The Obedient Servant [Going for the Gold 6] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) (6 page)

While Reynaldo could have easily drawn a pistol and stuck it in Milo’s abdomen, he didn’t. Milo had a gun belt too, like most men in the Far West, and it would just turn bloody.

Milo narrowed his eyes. “I did that because you wanted it. You enjoyed being bound. Your prick got harder when I tightened the bonds around your wrists.” It was irony of the highest order that when the mountain man said this, he rotated his erection against Reynaldo’s. It was difficult to tell who the most deviant bugger in that tower was.

“Stand down,” Reynaldo snarled. “You are abusing an officer of the United States Army.”

As expected, Milo liked that. His mouth curled up at the corners and his iceberg eyes flashed. Milo was just a bent debauchee. That pretty lady Tillie wouldn’t be attracted to a deviant like Milo anyway. “And why do I have the feeling that it makes you hot to be abused?”

They held a deadlock then, huffing into each other’s faces, narrowing their eyes at each other. Reynaldo couldn’t admit Milo was correct, but his bulging prick told the entire story. When Milo gyrated his hips against Reynaldo’s, their cockheads rubbing together sent a rush of lust down Reynaldo’s spine, filling up his balls with jism.

“It makes me no such thing,” Reynaldo lied, choking with the pressure of the blade against his throat.

“I see,” Milo said with delight. And he kissed Reynaldo.

At first, Reynaldo was a stiff wax figure. Men might bumfuck or frig each other’s cocks into oblivion, but men did
not
kiss! The novelty of the sensation, and the sensuous mouth sucking on his, soon coaxed his lips open, however. Milo sucked boldly on Reynaldo’s lower lip as Reynaldo relaxed into the kiss.

It was quite loving, actually, if one were to view them from a distance. And if it weren’t for the rapier blade Milo still pressed to Reynaldo’s throat. But that was just Milo being domineering, the way they both liked. In fact, soon Reynaldo removed his hand from his pistol grip and ran it round the back of Milo’s neck, sinking his fingers in the warm, leather-scented pigtail. This made Milo groan as he nibbled on Reynaldo’s lower lip, and Reynaldo sucked back, massaging the other man’s skull under his fingertips. Milo ground his hips against Reynaldo’s with such urgency it was as though he intended to fuck him standing up there in the tower, as though Reynaldo were a woman.

All at once, Milo dropped to his knees. The sword clattered to the tiled floor as Milo immediately set to frantically mouthing Reynaldo’s jutting cock through the thin material of the pantaloons. Reynaldo immediately uttered a loud, open-mouthed moan when the hot mouth closed over his cockhead. “
Ah!
” He shocked even himself and glanced down to note the two troopers looked curiously up at him. Only now they didn’t see two men engaging—they saw a lone American soldier, perhaps masturbating in bliss with his head thrown back. And they liked what they saw, for they circled away from their
calabozo
post and shaded their eyes as they looked up.

But another unbidden “
ah!”
escaped Reynaldo’s lips when Milo yanked down his pantaloons and sank his cock down his greedy throat.

Reynaldo’s thighs, accustomed to stomping up and down the length of the Sierra Madres, instantly trembled like beams about to snap from stress. All the blood was sucked from his brain and torso into his prick as the talented cocksucker coaxed growls of lechery from him.

Reynaldo cupped Milo’s skull to his crotch and gyrated his hips, urging his cock in and out of the hot, sucking mouth. Milo was so skilled, his tongue slithering exotic shapes against the underside of Reynaldo’s pleasured cock, and it was mere seconds before Reynaldo was on the verge of shooting his load. Reynaldo tried to slow his lover down by pushing back on his forehead, but Milo only paused long enough to detach his mouth from the cock, slather his middle finger with spit, and slide it up Reynaldo’s rectum.

The result was explosive. Between Milo tickling with his forefinger the exact sensitive spot he’d tickled with his cock on the Sacramento River, and his gobbling mouth suctioning every lascivious sensation up the length of Reynaldo’s prick, he immediately gushed into the mouth. Milo didn’t let up for a second, reaming out the slit with his tongue-tip as Reynaldo released stream after stream of jism.

Milo seemed hungry for the salty fluid. He stroked the inside of Reynaldo’s rectum slowly, salaciously diddling the spot that sent another gusher of seed into his mouth. He gulped loudly, regardless of who saw or even heard them, and Reynaldo trembled like an inexperienced youth. Milo gripped his hips to steady him, and good thing or Reynaldo might have collapsed onto the tiles.

It seemed many long moments before Milo detached his finger and mouth with a loud smack. Reynaldo staggered to the six-foot-tall window on the opposite side of the tower but was mortified to see it let out onto the plaza. His prick swayed like a rubber hose, and he was displaying it to every Digger and lounging Californio in the parade grounds!

When he recovered enough to stuff his cock back into his pantaloons and turn around, Milo was already standing, dusting himself off, looking down his hawk’s nose at Reynaldo. Reynaldo didn’t want to give this
pendejo
another opportunity to cut him to the quick as he had on the Sacramento River, when he had informed Reynaldo he never wanted to see him again. So Reynaldo said the first bastardly, uncaring thing that popped into his head.

“Guess you were wrong.” He narrowed his eyes at the farmer. “You
did
wind up seeing me again.” Picking up his sword and sheathing it with dignity, Reynaldo turned on his heel and stalked into the barracks.

He didn’t breathe a sigh of relief until he was down the inner courtyard stairs. That parting image of Milo would stay with him forever, he already knew. What an absolutely gorgeous, stunning man Milo was. How Reynaldo would like to plow that superbly rounded ass himself. Milo was so magnetic he had once again distracted Reynaldo from his goal. He had intended to make nice with the American cook, protect her from the brutish likes of Milo Stephens. That stimulating
pendejo
had once again deterred him from his mission! Perhaps Milo was even now down by the grill in the courtyard, chatting up the lovely lass with the glossy, wavy hair as though she’d taken it out of one enormous braid and let it flow to her waist.

How Reynaldo would love to nuzzle his face against her neck, covered with a curtain of that hair! How long had it been since he’d courted a belle? Too long. Years! He wanted to scurry over to the adobe oven on some pretext, perhaps request some additional tongue stew or something that would take a while to make. But he must return to Vallejo’s table to complete his mission. Even if he had to sit across from that cocksucking Polish androphile.

He passed by the laughing troops that were guarding the jail. Their poking erections said otherwise, but they held their jiggling guts and laughed openly at Reynaldo.

“Silencio,”
he growled at his inferiors.

They did shut up, blinking in surprise, but Reynaldo felt compelled to add,
“¡Viva los Americanos!”

The soldiers did not obediently repeat that.

“Put that dildo down and
walk!
”

At first, Milo was amused to hear Tillie’s words. Did he even hear correctly?
Put the dildo down?
He paused around the side of her front doorjamb, eager to hear this clarified.

He had come here immediately after the interminable supper with Vallejo had finally concluded. He was pleasantly mellow after several shots of forty-rod and a bellyful of semen
.
Fired up, even. He had known that virile soldier Reynaldo had been sneaking off to find Tillie, to put his stamp of ownership on her. Milo had put a stop to that pronto, hadn’t he?

He was rather pleased with himself. Not only had he mortified the soldier into slinking back into Vallejo’s supper hall, Milo was confident that he’d successfully seduced the man. He was confident Reynaldo would be back for more, a situation that was surprisingly to Milo’s liking. Two sexual encounters with the same man had been Milo’s maximum before this. Now he found himself eagerly looking forward to another. It pleased and frustrated him at the same time, because he didn’t
want
to want the soldier. Quick in, quick out, that was Milo’s normal motto.

And now he’d been compelled to pay a visit on the dark-haired beauty who ran the Blue Wing Inn. He told himself he was just trying to ensure Reynaldo didn’t get there first. But increasingly, he had to face facts.
I want to mount that beauty, to ride her so hard she cries out. Like Vargas just did, gasping and moaning like a woman when I sucked on his prick.
Perhaps it was just an overabundance of self-esteem in his lovemaking skills, but his success with Reynaldo had spurred him to greater heights.

He considered that perhaps he was prepared to touch another woman again.

It terrified him, but it was something he knew he’d have to face eventually. Touching women led to feeling affection for them. And the more affection one felt for a woman, the more devastation wrenched one from the land of the living when they passed away. Women were so frail, so susceptible to every disease, every Indian attack—every rampaging male hell-bent on pillaging and rape. And Tillie—Tallulah Crabtree, he’d discovered her name was, from gossiping with Vallejo and Jacob Leese—was alone in this world, if you didn’t count that roostered assistant of hers, Origin. They had gotten along well when they’d conversed last night.

Tallulah seemed to consider Milo a ganymede, so he’d have to set her straight. He wasn’t a ganymede. Anymore.

So, all full of himself and pumped up on forty-rod and sherry, Milo had come to the cunning two-story house Tallulah occupied behind the Blue Wing Inn. The feminine touches—roses in flowerpots, a well for wishing and not water—softened his heart further. This scared him just as it stimulated him.

“Didn’t you hear me?” Tallulah now shrieked. “
¡Ponga el consolador abajo!
”
Put the dildo down.

It was time to show himself. Drawing his Colt revolver, Milo stepped through the doorway and found himself jamming the barrel into a Californio’s temple. “You heard the señorita,” he snarled in his best menacing European tone. “
Ponga el consolador abajo.
And leave those frilly drawers here, too.”

The Californio Carlos Reyes, who had seemed determined to keep a grip on his treasures even with an American woman leveling her derringer at his head, quietly replaced the items on a chair. Carlos saluted Milo on his way out the door. “Adios, Capitán.”

Milo liked the way Tallulah’s mouth hung open. She had such plush lips, as though her mother were Persian or some other Middle Eastern beauty. Her hand that held the derringer hung limply at her side. “Capitán? You
know
that reprobate? Is he one of the Osos?”

“Yes,” Milo had to admit, holstering his pistol. “We have some Californios in our ranks, ranchers sick of being ignored and taxed by Mexico. I have no idea why he called me
Capitán
, though. Stuttering Zeke is the leader of us Osos.”

Tallulah smiled now, replacing the derringer in her garter. Of course this involved sliding her puffy Californio skirt up past her knee as she turned her ankle sideways to Milo. He knew she didn’t mind doing this in his presence because she imagined he only got hot for men. Maybe he should continue that pretense if it meant getting an eyeful of her lovely gams.

She said, “Then why didn’t I see Stuttering Zeke at Vallejo’s house? You, Dr. Semple, and your friend Grigsby were the only Bears invited.”

Milo strolled about the parlor—the house was so small it didn’t have a proper foyer. There was a river rock fireplace, though, something sorely lacking in most California houses due to the “mild winters.” One of Milo’s Virgin Groves leagues sat at five thousand feet, and his first task had been to build a fireplace. It got as cold as an earthworm up there. “Stuttering Zeke has a special hatred for Vallejo, so it wasn’t prudent to invite him. Better to only invite the diplomatic corps.”

She was such a pixie when she smiled! “Oh? And
you
were the most prudent one they could think of? The fellow who hides behind the bar while I smash crockery against my lover’s head?”

The downstairs contained only a parlor and a kitchen, and Milo was loathe to think how close her bedroom upstairs was to that of her annoying assistant, Origin. Did she have to travel to that moronic four-fingered bum Sam’s hacienda in order to fuck? Or had they just fucked here, within earshot of that oiled Mormon rummy? While the sun rose this morning, Milo had tried to pump Origin for more information on Tallulah, but all he learned was they had met in Sutter’s Fort a year beforehand. They were both casualties of the emigrant trail, as Milo had been in forty-one. Although Milo did not think Tallulah’s husband had died. Origin had said, “That marauding son of a bitch took ten years off dear Tillie’s life,” but Milo couldn’t discover exactly what he’d done. Philander, no doubt, at least.

“Well.” Milo grinned. “The fellow was obviously intimately acquainted with you. I had no idea if that was the sort of…
play
you engaged in on a daily basis.” He paused in his pacing and allowed his gaze to linger on her face, hoping just the idea of
playing
would arouse her. It aroused him. Milo’s penis elongated against his thigh, the head stubbornly puffing and making itself known under the cover of his buckskin chaps. He was gratified when her eyes briefly flickered down. He knew he was hung like a potent bull. That used to impress most women, although it did terrify some.