Training Ivy [How The West Was Done 1] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) (10 page)

“And you think I’m some impotent jackass because Chang claimed I ordered some prick tea.”

Harley said evenly, “I thought so at first. But feeling your delicious, plump cock in my hand let me know otherwise.” He raised his free hand to Neil’s chin, and Neil allowed him to tilt his head, to examine him like a physician. “It makes you hot, having your cock fondled.”

Neil said quietly, “Who wouldn’t get hot? It’s a physical reaction to having your cock fondled.”

“Your physical reaction was quite extreme. You have a handsome bull’s pizzle, Neil. It lengthened and plumped being massaged by another man.”

Neil’s arrogant glare was challenging. “I’ve got just as much lust and stamina as you, my chum.”

This was an erotic challenge Harley was eager to accept. He carefully placed the plate onto the counter and lifted his hand to cradle Neil’s majestic, sculpted jaw. “Is that so? Perhaps you’d be capable of proving that.”

Neil snorted with derision. “I can—”

Harley kissed the delicious, full mouth.

He pressed his parted lips to Neil’s, relishing the satiny feel of the cherubic mouth under his. Neil responded ardently, grabbing ahold of Harley’s shirtfront in his fists and pulling him closer. Soon they were snorting against the sides of each other’s faces, crotches plastered together, the way men were inclined to do.

Harley backed Neil up against the counter as he deepened the kiss, slinking his tongue against the underside of Neil’s as Neil yanked him close, holding him tightly. Harley lapped at Neil’s twining tongue and licked his palate, rubbing his own burgeoning prick against Neil’s tightly packed crotch. He ran his palm over the shorn skull, the scent of fresh sweetgrass wafting into his nostrils. What a splendid feeling to once again press his body against a hard, athletic male.

In his exuberance, Harley detached his mouth and took a large slurping bite from the underside of Neil’s fine jaw. “You can prove to me”—he squiggled his tongue along the bone—“that you’re lusty enough to satisfy a hungry woman such as Ivy Hudson.”

He knew this would anger Neil. Sure enough, Neil rattled him by his shirtfront and hissed, “I’ll show you, you pompous bastard.” He wiggled his hips so his erection stroked Harley’s. “Does this feel like the cock of a man who needs prick tea?”

Harley chuckled as he nibbled on Neil’s earlobe. “Certainly does not,” he agreed. His experienced fingers undid Neil’s shirt buttons, his hand sliding against inflamed, bare flesh. Good Lord, Neil’s chest was more fully developed than Harley had even dreamed, and he savored the feel of the satiny hair, the molded pectoral, and yes, of course, the distended nipple.

When he pinched the delicious little nub, Neil gasped and said hoarsely, “That’s it. On your knees. Suck my prick.”

Harley had no intention of satisfying this seductive man immediately. Arab poets said it was wise to excite one’s partner by playing and toying first, and Harley had always practiced this advice. Delighted with how easy it had been to seduce Neil into toying with him, Harley wanted to torment him a bit. It usually worked better to toy with women, men being impatient and hot of temper. Women saw it more as pleasure than torment, but men, having short fuses in more than one way, were driven to the heights of agonizing ecstasy to be caressed and toyed with.

Bending at the knees to spread Neil’s thighs, Harley drew the shirt away from the muscular, humid chest. Of course Neil assumed Harley intended on fulfilling his wish, so when he lapped at the delicious nipple with the stiff point of his tongue, Neil cried out with surprise and desire. Puffs of clean spring air floating in the open window mingled with Neil’s natural aroma of sweetgrass. As Harley flicked his tongue across the stiff little knob his own penis was up, hard as a poker.

But being well-trained, Harley was able to contain and control his own desire. To tease and satisfy women, one must put her pleasure before one’s own. Harley was very familiar with the luscious gratification one could gain by tantalizing another, so he nibbled on Neil’s nipple, sliding a hand down the flat plane of his lower back to grasp his ass in his palm.

Neil demanded, “Suck me, you goddamned joskin. Suck my prick right now.”

A joskin was a country bumpkin, Harley knew, and he took exception to this. Perhaps that was Neil’s intention, to rile him further. Straightening his spine, Harley grabbed a handful of Neil’s spiky hair in his fist, snapping his head back so his vulnerable throat was exposed. “There’s one thing you must learn, my fine deputy of Laramie City. You don’t command me. I command you.”

Neil’s glittering blue eyes examined him with a mixture of fear and intrigue. With utter confidence, Harley took a voracious bite from his exposed Adam’s apple, pleased to feel Neil gulp and swallow drily. Sweeping a hand down Neil’s hard abdomen, Harley clutched his hulking penis and massaged it ever so slightly.

Neil threaded his fingers through Harley’s hair, keeping him close. “You want to suck me, don’t you? You’re one of those inverted coves who run around craving a cock down your throat.”

Harley fondled the impressive prick, rubbing the heel of his hand against the bulging mushroom head. Neil’s prick was so long it was cinched up near his sinewy hip, and Harley’s other hand slipped undone the buttons at his crotch. “I constantly crave cock,” Harley admitted against Neil’s throat. “But then, I constantly crave pussy, too.”

Neil urged Harley down, but Harley stood his ground. “That doesn’t answer my question,” Neil rasped.

Harley’s hand delved into Neil’s steamy trousers, luxuriating in the crisp hair and padding of delicious fat at the base of his cock. “You’ve sucked on other men in your penal colony, over there in New South Wales.”

Neil gasped when Harley wrapped his fist around his prick. “There’s not much choice over there. There are no women on the cattle ranches where convicts work.”

“That doesn’t answer
my
question.” Oh, this outlaw was a tasty morsel. His prick bobbed heavily in the air when Harley released it. He wanted to see Neil standing there all tender and exposed. So he pulled back a couple of feet and tore the few remaining buttons on Neil’s shirt asunder to lay open the choice, tasty body to his view.

Neil didn’t flinch. He merely glanced down in curiosity but kept his fingers buried in Harley’s hair.

Neil was absolutely stunning, an able-bodied stallion who seemed unaware of his own beauty. He lowered one hand to absently stroke his own abdomen, the hand manly and veined like his remarkable aroused cock. His nipples stood out like bullets, and Harley’s mouth actually watered to taste them again. His look was sultry yet nakedly sensitive. He shrugged, jiggling his enticing tool in midair. “I probably did. I preferred to be the one being serviced.”

The thought of this voluptuous deputy engaging in such lewd acts with other convicts near about sent Harley over the edge. Impulsively—as though he had not considered this before, although he had—Harley grabbed a bottle of lavender oil he had used to dry the photographic plate, unscrewing the cap and drizzling it on the throbbing prick. Gripping the pulsating member in his fist like a vise, Harley stroked it.

Neil twitched and squeezed his eyes shut as Harley stroked. Touching his mouth to Neil’s chin, Harley said, “And why do you prefer being ‘serviced’?”

Leaning back against the counter, Neil wedged his hands under his butt, the better to balance. Hips jutting forward, he strained toward Harley’s fist. “I’m not…a fucking invert. I don’t like…sucking men’s cocks.”

Harley throttled the massive appendage, the oil making a lewd squishing sound as he frigged it. He thrust his own hips between Neil’s thighs, inching him up the counter. “But you sure like being fondled by another man.”

Neil rocked his hips into Harley’s grip. His chest heaved with every stimulated gasp, the pectorals shuddering, the nipples peaked. “I don’t care…who the hell does it.” His eyeballs seemed to be rolling up inside his skull under Harley’s talented caresses. “Just
do it!
”

Harley decided he’d tortured Neil long enough. He set to frigging Neil’s penis in earnest, tweaking the erect nipple with his other fingers. His fist pumped the entire length of the elongated cock as he ran his thumb over the globule of semen that glimmered at the cockhead. Instantly Neil fell to groaning low and deep in his abdomen, the vibrations resonating against Harley’s fingertips that pinched his nipple. Neil roared loudly enough for Ivy upstairs to hear, but he didn’t seem to care, urging Harley to complete his task with a humping of his muscular hips.

Neil hissed, gasped, and moaned like a steaming teapot. “Do it, you bastard! I’m going to come all over you. I’m going to explo—
Ah!
”

Neil squirted so suddenly, Harley was taken by surprise. Great jets of milky semen splashed forcefully against Harley’s chest. When he pinched and pulled on the nipple, the discharge came in spurts, stimulated by his plucking. With eyes squeezed tightly shut, Neil’s face was a frozen mask of ecstasy, his hips quivering spasmodically, his warm seed running over Harley’s wrist.

Harley wanted nothing more than to shove the fellow to his knees and slide his prick down his throat—his penis was so stiff that just a slight rub against his woolen trousers would bring him off. But he wanted Neil to remember the circumstances of this wondrous orgasm—to recall who had given it to him, who had coaxed him to such explosive heights. It wasn’t a
quid pro quo
predicament. Harley could find release later or by his own hand. It wasn’t the most important thing.

What was important now was to capture Neil’s cherubically bowed lips with his own, to breathe in Neil’s gasps of satisfaction. He still gripped the plump, flagging cock, tenderly now rubbing his thumb over the tip as delicious jism dribbled from it. Neil kissed him back hungrily, cupping his skull in his palms and drinking him in sloppily.

Harley murmured, “Good Lord, you’re the handsomest devil I’ve ever seen.” However, when Harley withdrew, he stupidly uttered a thoughtless remark. “If you’re so dead-set on women, why is a man masturbating your big, fat cock?”

Neil’s eyes stilled then. His nostrils flared as he straightened himself against the counter. Then he fairly tossed Harley’s head away with a snap of his wrists, bouncing off the counter to turn his back on Harley and button his pants. “If you’re so attracted to women, why didn’t you continue your dalliance with Ivy in the bathroom?” he said icily.

Harley felt proud that Neil was aware of his dalliance. “Ivy is a gentle, injured creature. How unfeeling would it have been to take advantage of her vulnerability? She just left her fiancé, after all.”

Neil shot back over his shoulder, “She hardly cared about that cove! I’d say she’s much better off out here.”

“You answered a question with a question,” Harley pointed out. “If you’re such a lady-killer, why do you allow another man to frig you to completion?”

Neil half turned. He hadn’t bothered buttoning his shirt, and half the buttons were strewn on the floor anyway. He presented such a fine, sultry picture of a pleased, sated stallion, Harley already looked forward to their next run-in. Neil shrugged. “Whatever works. Right?”

And he sauntered out of the room.

Harley had to laugh.
Whatever works
. Neil was right. Harley wasn’t looking for a bride. What did he care? Whatever worked, until it stopped working. That was a good motto.

“I’m-a telling you, McCormack. These ape-man skeletons will reveal all! They’re the bones of our ancestors. Our family tree is just a shrub when we start comparing ourselves to these ape-men!”

Ivy assumed this was Rodney Shortridge, sitting at a table in the Bucket of Blood with bandy legs spread wide apart. His immense stomach bulged as though he secreted a watermelon beneath his shirt, and predictably he clutched a cup of whiskey. His tablemate was a respectable-looking man in a Confederate gentleman’s hat, but no one in the saloon at this noon hour wore a derby.

The other occupants of the long room were not all rough rowdies. Some seemed to be elegant, frock-coated leisure men, gentlemen of chance there to gamble. In the middle of the crude, bare scene, a gleaming, intricately carved bar dominated the room. Wide mirrors, neat rows of bottles, and an oversized painting of a nude woman were the focal points of this glittering monstrosity. Here, men in various stages of decay draped themselves, watched closely by the shady bartender, who had three assistants prepared to give anyone the boot.

“That’s McCormack,” Neil whispered to Ivy. “He owns the Frontier Hotel next door.”

“What on earth are they discussing? Ape-men?”

“Let’s find out. Act casual. Don’t let on what we know. I’ll introduce you.”

As they neared the table, Shortridge’s agitation increased. He flailed an arm emotionally as though it were a surrender flag, blaring, “We think us modern men are the be-all of existence, but we descend from these Cro-Magnons who walked all bent over and had giant foreheads!”

McCormack appeared to be humoring Shortridge. “See here, Rodney. I’ll venture a guess most people would take exception to being compared to a Cro-Magnon with his ass dragging on the ground.”

“Rodney.” Neil touched the brim of his slouch hat. “McCormack. I’d like to introduce you to Miss Ivy Hudson, daughter of Simon.”

McCormack lurched to his feet so stridently he banged the table and his cup of booze wobbled precariously. “Miss Hudson! I’ve heard Simon talk about his daughters often.”