and no, he doesn’t sleep with cats.”