Special Cowboy Menage Collection

by Morgan Ashbury

  “Gentlemen, please.” She thought she put the same inflection into her voice as her former middle school principal, Wicked Witch Westerly.

  “Well, our mother wanted us to be gentlemen, but I’m afraid there are times when we’re anything but.” James’s confession seemed heart-felt.

  “In fact, there are times when we can be downright wild and wanton.” Jonathan’s tone was no less repentant. Both brothers were mocked by the twinkle in their eyes and the sexy smiles kissing their lips.

  Tabitha couldn’t hold back her laughter. They might be dangerous men to be around, but they had certainly lifted her spirits when she hadn’t known that’s exactly what she needed.

  “I really did come here today to discuss business. And not monkey business, either.”

  “Well, Ms. Lambert, now that you’ve given us the gift of your laughter, why don’t you come on inside? Mary, our housekeeper, has made fresh lemonade. We can sit down and talk about the wild horse program. But you have to tell us your first name, and use ours in return. We’re not so formal in these parts.”

  Tabitha thought quickly. The presence of a housekeeper sounded good, as did the lemonade. And since the brothers Keller had been a huge help in the BLM’s wild horse program in the past and were about to be again, she supposed that she, on behalf of a grateful government, could tolerate a bit of teasing.

  “All right, Mr. Keller.” When his right eyebrow went up, she nodded. “James, then. And my name is Tabitha.”

  Both men stared at her, eyes wide. She had no idea what she’d done to elicit that reaction. She tilted her head slightly to the left and asked, “What?”

  “You got my name right.”

  His bewildered tone just confused her more. “James isn’t a difficult name to remember,” she said lightly.

  “It’s not, no. But James and I were doing our best to distract you after we introduced ourselves,” Jonathan said.

  As she focused on him his face colored slightly.

  “And while we were distracting you, we changed positions.” James finished for his brother.

  “Kind of like a human version of three card Monte, only with just the two of you?” Tabitha felt another laugh coming on.

  “Never thought of it in those terms, but yeah,” Jonathan said, then sent another look to his brother that she couldn’t interpret.

  “Do that with everyone you meet for the first time, do you?” She guessed the twitch at the corner of her mouth that she couldn’t control told them she wasn’t upset.

  “Habit of a lifetime,” James agreed.

  “Kind of hard to break,” Jonathan chimed in.

  “I’m surprised it works. I mean, you look a lot alike, but I can tell the difference between you. It’s not hard.”

  “Not even our mother can tell us apart!” Jonathan protested.

  “Well I can.” Then she smiled. Since they were being so friendly she decided to satisfy her curiosity.

  “Why Farenough?”

  “Not ‘fair nuff,’” James corrected. “’Far enough.’”

  “And that would be on account of Gertrude Schultz Keller, our great grandmother,” Jonathan added.

  “Legend has it that Great-Grandpa was searching and searching for just the right place to put down roots,” James picked the narrative back up. “The evening they ended their travels for the day here, Gertrude refused to go one mile more. Said she’d gone far enough.”

  Tabitha laughed. That made twice in the same half hour. The bad thing about that was the Kellers might consider her the flighty sort. The good news was that for the most part, the impact of their sex appeal had ebbed just a little. Feeling as if she really had the upper hand for the first time since she arrived, she turned and headed toward the large ranch house. Then she looked over her shoulder and gave them her best smile. “Just for the record, that three-card Monte thing? I’ve never been taken. Gambling is nothing more than a matter of statistics and probabilities. My daddy taught me that. He’s the one who gave me the Porsche, by the way. Your tax dollars had nothing to do with it. It was a reward.”

  “I’m probably going to regret it, but I have to ask. Reward for what?”

  She’d heard the shuffling of feet behind her and knew they’d changed their positions again. Stopping when she got to the porch, she waited until one of them stepped past her and opened the door.

  James opened the door but it was Jonathan who had asked that question. So she turned, gave him a bright smile, and said, “Why, Jonathan, for divorcing my husband, of course.”

  * * * *

  Jonathan stood next to his brother, both of them silent as they watched the dust swirl behind Tabitha Lambert’s Porsche Boxster S series as it wended its way back to the county road.

  He turned to look at his brother.

  “Did you feel that?”

  “I sure as hell did. And do you know what? Sweet and sexy Tabitha felt it, too.”

  “Yeah, she certainly did.”

  James planted a hip on the porch railing and turned to look at him straight on. “You know, we really should have seen this coming, all things considered.”

  “You have a point. Hell, we’ve shared just about everything else all our lives. Why not fall for the same woman at the same time?”

  “Mary-Lou Benton and Katie Franks,” James said.

  “Our senior year in high school. Mary-Lou was the first girl I was ever half-way serious about—just as Katie was yours.” He had an idea he knew where James was headed with this conversation. “Pamela Crawford and Amy Jenkins,” he returned.

  “Second year of college,” James confirmed. Then, more seriously, he said “Ginger Henderson and Rachel Martin.”

  “Yeah, they were the two that finally did it for us, weren’t they? I remember you saying, after we broke up with that pair, that it was a damn shame we couldn’t just marry the same woman.” Jonathan had known where James was going with this. They generally could finish each other’s sentences and thoughts, as a rule.

  “Well, I only said that because not once in all our dating history have our steadies ever gotten along, or been tolerant of our close relationship.”

  Jonathan scowled. “Ginger tried to convince me that you’d threatened her.” Even nearly two years later, it rankled. “No, you’re right, none of the women we’ve ever dated have really gotten us, or our bond. Period.”

  “No, they haven’t. But I think Tabitha might,” James mused. “And that’s not just my glands talking. Though she certainly got them working again after what feels like a drought of massive proportions.”

  James turned his head, looking in the direction Tabitha had gone.

  "That's the kind of woman who makes me think we should reconsider our pact,” he said.

  "Yup," Jonathan agreed. "That woman would be worth giving up a no-relationship pact for. In fact, I think she’d make one man a fine wife."

  "Brother, I'm thinking she'd make two men a fine wife."

  Jonathan looked at his brother speculatively, and felt his smile grow at the same time he watched his brother’s do the same.

  “Agreed. Just how do we go about making that happen, exactly?”

  James cocked his head to the side, a slight nod as if pointing after their recently departed guest. “Statistics and probabilities,” he replied softly, “and some good old fashioned horse trading to set it in motion.”

  Jonathan felt his smile widen. “Brother, I like the way you think.”

  “That’s because, brother, you think the same way I do.”

  “So I do, James, so I do.”

  Chapter Two

  Sitting at a stranger’s kitchen table and talking wild horses and burros while sipping lemonade created by epicure extraordinaire Mary did nothing to put an end to the hornies.

  Neither had driving like a bat out of hell back to her office in Carson City, with opera music—which she loathed—blaring full blast on the car radio.

  She’d sat through a department meeting with her boss
, two agents from the Battle Mountain District Office, and a couple of outside consultants. The meeting, like all meetings, had dragged on way too long and covered way too little of real significance. And at the end of it she’d been just as hot, just as in need of an orgasm as she’d been since she’d met the Kellers several hours before.

  Now her work day was done, and as she drove the twenty-odd miles to her home on the outskirts of Reno—she’d bought a house because she hated apartments—she knew it was time to take matters into her own hands.

  Literally.

  Of course, she’d rely on Sol, as she had been doing these last few weeks, to help her achieve maximum satisfaction of the orgasmic kind.

  One good thing about having a Self Operated Lover as opposed to a husband, Tabitha thought as she shifted the Porsche into sixth gear, you didn’t have to worry about finding him in bed with your best friend.

  Before acquiring Sol, she’d spent her personal recreation time since her divorce and for several months before with Bob—her Battery Operated Boyfriend. But he’d shorted out when she’d taken him in the shower one evening, and that had been the end of that affair. The next day she’d bought Sol. He was definitely low tech, but built for pleasure, all nine and a half by two and a half, authentic-to-the-touch cyberskin-covered inches of him. He might not vibrate, but he was aces in the shower.

  Sometimes a woman just needed it wet and wild and wanton.

  Up until today, Tabitha would have sworn she’d been adjusting exceptionally well to the total devastation her personal world had suffered six months before. She’d come home one day, uncharacteristically taking a half day sick leave because of a cold, and walked in to see her husband fucking her now former best friend. She’d gotten an eyeful, then turned around and walked right back out again.

  Now here she was a continent away from Ego Ed the ex, with a good job, a nice ranch style house with a small yard. She’d burned out Bob, picked up Sol, and had been certain her life lacked nothing.

  Then she’d taken a drive to Humboldt County, met the brothers Keller, and had come away with an itch in serious need of scratching.

  Activating her garage door opener as she approached her house, she counted the seconds until the thing was up. She parked her Porsche smoothly, got out of the car, and activated her anti-theft alarm.

  The garage door closed, as did the door that led from garage to kitchen behind her as she nearly ran toward her bedroom.

  Four minutes later, Sol in hand, she stepped under the hot pulsing spray of her shower.

  Sol didn’t seem to ever mind waiting beside the body wash on the chest-high wire rack in the shower stall until she was ready for him.

  Steam and pulsating water began to dissolve tension, and Tabitha tilted her head back, closed her eyes and sighed. Drenching her blonde hair while the tiny fingers of water massaged her scalp, she thought showers were one of the most civilized—and decadent—inventions of all time.

  Ranking right up there with Sol, of course.

  Eyes firmly closed, she reached for her tube of body wash. As the light floral scent permeated the steam surrounding her and the soft, silky texture of the lotion caressed her skin, Tabitha released every care and real-world thought in her head.

  Her hands, delicate in their touch, stroked over her plump breasts, fingers coming together to tweak and tug already erect nipples. The sensation of silkiness carried by rivulets of water cascading down the flesh of her front stoked her arousal.

  Unbidden but inevitable, the vision of two men, womb-mates, materialized center stage in her imagination.

  She considered herself a healthy woman with a healthy sex-drive. Of course she’d indulged in fantasies from time to time. What woman didn’t at one point or another wonder what it might be like to have two lovers at the same time? What woman didn’t dream of being pleasured by two sets of hands, two mouths, and two cocks?

  Tabitha had before, of course. So she didn’t chase the fantasy away. This was the first time ever her two love-masters had faces and names. The change tingled and aroused more hotly than a simple, generic, faceless mind-romp.

  She moved her hands over her body, down her sides, across her belly, then up and over her breasts again, and imagined two sets of work roughened, masculine hands mapping her flesh. Then down, slowly, until fingers brushed through the wet blonde curls at the apex of her thighs.

  Silky, teasing, there then gone, the touch of fingers gliding across her labia aroused and heated. Inner muscles clenched, as if to grab and gobble any flesh that neared, the urge to quench a voracious hunger surging through her with each heartbeat. Bolder now, she played her fingers down, full palm contacting an aching, arching clitoris.

  “Mmm,” the sound, forged in the very depths of her soul, rumbled up, unconscious and uncontrolled.

  Her sex cried out for more substantial attention, as she imagined one man, strong, compelling, holding her firm as another knelt before her, his fingers urgent and strong as they worked inside of her, sliding in and out as a mouth, hot and moist and hungry, drank from her.

  Water continued to cascade over her, hot, melting, as one hand continued to stroke swollen, heated flesh while the other reached for Sol.

  She moved the toy across the front of her pussy, the head spreading open the quivering lips, as if it was a real cock seeking fire and silk.

  “Ahh…” she sighed as slowly, inch by inch she worked Sol deep inside herself. Her inner muscles clenched the familiar, craved presence as her hips tilted forward. She raised her right leg, balanced it on the lip of the tub, and could almost feel the heat of a male body behind her, holding her firm for the thrusting of another in front.

  Slow, steady, the rhythm built, the cadence ascended. Only one goal ruled, only one thing mattered. Stroke by heavy, gliding stroke, she reached for it.

  “Take him well, darlin’. Take him well, and then you’ll take me.”

  Imagination whispered, images pulsed and vibrated with life, until she could see them, hear them, smell them, feel them.

  “You belong to us. Confess it.”

  Yes. The word ricocheted in her mind, a weapon, a prize. Harder, faster, deeper, the movements inside her became everything. Tabitha cried out, the climax crashing over her, exploding out from her pussy, shivering over her flesh to consume her entire body. Her clit trembled from the shocking, ecstatic jolt of the orgasm. Her wail keened as wave after wave of rapture flooded her body and soul, filling, cascading, claiming, consuming.

  “Oh, God.” Nerveless fingers dropped the dildo as aftershocks rippled her skin, tightened her womb and beaded her nipples.

  Water, pulsing and cooler now, rained down upon her as she leaned against, clung to the shower wall. With hands not quite steady, she reached out, closed the tap.

  For long minutes she rested there, the occasional shock wave wracking through her. She laughed, but the sound emerged weak, and maybe, she thought, just a little bit desperate.

  That was probably the best orgasm she’d ever given herself. That was the good news. The bad news, she admitted to herself as she slid the curtain out of the way so she could step out of the tub, was that she was still horny.

  No, it’s more than that. Closing her eyes, Tabitha acknowledged the truth. She wasn’t just horny, she hungered. She hungered for the feel of twin hands on her skin and hard, twin cocks inside her body.

  And she had no idea what in hell she was going to do about it.

  * * * *

  Derek Hamilton entered the seedy bar, far from his usual type of haunt and far enough from his own back yard that no one would recognize him. He walked like a man with purpose, like a man unafraid to pound hell out of anyone who got in his way.

  Both were more than impressions. He had not so much a purpose, as a mission. A deputy sheriff didn’t make much money, and he’d grown up lower middle class. He’d lived his entire life so far on a pittance.

  Today’s meeting was about to change all that.

  The man had chosen a
booth in the back corner. Derek slid onto the seat facing him. Saying nothing, he reached into his inside jacket pocket, then tossed four photographs on the table.

  “This should give your client an idea what’s available,” he said.

  A waitress ventured over to get his drink order. One look had her scurrying away. Derek tried not to laugh. Everyone who knew him would swear he was mild mannered, even tempered, affable even. No one would ever believe he could look—or be—so hard, so cold.

  Good-old-boy was the image he worked hard to project, for it was the image that served him best. But that wasn’t him, not really, not by a long shot.

  He’d grown up knowing that his family lived a blue-collar, scrape-for-a-dollar existence because they’d been cheated out of their birthright. And he didn’t have to look far to see who had prospered because of it.

  There were only four families in his part of Humboldt County that could trace their ancestry back to when the county had been created by the Utah Territorial Legislature in 1856. The Hamiltons—his family—was one. As were the Scotts, the Franks and those bastard Kellers.

  The land the Kellers called their own should have been his, would have been his if history had been written just a shade differently. He’d searched through all the old family records, spending hours in his younger days with his paternal grandparents, looking for proof of what he’d long suspected. There was no proof, of course. Leastways, not anymore. But he knew the truth. And by God, so would everyone else one day.

  Wilhelm Keller had cheated Derek’s great-grandfather in the late eighteen hundreds. Orville Hamilton had been in business with Keller when both families had come to this part of the world. Three years later, Keller had bought out Orville’s share for next to nothing.

  That single act set the stage for the generations that followed. Anger began to bubble inside Derek as he thought about the unfairness of it all.

  He’d always had to make do, always just surviving when others around him had everything handed to them on a silver platter. His father worked construction all his life, going from boom times to bust times. His mother was a teacher at the grade school. It had never bothered his folks to be blue collar workers living from paycheck to paycheck.