Chess, fearing that the vortex enthusiast might be acquainted with any of his relatives in Laramie, switched his seat on the train. Personally, he was very intrigued by this sort of stuff. He had attended many a séance and table-tipping in Paris and London. He just didn’t want his first associate in Laramie to be some cracked lunatic.
Now he thought about the spectacular stallion splashing in his own tub a few feet away, being shaved by a much less bountiful Spanish gal. Son of a bitch, fucking that magnificent Hercules had been the apex of his entire deviant life. And Chess had done some deviant things in his time.
The conundrum was, he actually
liked
the ranch hand. Chess had been pleasantly surprised when Spenser had allowed him to bind his wrists, slap his juicy rump, and fuck him like a woman. It had even occurred to Chess more than once it would be pleasant if he just got down on his knees and sucked that monumental prick right up into his mouth. He didn’t usually do any favors for his partners, preferring to be the dominant one, the only one ever allowed to get off. But with Spenser, for some reason, it had occurred to him.
Once they left the hotel room Chess hadn’t even wanted to pay Spenser because he felt like more of a friend. Something had happened halfway through the fuck, and it wasn’t the overwhelming surge of jism up his twitchy prick, spurting into that choice ass. No. Chess had to admit, he actually
liked
the splendid yokel from Texas.
They just had to get this Fidelia thing squared away first.
“She’s right about one thing,” he said casually, sitting on the edge of the tub to pour more absinthe. “Women will always make up their own minds.”
Spenser responded tightly. He didn’t want to move his face with a razor scraping it. “Unless she has a relative she needs to provide for. Then she will choose you and your money. You should hope she has a small child somewhere. But then I can’t imagine a beast like you being interested in caring for a child. With your money, you could just pay a Spaniard to do it.”
Chess frowned. The absinthe in his glass billowed into a delightful cloud of vivid green and yellow intermingled. “We need to let her make up her own mind. Look. You’ve been working with her for a week in the Morning Star Gallery, and you weren’t interested until I mentioned what a cunning, bright-eyed doll she is. You acted like you’d never noticed.”
Eyes flashing angrily, Spenser shoved the razor away from his face and sat up in the tub. “Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed is the way you described her! Please. Can’t you show a tad more respect for a gal? You described her as though she were a chipmunk.”
“You’ve got to admit,” said Chess, and gulped the smooth licorice drink. “With those adorable Oriental eyes, rosy, rounded cheekbones, and those cunning little square, white teeth…”
Chess’s prick was getting hard again now, thinking of the bountiful German doll. Women in Laramie apparently didn’t cotton to the enormous bustles they wore in the settlements, so that sensual sway beneath Fidelia’s skirts must be all her own flesh. Chess imagined what she’d look like naked, perched on a stool, looking at him over her shoulder. That long shiny chestnut hair would flow down her back, perhaps crimped after being released from the harsh braids. Those almond-shaped eyes would glitter at him with a seductive slant, and—
He shook his head free of the image and saw that Spenser was staring stupidly at his erection. Chess spread his thighs apart and gripped his cock at the base, waggling it a bit. He knew Spenser was hot for him, too. And Chess never missed a single opportunity to display his domination over…well, everyone, really.
Grabbing the bottle of sandalwood oil, Chess drizzled it over his prick. He allowed it to drip down the shaft and over his balls, and salaciously he grabbed a handful and rubbed. The whole time he squeezed his own testicles he looked Spenser directly in the eye. “She thought I forced myself upon you. She’s smart as a whip to have noticed the marks on your wrists. Do you think that I forced myself upon you?”
Two vaqueros stumbled in then, slurring some drunken words and dropping items of clothing on the floor. Spenser didn’t show them a flicker of recognition, now nearly drooling at Chess’s cock as he gripped the edge of the tub. “Forced? Of course not. I had my bowie knife. I had my Smith and Wesson.”
Spreading his thighs even farther apart, Chess massaged his full ballsac while choking his thick meat in his other hand. Persuasively, he said, “Perhaps then, to help make it a fairer contest between us, you could help me convince her that I’m not some brutal monster.”
Spenser’s glazed eyes didn’t even blink as he raised himself out of the tub in a wave of cinnamon and mint. His own cock was stiff at attention when he stood with hands on hips. “Once we level the playing field, it still wouldn’t be a fair contest, because you have the advantage of money.”
Chess cradled the bulbous glans of his cock in his palm, tossing his head back. “You discredit her to think she’d be that crass to choose money over love. What’s not to love about you?” Springing off the edge of the tub, Chess went toward Spenser. “You’re a virile, absolutely magnificent stud. Fucking you was the high point of my entire return to America.” He tweaked Spenser’s nipple, gratified to see the ranch hand’s eyelids flutter with desire. Spenser looked down at Chess’s thick, mighty phallus shining greasily in his fist.
Chess continued, “Prove I’m not forcing you, Spenser.” He released Spenser’s nipple in order to press gently down on his shoulder. “Prove your sincere desire is to give me pleasure. That’s what you do.”
This was Chess’s last chance, anyway, to dally with the stallion. Once he sobered up and obediently received his father’s lecture tomorrow, he could not be caught committing acts like this—at least not in public places.
Spenser’s eyes were glazed with more than the effects of absinthe, and he probably wasn’t aware that the two cowboys, who had fallen into their own filthy tubs, were clinging to the sides with wide eyes, staring. It enflamed Chess that these bumpkins were interested in their activities. He liked being watched, so he further encouraged Spenser. “Prove it. Show me you desire my pleasure above all, without me even forcing you in the slightest.”
Suddenly, Spenser collapsed to his knees in the tub and inhaled Chess’s monstrous prick.
Beautiful. Just beautiful.
Instantly Chess’s heel hitched to the rim of the tub, the better to thrust his prick down that hungry throat. Immediately his balls tensed and engorged with seed, and he slapped one hand against the slippery wooden wall, his other clutching the back of Spenser’s skull.
He must be careful not to appear overly domineering. It was a Herculean labor to refrain from jamming his prick down that thirsty throat. In fact, the restraint tested Chess so thoroughly a fine shudder ran down the backs of both thighs as the talented hell-fired stud slurped his penis down his throat.
Chess was further stimulated to glance over and see the two cowboys. They had struggled to their feet and were gripping their own johnsons, jaws slack with forty-rod liquor and lust. Their little johnsons looked even more insignificant under the masses of their bellies, but it always aroused Chess to have an audience. It made him feel all-powerful and virile when someone—anyone—got hot watching his body, his shenanigans. He knew the beefy buffaloes were watching his ass flex, his full balls, the thick trunk of his cock disappearing between Spenser’s lips.
Chess stabbed his prick into the hot mouth and growled. “Oh, yeah. Perfect. That’s good. Keep sucking, boy.”
He called Spenser “boy” for no apparent reason other than it sounded erotic, but they were probably both the same age. And apparently it fired up the cowboy jackasses, for they pumped their little bones assiduously. One of them even drooled.
“Yeah, yeah,” they agreed with Chess. “Suck him, boy. Suck that giant horse cock.”
“That guy’s built like a donkey,” the other dolt agreed.
Chess clutched Spenser’s skull. “Suck me dry, just as you love doing. You love having a fat, plump phallus in your mouth.
Mon Dieu
. You’re the best cocksucker I’ve ever run into. Yes.
Yes. Oh, God. Just like that. Suck me. Eat my seed. Drain me dry. Don’t stop, boy. Don’t—”
Chess erupted then into the hot, nursing mouth. Spenser gripped Chess’s naked ass as Chess flooded the gulping throat with jism. Chess gasped, threw his head back, and squeezed his eyes shut as spurt after spurt of ecstasy exploded from his balls and cock. Spenser was a master at this, that was apparent, probably from the hearty male ranch life he’d lived, and Chess was beginning to think he might not dislike Laramie so much, after all.
In fact, Spenser was such an expert, his tongue slowed its squirming against the underside of Chess’s penis just as the exquisite pleasure was turning into pain. “
Ah!
” Chess gasped loudly and pushed against Spenser’s shoulder, shoving him away. Spenser detached with a loud slurp, splashing back on his ass in the tub, his limp arms draped over the edges. He looked dazed, as though surprised he had just sucked another man’s cock, and jism dribbled down his chin.
Chess had to gather himself. He turned around and tore a towel from a peg on the wall, panting. What had he proved, really? He hadn’t proved anything to do with the bushy-tailed Fidelia. He had only proved that Spenser desired him and would pleasure him even when not trussed or handcuffed. That was nice, of course, and puffed up Chess’s pride. Certainly a good thing.
But they had better stop doing this in public. The two hefty cowboys, apparently having spent, had collapsed in their respective tubs, but who were they? They could very well be the sons of Boswell or Fowler, apparently big fish in town. Once Chess saw his father tomorrow, everything would be above boards.
So Chess got dressed swiftly. He heard Spenser dressing, too, but kept his back to the room. He quickly combed his shoulder-length hair into its usual pigtail, tying it with a leather thong, and slapped his Stetson onto his head.
I haven’t worn a top hat since Paris
.
Why would Spenser confuse me with that idiotic frog?
“That was good.”
Spenser’s statement came from directly behind him. In fact, Chess could feel the heat of Spenser’s body radiating against his back. Chess only half turned. “The bath? Yes, thank you for letting me know about this place.”
“No. I meant the sex.”
Chess sighed and turned a bit more to face the other man. “Spenser, if we’re going to be at odds with each other fighting for the hand of that German fräulein, we can’t be embracing each other around every corner.”
A frown appeared on Spenser’s handsome face. “Why not? We don’t even know if she
wants
to give her hand to anyone. She seems immune to either one of our charms. Perhaps she’s one of those Sapphic gals who prefers the company of other women.”
Spenser’s raised eyebrow seemed to indicate another challenge for Chess. “All right, then, you damned vaquero. I accept your challenge. You try to seduce her with your powdered face and fleshing costumes. I’ll seduce her with cultivation, civilization, charm, and manners.”
Chess knew it was an unfeeling way to leave someone who had just voraciously sucked one’s cock, but it was probably nearly midnight by now. And he wanted to grab another bottle of absinthe to take back to his hotel.
So he turned on his heel and paid for a bottle of absinthe in the bar. He recognized the gallery owner, Sackett, and asked him where Fidelia was. “She didn’t return to shave me as promised.” As though that was his big concern.
“I haven’t seen her since she brought you fellows that absinthe,” seethed Sackett, “and if she doesn’t show up for work tomorrow I’m giving her the boot. She talks too much to customers, anyway, and it’s supposed to be quiet both in the gallery and in the bathhouse.”
Chess wanted to strangle the grizzled fellow barehanded but only nodded and said, “She seemed like a very competent attendant, and I merely wanted to give her a gratuity.” He handed Sackett the dollar even though he knew Sackett would keep it, just to improve the bastard’s opinion of his barmaid.
Chess went at full chisel down First Street, not wishing to run into anyone who had seen him in the past thirty hours of his debauch. His father Simon was probably already looking for him. Hopefully the people who had seen him gamble, fuck, and drink would have forgotten about it by the time they ever saw him on the street again.
So he sped up the stairs to his hotel room but paused before the door. Through the crack under the door, he could see a candle flame moving across the floor. Someone was in there, obviously trying to surreptitiously search for something. Oddly, he heard the jangling of the enormous Californio spurs he had purchased but never worn, having not been on a horse in many years. He had planned to wear those while riding around Serendipity Ranch, looking like a bon vivant ranch owner.
He withdrew his revolver from his holster and cocked it. He was glad he was finally able to use the pistol, having heard so many stories about the Western “suburbs of hell” where men just shot each other willy-nilly in the street for trivial things like not stepping aside in time, or calling someone a yokel.
In a flash, he kicked the door open. Of course, he was just as blind as the culprit who held his spurs and the candle. So in the brief second before the robber dropped both items in surprise, Chess thought he caught a glimpse of a shapely burglar with braided hair done up in a chignon.
A woman
.