Training Ivy [How The West Was Done 1] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) (21 page)

“Yes,” Ivy encouraged the head of security. “Suck Harley, Deputy Tempest. I want to watch.”

Harley’s cock twitched with excitement as Neil got on his knees between his thighs. But Neil surprised him by tossing back over his shoulder, “You’re not getting off so easy, Miss Hudson. No one is allowed to just watch around here.”

“But I like to watch,” Ivy protested, hugging herself tightly.

“Pleasure Neil,” Harley commanded. “By pleasuring him, he’ll be inspired to pleasure me.”

Ivy shrugged. “Won’t it distract him?” But she got to her feet and went to rummage around on Neil’s desk behind Harley.

Harley removed his hand when Neil gripped his prick. Harley steeled himself for some clock or gold scale to come flying at Neil’s head, but perhaps Minerva had vacated the premises, as no object went soaring through the air when Neil surrounded his cockhead with his hot, wet mouth. Harley sucked in air at the sudden rush of rapture that raced from his balls to his glans as the thick, slimy tongue began expertly plying him. Neil had sucked many cocks before, Harley could tell.

“Oh, Good Lord, that’s good.” Harley spread his thighs and rotated his hips, fingers interwoven behind his neck. He was taken aback when from behind Ivy grabbed his wrists, binding them with a length of reata.

“That’s right, Deputy Tempest,” she said, in a slightly different, more authoritative voice. “You must punish this prisoner. He was arrested for scandalous doings. Writing about Arabian love practices, and…”

Harley filled in for her, as Neil’s mouth was full with his cock. “Fucking young men in the male brothel.”

“Yes,” Ivy agreed heatedly as she knotted the thong between Harley’s wrists. She rubbed her pubic mound against his shoulder, evidently excited by their game. “The male brothel. You wrote a report on that, did you not, Captain Park? It was really your own experiences you were reporting on. Fucking the men…”

Harley added, “Yes, the men. It was scandalous of me, but I had to participate if I was to know what I was talking about, was I not? The young men are very agile and dexterous, able to put their ankles by their ears while being fucked. Their lovely, long, narrow penises are quick to erect and love being fondled. They have a sort of bridle that I attached at the base of their cocks, the better to direct them. I squeezed and massaged—”

Ivy, carried away on a wave of lust, ripped Harley’s shirt asunder so she could pinch his nipples. Arrows of lust darted down his abdomen, pooling in his full ball sac that Neil now fondled as he suckled on Harley’s enormous, full, purple penis. “Oh, I’ll just bet you did, Prisoner Park. Now you will pay for such lewd activities.” She was a feisty little minx, this one!

She yanked the chair out from under him so he was on his knees, too, and Neil had to bend lower with his tempting ass in the air. But apparently it was Harley’s own ass the vixen was after, for she shoved his trousers down to his knees and stroked him between his thighs. Being helplessly bound excited Harley to even greater heights, and pretending to be a defenseless prisoner riled him to no end. “Dear God, Deputy Tempest,” he cried in mock shame. “How dare you suck my prick? I will never live down the shame of this!”

“Oh, it gets even dirtier,” Ivy whispered as she chewed on his earlobe. She had a palmful of something viscous, and she applied it to his burgeoning balls with fervor while tweaking his nipple and flicking her tongue into his ear.

Harley had never been bound before, and he found it unbearable to be unable to touch, direct, or take his mounting frustrations out on his foes. For now that he was bound, Ivy and Neil
were
his foes, teasing and taunting him for their own pleasure. When Ivy slid a narrow but long implement up Harley’s ass, Neil seemed to know it and swallowed Harley’s ample cock to the hilt, burying his nose in his pubic hair.

Ivy murmured, “This is your punishment for daring to venture into the brothel. Now you’re pinned and powerless, a victim for our amusement.”

“
Oh, ibn himar
!” Harley cried.
Son of a donkey!
He tended to spew Arabic invective when overly excited, speaking without thinking. “
Kol ayre!
”
Eat my cock.

Ivy could not have understood, but she must have gotten the general feeling of things, for she fucked him with zest. “We will violate you in punishment for what you’ve done. You will be fucked and sucked and have no say or control over it at all.”

“Ah!” Harley roared, so loudly surely the waiting customers outside could hear.
“Bedi fawit eyri bi tizik!” I want to put my cock in your ass.

“Oh, I’ll give you a
tizik
, you perverted stallion,” Ivy said as she reamed him with what Harley now discerned was a candle.

His prick was so full it must have excited Neil to even greater energy, for he sucked with giant slurping sounds, Harley’s taut glans massaged by his throat muscles. Harley erupted unexpectedly, a sudden overwhelming surge of lust and jism spurting down Neil’s hot throat.

Ivy must have known he was coming, for she held the candle inside him and jiggled it erotically while murmuring, “That’s it, Prisoner Park. Just fill the deputy’s mouth with your semen. Make him choke on your flood of jism. Take your revenge on the nasty deputy. Make him regret the day he ever punished you by sucking on your big prick.”

The rest of her salacious words were drowned out in a murky vortex as his inner mind turned to mush. “Deputy Tempest…” was all he recalled saying as the head of security drained his prick, gulping loudly.

Gasping loudly like a beached fish, Harley separated from his tormentor as Neil fell back on his ass. Ivy withdrew the candle so Harley could fall back, too, and the two men sat there stunned, blinking at each other.

Neil wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and grinned. “That’ll teach you. Think twice next time you break the law, prisoner.”

Ivy made no move to untie Harley’s hands, paying close attention to wiping down the poor misused candle before inserting it into the holder. Neil got to his feet, an enormous erection bulging between his leather chaps, but Harley remained helpless on the floor, panting. “Yes,” Harley agreed. “I will definitely think twice next time.” He cast Neil a playful grin. “Think twice about doing it more often to displease you.”

A pounding on the door brought Harley to his senses. “Tempest!” It sounded like that saloonkeeper, Ace Moyer. “I’m here with the forty rod. Where’d you put the prisoner?”

“Untie me!” Harley whispered as Neil went to unlatch the door. “Stuff my cock back into my trousers, woman.”

Moyer could probably see his naked ass when Harley turned his back to the door. But Harley heard Neil say, “Don’t drink it all, Moyer. We need to placate Shortridge, since I really have no reason to be holding him anymore. He’ll need all the forty rod he can get.”

Don’t drink it all…
For some reason, those words echoed in Harley’s addled head. “Hurry,” he told Ivy. Once his hands were loose, he stuffed his cock into his trousers and buttoned them, turning around.

Just in time to see Ace Moyer in the doorway, limping as he followed Neil to the lockup.

“How many children do you want to have, Ivy?”

Ivy’s fingers on the glass tumbler stilled. She had not expected this question so soon in her courtship with Neil. Of course she’d discussed children with her former fiancé, John Prahl. Ivy imagined she was capable of bearing children and assumed Mr. Prahl would want a son, so they’d agreed to start right after their wedding.

She thought Neil was joshing just to pass the time while Harley developed the photograph he’d taken of Ace Moyer in the Bucket of Blood. Harley had pretended he wanted the photograph for the wall of the new depot restaurant, to show various businessmen in action, and Moyer had fallen for it. Little did Moyer know they suspected him of being the Laramie Strangler—of owning a derby and the partner to that fringed, beaded glove they’d discovered next to the brothel’s bathtub.

So she continued pouring the claret and answered lightly, “Oh, a passel of children. Why not? How many do you want?”

She turned to face Neil, who sat at her father’s desk chair idly glancing at Shortridge’s illiterate letter. He looked at her and grinned. “A passel, too.”

He was being as flippant as her, which irritated her to no end. So she took her glass of claret and meandered over to where he sat, leaning back in her father’s chair with ankles crossed. She knew he enjoyed this position since it enhanced the look of his cock cradled in the crotch of the chaps. Perching on the edge of the desk, she leaned toward him, displaying her swelling bosom. That made him lower the letter.

“Sincerely?” she asked. “You honestly want a passel of children?”

“Of course. I was an only child. My father was a floored lush, so it was just me and my mum.” He added with a touch of shame, “Which was why I was arrested for being such a flash cracksman so many times. As a lad, I had no other choice than to break into other folks’ swell cribs.”

“I’m sorry. I knew you weren’t some out-and-out criminal or they wouldn’t have hired you as head of security out here.”

“Oh, they
would
have, all right,” said Neil cheerfully. “They’d pick anyone from a backwater drugstore in Yankton, which is where they seem to have chosen Ezekiel. I just became a much better candidate for head of security once I was hobbled.”

They both looked to the front of the house, where the discordant notes of a new harmonica wafted down the hallway. They had roped Zeke into attending their newest séance but hadn’t told him they suspected Moyer. Zeke had a tendency to blab, and they didn’t want to tip their hands.

“So,” said Ivy, “being an only child made you yearn for a big family of your own?”

“Something like that, yeah. I’ve worked hard to get the Serendipity Ranch, which is why I refused to sell to Moyer. I’m thinking that by getting rid of Shortridge’s wife, he reckoned on Shortridge going loco, which is what happened. Shortridge confirmed that Moyer was the ‘sinister character’ who had tried to buy his ranch. And Whit Gentry has no children, making his wife much more liable to sell.”

“But why?” asked Ivy. “I mean, why does he need so much land?”

Harley appeared in the doorway holding a glass negative plate between his fingers. “Because in my advance survey, the new railroad goes right through the land of the murdered men. And of Serendipity Ranch.”

Neil sat upright, a hand on Ivy’s knee. “That’s right. A corner of my ranch does go through future railroad land. They’ve already paid me for the easement.”

“At a handsome profit, no?”

“Well, yes.”

Harley came into the study. “You wouldn’t believe how many bribes and extortion attempts have been going on behind the scenes. A surveyor could be set for life if he just mapped out a track through the richest lands where he could gain the richest bribes. If the route deviates in the near future from the maps I submitted to Grenville Dodge, it wasn’t my doing.”

“Ace Moyer is a Manifest Destiny man,” said Neil. “He’s always been first in line to run roughshod over any man to further his own aims. But then, so is every other cove in the West. You’ve got to be ruthless to survive here. I never noticed Ace standing out from the crowd as far as being on the make, aspiring and ambitious.”

Harley said, “The doctor said no earrings were found on Minerva’s exhumed body, as Rodney expected there would be. The key to arresting Shortridge would be finding the earrings on him.”

Ivy said, “Or the derby. Or the missing glove. What did the photograph show?”

Harley grinned. He came to the desk and held the plate up to a window. “A fairly interesting depiction of a woman.”

Neil craned his neck to view the negative. It showed Ace Moyer with crossed arms leaning against his fancy bar from St. Louis, neat rows of bottles and mirrors displaying his affluence.

Ivy said warmly, “A woman? In the photograph? Was there a woman in the bar when you made the photograph?”

“Not that you could see,” Harley teased. “But here she manifested herself.”

Ivy gasped, just as Neil saw the woman Harley referred to.

Standing directly next to Ace, her silhouette clear as day, the diminutive figure of Minerva Shortridge loomed. Neil was familiar enough with her by now to make out the harshly parted hair that fell straight to her shoulders, the humorless mouth that was the horizontal line of a bird’s beak, and—most frightening of all—that she posed clutching a forty rod jug, as though about to bash Ace Moyer over the head.

“Minerva!” cried Neil. “But I don’t recall Ace being pasted while we were in the Bucket of Blood today.”

“Perhaps,” said Ivy, “she decided to refrain.”

Harley said, “Maybe she only strikes the men she’s particularly fond of, like you.”

Disgusted, Neil got to his feet. He suddenly felt like downing some forty rod himself, but they had a lot of work to do. “Problem is, we can’t very well just arrest Ace based on the fact that he likes forty rod and he’s limping from a bullet you put in his leg when he tried to rob Ivy’s stage. We’ve never seen him wearing a derby, for instance.”

“And that he tried to buy land from all these neighbors who have wound up dead,” mentioned Ivy.

“Yes,” Neil agreed heatedly. “Let’s start this damned séance. If we learn nothing from it, I’m going directly to Ace’s house to investigate and find out what he’s got stashed.”