Training Ivy [How The West Was Done 1] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) (26 page)

“
Kir tu kunet
,” Harley moaned in an entirely new language. Persian, Ivy believed.
My dick in your ass.
Harley could do the swearing for all the armies in Arabia.

There was not a breath of wind in the air, just bees buzzing and a
V
of trumpeting geese flying overhead. Beeves lowed as they were herded. Neil, in his delirious fog, was neglecting his attentions to Ivy’s clitoris. His cock bulged and jerked inside her, and she could tell he was trying to hold himself back from coming.

“Neil,” she whispered, then, “Neil!”

His fingers sprang to life as he expertly plied her clitoris with the tinkling of his fingertips, as though he played piano. Instantly Ivy knew he’d bring her off—she hoped at the same time he exploded inside of her.

“Finger me, Neil. That’s it. Perfect, perfect.”

Harley’s rocking inside of Neil shoved Neil’s cock farther inside Ivy, and they all fucked as one, in tandem.

Ivy’s clitoris swiftly reached the saturation point. She could contain the rapture no longer, and her entire pelvis exploded in one enormous ecstatic convulsion.

Sensation flooding her cunt, her inner walls clenched around Neil’s prick. As her pelvis blazed into life with the surges of euphoria, her other senses shut down. She was aware only of the three of them, fucking against the fence. Her pussy sucked up Neil’s cock—he tensed and shuddered as he pumped her full of milky life. She felt his prick pulse in harmony with the one hammering his ass, and she knew Harley was coming, too—she could tell by the strangled foreign phrases he uttered.

“Chod,”
Harley murmured. This time it was simply
fuck
, in Gujarati. Ivy giggled weakly to think she should become so versed in so many languages. Unfortunately none of these phrases could be used in regular company.

They stood pinned together for a few long moments, panting for air. Neil’s penis throbbed inside Ivy’s slimy canal. One, two, three more contractions of her inner pussy and she ejected his cock, where it slapped up against her ass, floppy and rubbery.

She was finally able to get down off her toes. One of her calves was cramping, but she laughed. “Oh, my.” It was amusing to see the two men staggering backward, purplish, expended cocks bouncing between their thighs. They wiped sweat from their faces and throats with their kerchiefs.

“Good Lord,” said Harley. As the world traveler, he was the first to remember his manners enough to stuff his cock back into his trousers.

Neil, as an uncouth Australian, did not. He leaned his elbows against the fence rail and turned his face to the fiery sun. “I’m ready for a good night’s sleep, and it’s not even sundown yet.”

“Yes,” Harley agreed. “Has Alejandra started making dinner yet?”

Ivy quirked her mouth. “It’s just typical that the moment you finish fucking you think of food.”

Harley laughed, one of his big, bold, open laughs. “You must give him some credit, Ivy! Fucking, eating—these are man’s basest urges. You should count yourself lucky he doesn’t walk off to go murder an enemy.”

“Or piss in a bush,” Neil panted.

Ivy nodded. “I hadn’t considered that. I shall count myself lucky.” She picked up her basket of tomatoes and herbs. “Well,
I
am making dinner. Harley, may I use that Italian Bordeaux you received the other day?”

“That’s too good for cooking,” Neil protested, finally remembering to sheath his cock.

“On the contrary!” Harley asserted. “You get what you cook with. Cook with tarantula juice, you wind up with tarantula juice sauce.”

“Ivy!” A distant but high and clear voice floated over Ivy’s cornfield.

It was her sister, Liberty. Shaping her hand into a cone, she called out, “Libby!”

Liberty had arrived in Laramie City in May. Ivy was overjoyed to have her outspoken, brash older sister living close by. Liberty was so full of raw vitality, and it would be good to have an auntie for her baby.

From the rustling in the stalks, Ivy could track Liberty’s progress. Ivy checked her men to ensure they had arranged their clothing properly, and Liberty’s mane of glossy, near-black hair appeared between the stalks. Corn silk littered her hair and shoulders, but she was such a suffragist tomboy, of course she hadn’t worn a hat.

Liberty held up a welcoming hand to the two men but hugged her sister. Liberty launched into a frenzied tirade. “You’ve got to come back toward the house! It’s the strangest sight ever!”

Liberty dragged Ivy by the hand, and they dove into the cornfield. Corn stalks whipped Ivy’s face, and soon she had a mouthful of corn silk, too. “What’s the strangest sight?”

“You’ll never believe it, Ivy. You’ve just got to see it.”

Neil and Harley followed close behind, and soon they emerged into the clearing before the ranch house. Ivy stopped so suddenly, stunned, that she nearly teetered over onto her face.
A bison is lying down in front of our house!

“Caleb,” Ivy whispered.
Why would he come as a bison? He visits us as a human.

Liberty said, “I didn’t see Caleb, but I saw that odd woman who was at your wedding.”

“Which odd woman?” Harley grinned. “There were a few.”

“The one who placed that wreath on your head, Ivy.”

“You saw Minerva at our wedding?” Ivy turned to Harley and Neil. “I thought only we saw her. And Zeke.”

For Minerva, as promised, had made an appearance at their June wedding at Vancouver House. As the vows were being read and the audience’s silence was profound, she’d appeared only for a minute, to place a wreath of ivy on—well, on Ivy’s head. Her appearance had nearly caused a fatal interruption, for Zeke had leaped to his feet and cried out in anguish,

“Minerva! You’ve come back!”

But since no one other than the trio could apparently
see
Minerva, it only enhanced Zeke’s reputation for having a war-related hysterical brain injury.

Liberty now explained. “No, I saw her at your wedding. Who wouldn’t see her? She was standing right behind you, placing that wreath on your head.” She sighed in frustration. “She had long dark hair parted in the middle. Now that you mention it, she wasn’t really dressed for a wedding. She just wore plain calico and an apron.” Liberty shrugged. “I’ve been seeing all manner of strange things lately, but this takes the cake.”

The four stood abreast, looking at the placid bison.

“Isn’t that amazing?” whispered Liberty. “He’s just a lone bison who decided to lie down next to your house. Like he’s a family pet.”

“Where did you see Minerva?” Neil asked. “Wait!
Minerva!
”

And indeed, their old friend appeared from behind the bison, waving jovially as though she’d just stopped by for coffee. The trio went racing toward her. Liberty lagged behind, dumbfounded.

Ivy clasped her friend’s shoulders, heartened to feel her as of old, about the consistency of pudding. “I thought you moved on.”

“I have,” Minerva said, still sounding as though she spoke from inside a large tin can. “I’ve just come back to check on you. Neil!” She held out her arms for her favorite beau.

Neil hugged the insubstantial sprite. “What can you tell us from beyond the grave?”

Liberty gasped. “Beyond the grave? What’s going on here?”

Minerva ignored Ivy’s sister. “I can tell you to fear nothing. Death is not the end. It is one step in the everlasting journey. And listen to what Caleb says. Ivy, you must drink his teas and take his potions.”

Ivy asked, “Will my child be all right? Can you see the future?”

Minerva nodded. “I can see parts of your future, the future as you know it. I know that your daughter will be fine.”

Ivy whispered, “More daughters!”

Neil smiled. “Little Coraline.”

Ivy shot back, “Little Odelia, you mean!” They had not agreed on what to name the girl.

Minerva shoved her oar in. “Little Coraline it will be.” It was to be expected Minerva would take Neil’s side.

Ivy had not paid much attention to the horse racing up the road from Laramie City. Many people came and went from Serendipity Ranch. So now Zeke galloped up, dismounting before his horse had even halted. With his forward momentum, he continued running with windmilling limbs until he nearly crashed into Minerva.

“Minnie!” he cried, his clasping fingers going through her ghostly shoulders. “I knew you’d return!”

But the moment Minerva turned her black button eyes on Zeke, she vanished. Not in a column of flame this time but like a developing negative plate in reverse. Shimmering slowly, she turned immobile, as though they were merely looking at a cardboard cutout being held up by a stick. Her form became more indistinct until one could only make out her round obsidian eyes and a horizontal line for her mouth.

“Zeke!” Harley shouted when Minerva was completely gone. “You ruined it for us!”

Neil chimed in. “Yeah! Minerva doesn’t want to see you. No wonder she left so suddenly.”

Ivy was even disappointed. She slapped Zeke on the chest with the back of her hand. “Next time, keep your mouth shut.” She turned to her sister, who still stared openmouthed at the bison. “Come on. You can help me make this sauce.” She craned her neck to see around Liberty. “Harley. You should make a photograph of this Caleb bison.”

“A capital idea,” Harley agreed.

Zeke wailed, “How can you say Minnie doesn’t want to see me? She hit me on the head with a jug once. That shows puppy love.”

Neil said, “She’s a
ghost
, Zeke. I doubt she wants to court
any
humans.”

“But she wanted to court
you!
And she grabbed
my
—ah, my rear.”

“She was only trying to make
me
jealous.”

“Because she wanted
me!
” Zeke kept insisting.

Ivy dragged her sister toward the house. Liberty stumbled along reluctantly, the men following and arguing.

Liberty finally said, “You sure see a lot of strange things out here in Dakota Territory.”

“Yes,” Ivy agreed. “And I expect you’ll see many more before the day is done.”

THE END

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END NOTE

The Perfumed Garden of the Sheik Nefzawi
was translated in 1886 by Sir Richard Francis Burton, the adventurer, linguist, and Orientalist, under the auspices of the Kama Shastra Society. The version I have is the
Arabian Manual of Love, Complete and Unexpurgated
. Burton was such an expert in Arabic costumes, languages, and beliefs that he made a pilgrimage to Mecca undetected—being discovered as a European would have meant his death. He also mortified his Army superiors in India by writing a detailed report on his visits to male brothels, ensuring he didn’t rise very far in the ranks. His report unfortunately vanished, but his upstanding reputation never recovered, so he left the army and set out with Speke to discover the source of the Nile, among many other travels.

Speaking twenty-nine languages, Burton also translated the
Kama Sutra
and
The Book of a Thousand Nights and a Night,
better known as
The Arabian Nights.

Karen’s first three novels were historical fiction involving precolonial African explorers. Since she was always either accused or praised (depending on how you look at it) for writing overly steamy sex scenes, erotic romance was the natural next step. She is currently writing about the rough-and-tumble life of the transcontinental railroad in Wyoming and lives in Northern California with her Newfoundland dog.

Ménage Amour: Going for the Gold 1:
Working the Lode

Ménage Amour: Going for the Gold 2:
Either Ore

Ménage Amour: Going for the Gold 3:
A Good Prospect

Ménage Amour: Going for the Gold 4:
Sure as Shooting

Ménage and More: Going for the Gold 5:
Blowing Off Steam

Available at

BOOKSTRAND.COM

Siren Publishing, Inc.

www.SirenPublishing.com