Sure as Shooting

by Karen Mercury

  “How long have you been standing there?” Whit demanded, although he had a twinkle in his eye. He stuffed his cock back into his trousers but didn’t bother buttoning them, and he dragged Huntley forward by the arm. Amusingly, Huntley had such an erection the bulge threatened to pop the buttons on his own buckskins.

  “Oh, I only just now arrived here.” Belle knew they didn’t believe her whopper. She hugged herself and glanced about at glistening banks of ice, smooth rock walls that plummeted nearly straight down for a thousand feet. She felt very insignificant and weak, waiting for their response. If they were embarrassed enough, she could lose her maid’s position.

  Whit observed her closely. “Did you enjoy what you saw?”

  Belle looked to Huntley to gauge how she should respond. He stared intently at her but gave her no clue. His erection hadn’t subsided, and he seemed unconcerned with covering it. She looked meekly back to Whit. “Yes?” she said uncertainly. Bolder, she added, “Yes. I did?” It still sounded like a question.

  Apparently it was the correct response, for a smile lit up Whit’s face, and he gripped her warmly by both shoulders. “I’m so glad, my Open Peony Blossom.”

  Belle had always felt comfortable with Whit. Huntley, too, seemed to be thawing, so she ventured coquettishly, “I enjoyed watching the major suck on your ‘Jade Stalk.’”

  “I believe you can call him Huntley now, Belle,” Whit advised.

  Belle tested out the word, with lowered head regarding Huntley from under her lashes. “Huntley.” He bestowed her with his handsome, relaxed grin, so she continued, “It aroused me very much to watch him swallow your…” She felt even sillier then, saying “Heavenly Dragon Pillar,” so she dared to continue. “Your penis. It seemed like such a…mouthful.”

  Whit laughed fully then, tossing back his head and exposing his muscular throat, where Huntley had laid it bare by clawing aside his scarf. “A mouthful? I am flattered.”

  Huntley shrugged. “She’s right, you know, Whit. Maybe I’m not such a bumbling sucker, after all.”

  Belle laughed freely at Huntley’s double entendre. “Oh, who implied that you were?”

  Huntley hitched his chin at Whit. “This fellow here, a highly esteemed surgeon of the world, implied that you took me for some sort of unskilled gump—”

  “Hey now!” Whit interrupted, turning to face his partner. “Huntley. Why don’t you rise to this challenge?”

  He already has, Belle thought, suppressing a giggle when she looked down at Huntley’s bold erection.

  Whit continued, “As you know, Belle here is a woman of great appetite. But if she’s afraid my size, perhaps she’d enjoy experimenting with something not quite as threatening.”

  Belle instantly took Whit’s meaning, but it seemed to take two or more seconds for it to sink in for Huntley. When it did, he frowned something fierce. “You tomfool blockhead! I resent your implication.”

  Belle felt sorry for her employer then. While it was probably true that not many men on the planet could boast of such a horse’s cock as Whit, it was evident that the major—Huntley—was capable of engorging his buckskins with an appetizing fullness. And Belle was intrigued. Taking Huntley now by his coat sleeves, she soothed him. “Huntley. What Whit says is true. About me, I mean. He’s manipulated thousands of women with his amazing technique, and he claims that I am by far the most…” She looked to Whit for assistance.

  “Responsive,” Whit supplied.

  “Responsive of any woman he’s treated yet.” She searched Huntley’s eyes for signs of trust. “It’s a thing very easily learned—the manipulation part. Would you like to learn?”

  Whit stepped so closely he nearly stood on their toes. “We can show you how to give a woman an orgasm.”

  Huntley’s dark and thoughtful eyes didn’t leave Belle’s face. “Women don’t have orgasms.”

  Belle said hurriedly, “That’s what I thought, too. I thought, ‘Oh, how absurd.’ But the first time Whit brought me to climax, he assured me it was the identical sensation that a man has.”

  Whit said, “And wouldn’t that be fantastic, Huntley, if you could give a woman the same sensations? You’d have her eating out of your hand.”

  “Or eating something else,” Huntley said darkly.

  She giggled nervously, shook him by the sleeves, and said, “Of course, we’re certainly not insisting, if you don’t want—”

  All in a rush, Huntley dipped at the knees, placed his strong hands around her waist, and lifted her feet off the granite. “I do want,” he growled as he carried her like a furry column and set her ass upon a niche in the boulder. The boulder where he’d just been sucking on Whit’s penis so voraciously. Belle must have been incorrect in her assessment of this man as a shit sack in matters of sex. He nestled his hips between her thighs and nuzzled the tip of his nose against hers. “You are more than an open peony blossom, my exotic lotus maiden,” he whispered.

  Belle wiggled her bottom on the little ledge as Huntley raked his fingers through her plaits. The long locks of her hair were only held in place with leather thongs, and the squiggly strands easily came away between his urgent fingers. She whispered, “They call you the King of the Tulareños.” It was heavenly to thread her fingers through his thick mane of hair so glossy any woman would be envious. She recalled her request to Whit to find her a large, furry dog, as she’d always loved running her fingers through anything so silken and plush.

  He brushed his soft lips against hers. “I don’t wish to be called that any longer. I’m no longer the king of them.”

  Belle licked his lower lip, nipping at it. Whereas Whit smelled of cinnamon, as though he’d been baking delicious sweets, Huntley had an earthy musk smell—like one of the oil bottles in Whit’s medical bag! He smelled of the Orient, similar to the patchouli oil her beau had used to frig himself. “You are the King of Agua Fria,” Belle reminded him.

  “That’s good enough for me.” And he kissed her deeply, leveraging her up off her ledge with the power of his hips.

  She parted her thighs eagerly, allowing the bear’s fur to fall away so she could plaster her bosom to his chest. She had read a romantic novel where the heroine was swept away—was it Pamela, or Virtue Rewarded?—and now she knew what the writer meant. Whit had captured her heart with his keen intellect, questing curiosity, and yes, his sexual talents. He was untutored in the ways of women, a quality that had enticed her. But this man between her thighs, rotating the hard head of his prick so urgently against her pubic mound, he had more of a searching animal quality, as though he couldn’t contain his masculinity, or it would keep erupting in base, stimulating ways.

  Their tongues twined together as she pulled him to her breasts, and he balanced her in the air with just the power of his hips. Whit insinuated himself between them, easing the fringed jacket from Huntley’s shoulders. Belle and Huntley broke their kiss reluctantly, Belle with the toes of one moccasin wedged up high in Huntley’s gun belt.

  “Now, Hunt…” Whit used his instructional medical voice. “It’s really very simple. I want you to feel Belle come. Start right here. She’s such a tender, sensitive flower—you’ll be frigging her like a master in no time at all.” Taking Huntley’s hand, he needlessly guided it to the slit in Belle’s drawers while she lay back like the Queen of Sheba. Two men servicing her, “instructing” her, pleasuring her! Her clitoris was already extended, swollen, and slick, and Whit’s accomplished fingers stroking the length of it already had her jumping and twitching, gasping like a wildcat. “She enjoys it like this. Just take your middle finger and flick it up and down…Yes, that’s good…”

  Huntley caught on quickly, and soon her pussy was clenching reflexively, wanting to be filled. Belle kept herself aloft on the boulder with a foothold in another niche, and she feared she was dripping female juice on the leather crotch of Huntley’s buckskins, his erection thrusting against her backside as she strove to give his fingers room to play.

  “Like a banjo.�
�� Huntley smiled against her mouth.

  Whit instructed Huntley, “You can feel her orgasm around your cock. She comes powerfully. Near about took my finger off.” Whit slid a hand down Huntley’s lean abdomen, aggressively unbuttoning the broadfall that was threatening to burst.

  Was Whit seriously urging Huntley to do what he himself had not obtained first? It seemed a sign of friendship on Whit’s part—and it definitely was friendly when Whit plunged his hand into the steamy depths of the trousers and withdrew Huntley’s rigid, drooling prick. Whit was even humping Huntley’s hip, clamped between his thighs as he expertly massaged the large tool. With his chin on Huntley’s shoulder and his eyes half-closed, Belle could see that Whit had a vast affection for the major.

  It had been so long since she’d been used in this manner, she shook a bit in her moccasins at the prospect, but with Whit circling his thumb over the dribbling tip of the cock and the way her pussy was trickling juice down Huntley’s wrist, Belle had little to fear.

  “That’s it,” Whit encouraged his friend. “Keep up the action on her clitoris. Don’t slow down. If you pause for even a second you might lose the momentum and she’ll have to start all over again. Now slide this delicious cock inside her pussy, but don’t think about it.”

  Huntley needed little guidance to nudge the bulbous tip of his penis inside her, but he chuckled a little. “Don’t think about it?”

  Whit remained serious. “Yes. It’s a sort of Eastern, mystical practice I’ll tell you more about later, but don’t think. Concentrate on pleasuring her. You’ll come soon enough, believe me.”

  Huntley spoke against Belle’s jaw. “Oh, I don’t doubt you, amigo.”

  His cock seemed to expand inside of her as she lifted her hips to him. Belle gasped. “This position is ‘the butterfly exploring a flower.’”

  “I’d love to explore your flower,” Huntley murmured.

  All urge to giggle at this sappiness went out the window when he gently slid his cock inside of her up to the hilt. Admirably, he held himself there, abiding Whit’s rule to concentrate on frigging her clitoris.

  When she exploded with a loud gasp, Huntley must have felt the first few initial spasms of her inner cunt that clutched at his massive tool. Whit instantly knew, too, for he goaded, “Now you can move. Fuck her, Hunt, fuck her! But don’t stop with the fingers!”

  “Oh, God’s holy…!” Huntley threw his head back, the words strangled in his throat.

  Under Whit’s tutelage, Huntley was—more than adequately—juggling at least three highly-skilled stunts at the same time. Such a new and delightful sensation, to be coming around a stiff, eager, hot prick that was spurting jets of semen against the opening to her womb.

  Whit kept up the banter like the controlling taskmaster that he was. “Feel that enticing pussy sucking away at your cock, just milking all that savory nectar from your balls.”

  Gasping for breath, Huntley and Belle pressed their foreheads together. It had been so long since she’d been fucked, Belle had completely forgotten one of the best parts—what a lamb a man turned into after shooting his load inside a woman. Or, she thought, inside another man…

  Clutching each other like drowning people, a low rumble of laughter came from the pits of their stomachs. Belle felt ten pounds lighter, as light as the twilight mountain air. Her toes that had been pinioned against his hip slowly slid to the ground as his fingers regretfully gave her elongated clitoris one last pet.

  When they finally separated, Whit was nowhere to be seen. Huntley smeared the hair back from his forehead, whipping out a head kerchief to knot around his head. “Off pissing,” he assured Belle, reading her mind. She let out a deep breath, smiling at Huntley in a new way, a fresh way of looking at him. He was quite fetching with this unfamiliar aura about him—what was it? He was no longer the distant, forbidding, and stern Rocky Mountain man, ordering people about. No, he looked at her from under his lashes almost shyly, like a boy caught looking at a lady’s ankle. Belle liked this new Huntley.

  She even dared lean against him, clutching his arm as though they were out for a romantic promenade. “That was quite impressive,” she whispered flirtatiously.

  “Well,” Huntley responded with false gruffness. “Can’t let Dr. Whitney get all the glory now, can I?”

  “What exactly is going on around here?”

  Belle twirled around, still clutching Huntley’s arm.

  “You heard me! What in Sam Hill are the nefarious doings I see before my eyes?”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Without thinking, Huntley automatically drew his revolver.

  He instantly damned himself for not having heard anyone creeping up on them. In nearly the same instant, he exhaled with relief to see it was only that annoying cretin Bud Pennington, although blown up to the proportions of a cyclops. Indeed, as Huntley holstered his revolver, he thought the private did resemble some mythical monster all puffed up as he was, with a curtain of his straw-like hair hiding one eye.

  “Private Pennington,” he drawled with unconcern as Whit emerged from behind a slab of granite.

  “In the first place,” Bud roared, coming forward like a whirlwind. “Why am I the one forced to trek up this to this godless plateau to track down every last soul who is allegedly in charge of this campaign, when the campaign is happening down there?” He pointed with the enraged arm of Zeus down into the valley.

  Huntley glanced at Miss Belle, who rolled her eyes.

  However, Bud didn’t give anyone a chance to respond. “In the second place. When I finally do track down anyone who is supposed to be in charge, I discover everyone up here in a state of undress as though they’ve just been committing coitus! And I see this red man”—he pointed a rigid arm at Whit, who Huntley had imagined was Bud’s closest buddy—“come crawling out of the bushes like a guilty, lowly snake!”

  Huntley did laugh aloud then, Belle’s pretty girlish laughter joining in. Whit seemed to be the only one taking the shrimp seriously. He strode right up to the midget with hands on hips and said sternly, “Listen here, Bud. In the first place. How dare you question a single thing your superiors do, or talk to them in that tone of voice. No, shut up, I don’t want to hear it! In the second place. What sent you up this cliff, anyway?”

  Bud appeared about to bust with a hundred different sentiments, all the features in his face going every which way. “I came up here to deliver the message she was supposed to give.”

  Everyone looked to Belle. Her hand covered her mouth as she appeared to recall a mission.

  It was Huntley’s duty to ask, “Belle? What is this message?”

  Her eyes brimmed with shame as she pivoted to face Huntley. “Oh, I am so sorry. I completely forgot—”

  Bud took two aggressive steps forward and roared, “To tell you that Chief Tenaya has surrendered and is presently down at the camp about to escape any moment if he has no one to surrender to!”

  There was a moment of silence, Bud tossing his straw hair curtain aside in triumph and glaring at his own sister with a jutting jaw. This angered Huntley more than the idea that Belle had failed to give him a message of such importance, and he drew his pistol to point it at Bud. “All right, Private. Take us down to Tenaya now.”

  There was an instant scrambling of bodies, each disappearing over the rock ledge as they bounded eagerly back to the valley floor, Huntley bringing up the rear to ensure no one disobeyed again. God’s holy trousers. After a good fucking such as he’d just enjoyed, Huntley usually liked to lounge about and savor the moment. Not race off into a confrontation with the most eminent Indian chief in the Sierra.

  And it had been a good fucking. Had it not? It was sublime, entering the body of a woman so lithe and sensitive to his every slight twitch. And the way her pussy had clutched at his cock, egad! Huntley had never felt that before. Was it some medical mystery? Was Belle an abomination to womankind—was this part of the hysteria Whit had treated her for? A female orgasm, Whit had claimed, and p
erfectly natural. Desirable, if one was to believe Whit. Huntley was starting to believe Whit.

  How her inner channel walls had milked him to orgasm! Huntley would be in a bad way if he could not experience that singular sensation again—and soon. And her essence that wafted up at him, like the lilies Whit was always going on and on about.

  As he bounded down the cliff face, he saw Tenaya as more of an irritant. He spotted some Diggers—Grizzlies?—peering at them from behind trees and dodging behind rocks, as if fearful their friendly surrendering would be mistaken for hostility. Huntley would deal with Tenaya so he could couple with Belle again. Then it struck him clean to the heart as he veered around a small copse of pines. What about Whit? He didn’t want to give up his pleasurable couplings with Whit, either. How did one go about such a thing, coupling with two people under the same roof? He had already planned on continuing to teach Whit the Grizzly dialect.

  All of this pointless tramping about in the freezing snow! Huntley was getting too old for this. Every time his moccasins slipped on an icy outcropping, he cursed and thought of his comfortable drawing room with its rock fireplace. This expedition may have been the apex of all husking frolics when he was in his twenties, but lately these japes had begun to pale for him. He was more of a mind to find a woman to share his lodge with. Surely Belle would choose him. One could not escape the fact that poor Whit was forever doomed to be a half-breed, doctor or not.

  They were near the base camp when Belle finally spoke to Huntley. “Fifty-six more Indians have surrendered along with Tenaya.”

  Chief Tenaya sullenly sat on a rock before a campfire, clad in some mangy rabbit and squirrel skins. His robe was stitched together like a patchwork that had probably once been grand, but now it only looked as though it crawled with fleas, his bony elbow sticking through a bald patch. Belle instantly took off her bear robe and placed it over the old sachem’s shoulders. In turn, Whit took off his own greatcoat and placed it over Belle’s shoulders.