The Obedient Servant [Going for the Gold 6] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) (11 page)

“I’m not trying to ignore it,” Milo said between gritted teeth. Semen was flooding up the underside of his prick, and the second Tallulah squiggled her tongue a bit more, he would lose it. “I like having my ass slapped. Being fucked by you.”

Tallulah sank his cock down her throat with an enormous gulp. When his cockhead lodged up against her tonsils and her throat constricted around it, Milo exploded. Stream after stream of jism spurted forth down the poor drowning woman’s throat. Milo cried out in a strangled tone that stuck in the pit of his throat, and he pressed the back of Tallulah’s skull to his crotch. He pulsed semen into her mouth as Reynaldo flooded his ass, jerking his hips spasmodically. Reynaldo choked on his own cries, too, biting into Milo’s shoulder as he drained into his ass.

The two men remained locked together for a long time, shuddering and jerking, hissing in air. Tallulah eventually collapsed to the floor and Milo fell forward onto the table, palms down. Finally able to breathe fully, he panted until the tiny clear bubbles vanished from before his eyes, and it occurred to him to reach down to help Tallulah up. She clambered up to perch on the edge of the table, looking impish with a dribble of jism at the corner of her mouth. Milo smudged it away with his thumb, grinning.

“Now you get to taste jism in my mouth,” she declared and grabbed his head to plant an open-mouthed kiss on him.

It was a deviant, crowning glory to an exquisite interlude, tasting his own seed on her tongue. While they licked each other’s mouths, Reynaldo withdrew from Milo. As a rivulet of warm semen ran down Milo’s thigh, Reynaldo clanked around at the washbasin. Wrapping his hands around her waist, Milo lifted Tallulah to set her on the table, and she twined her slippers around the backs of his knees. He wanted to feel her slimy pussy again with his fingers, no doubt as wet now as it had been earlier today, but he had this sudden new need to show respect for her. So he kept her skirt smoothed down over her knees.

Standing at Milo’s side, Reynaldo cleared his throat. Milo broke away from Tallulah to see Reynaldo, expressionless, handing him a tin cup of something that turned out to be forty-rod. Milo’s nostrils flared in distaste, and when he handed it to Tallulah, she made a face too and put it down.

Reynaldo cleared his throat again. “We should get back to the Blue Wing. If we’re going to take over this fort, we should be planning the revolt.” He even grinned a little. “Wouldn’t want that hothead Stuttering Zeke to take charge again. He’s not very rational.”

“Instead of standing here bumfucking,” Milo agreed pleasantly. But he made no move to disengage from Tallulah. How he adored just gazing at her wide, generous mouth. Her eyes were lanceolate and lined like an Egyptian’s. How could he have gone without a woman for so long? Men were brutal, rough, abrupt in their actions. Women were gracious, sinuous, pliant. And they gazed at one with adoration. At least this one did.

“Tell me, Reynaldo,” Tallulah said brightly, without taking her eyes from Milo, “is it customary for you to engage in androphile doings? I suppose what I mean is, do you prefer men, like Milo here does?”

“What?” Reynaldo was aghast. He even recoiled from the couple’s side. “
Madre de Dios, no!
Whatever makes you think that?” Then, perhaps not wishing Tallulah to answer, Reynaldo rushed on. “I am a lover of women, a Barcelonese! We are famous lovers the world over! I have just never married because a soldier travels the length and breadth of the country. And with Frémont we set out to find the Arkansas River and wound up in Oregon.”

Milo stood tall and patted his friend reassuringly on the arm. “Don’t panic, Reynaldo. She’s asking because she actually
likes
being with two men who are making love. Look at her! Beautiful shining eyes, lovely floating breasts, and she’s hot for
both
of us. Why are you protesting so much?” He turned to Tallulah, who looked serene, as though she were the one who’d just been satisfied. “My sweet, are you appalled at our behavior? Speak up—be truthful now. Don’t hold back for fear of injuring our feelings.”

Tallulah got lightly to her feet, bending to grab Milo’s red pantaloons from where they were still gathered about his ankles, in a pile of fringed leggings. Milo had barely noticed he still stood naked. It had never bothered him in the slightest. She pulled them softly to his hips, fondling his prick, still at half-mast as she stuffed it inside. She licked his lips lightly. “I am the opposite of appalled, Reynaldo. I wish I had known to engage in this sort of play before.” She stiffened a bit suddenly, though, and pulled back a few inches. “But you had better
never. Ever.
Toy with another woman or man. Or I will cook your damned geese.”

Milo pulled up his leggings and knotted one about his upper thigh. “Yes, Reynaldo. She doesn’t like that. Be warned. She’s had bad experiences with unfaithful shit sacks, so treat her like the gem she is.”

Reynaldo regarded Tallulah soberly. “Consider me duly warned. Unfaithfulness between men and women is a most loathsome thing.”

Tallulah stuck out her lower lip. “Good. I do like your choice of lover already, Milo.”

“Then kiss him, Tillie.”

Milo shocked even himself with his words. He hadn’t planned on saying that. Really, he hadn’t! What was he thinking? But fire entered both his lovers’ eyes, and they certainly didn’t hesitate long before wrapping their arms around each other and smooching. Loudly and sloppily, too.

It occurred to Milo why he had commanded Tallulah to kiss Reynaldo. He wanted to gauge his
own
reaction. Already since meeting her, he’d become far more carried away than he’d ever imagined he would become. This frightened him at the same time it intrigued him. If he watched another man kissing her without becoming enraged with jealousy, that was a good thing. It would mean that Tallulah Crabtree hadn’t infected his heart with her poisonous spirit. Her weak feminine perfume hadn’t saturated his soul yet. He hadn’t fallen so far in love with her that he was doomed to another eternity wandering halfway in hell because a weak woman he’d given his heart to—and their child—had been butchered on the Oregon Trail by Indians.

It worked. Milo felt nothing but a tingling arousal watching the couple suck on each other’s mouths. Even when Reynaldo raised a hand and touched Tallulah’s shoulder that was bared above the Californio cap sleeve, bringing gooseflesh to her skin with a touch of his thumb, Milo was stimulated to the core. No green-headed monster of envy came roaring from him, forcing him to smash Reynaldo’s nose into the tabletop then bash him with the bottle of forty-rod.

But he did want to break it up. Reynaldo was right. They had to get back to the Blue Wing Inn.

It was a walk of only yards back to the bodega. Reynaldo walked ahead, allowing the couple to walk abreast. Milo took her as if they strolled down a pleasant New York avenue of cafes, not a dusty, wide avenue lined with begging Diggers who thought that pants were optional attire. The plaza was ornamented by one carronade, a flagpole apathetically flying the red, white, and green banner of the Republic of Mexico, and the bare bones of slaughtered beeves. In the springtime it was probably a verdant green, but at this time of summer it was only covered with dead grass, curtained by shimmering waves of heat.

Tallulah said, “I’d soon like to add another story to the inn, maybe join it to those old soldiers’ quarters behind it. If you’re going to succeed in your rebellion—and I know you will—I’ve a feeling Americans will be pouring into California. It seems to be a land of milk and honey, and this valley is wildly fertile.”

“Yes. I’ve seen Vallejo’s peach groves. They were planted by the padres and tended to lackadaisically, but with more attention the fruit could be better than mine up the Sacramento.”

Tallulah said abruptly, “I know why you had me kiss the corporal.”

“Oh? Why is that?”

They stopped walking, because to continue farther meant they’d have to step into the bodega. Already the voices of two dozen irate and enthusiastic rebels floated over to them, some apparently already dangerously oiled. Milo would have to make a rule. No getting roostered before the revolt. Tallulah could help by not serving liquor.

Tallulah straightened his neckerchief. He was oddly touched. No one had done that since his wife. “Because part of you wishes to share me with the corporal. You wanted to see how you reacted to the kiss. Whether or not you beat him forty-six ways to Sunday out of ire that he touched me.”

Milo looked out at the distant golden hills studded by gnarled oaks. She was a very perceptive woman. “That’s possible. I would like it if all three of us could share—could enjoy each other—on equitable footing. I’m pleased to report that I was entirely unmoved by jealousy. That must mean I don’t love you and will never be foolish enough to want you for a wife.”

She looked up at him from under her sooty lashes. Her look was impish. “A wife? Who said anything about a wife?” She smiled, snakelike. “You did.”

She patted his shirtfront, turned on her heel, and entered her bodega. She left Milo standing there, feeling utterly foolish for the first time in many years.

“I thought we counted thirty-three Osos?” Reynaldo asked. He squinted his eyes in the predawn light. There only seemed to be about ten men who had managed to stagger into the darkened plaza, gathering by the flagpole. And these men were the ragtag and bobtail of all creation—the rabble with deerskin trousers, some wearing only terrible things shaped like trousers. They shuffled in boots, moccasins, or their bare feet. What a morass of civilization! They were consistent in two things only—they had good rifles and awfully bad hats, some of them more holey than righteous. Milo himself had donned a fresh red turban and he looked appropriately fierce. “Captain Stephens, what happened to the other twenty-three men? I don’t see Scott, Sears, Beaulieu.”

That muttonheaded assistant of Tallulah’s, Origin Something, answered for Milo. “Oh, they’ll be along shortly. The fact of the matter is, we never actually went to sleep last night. We were so fired up over the glory of the new California Republic we just never went to bed. Bill Todd was amusing himself making a flag for us to run up this here flagpole. Sears’s wife donated a petticoat for the white background.”

Bidwell giggled. “He thought to draw a bear on the flag using berries as dye, but it came out looking more like a pig.”

While the battalion chuckled and snorted, Reynaldo sighed deeply and looked back to Milo. Milo appeared to be thinking the same thing he was. If they hadn’t gotten any sleep last night, it meant they’d been getting hell-fired up on bug juice, not patriotic fervor. Tallulah had been able to refuse to serve liquor until she turned in around midnight, but she couldn’t stop Origin Something from serving the men. And Reynaldo had seen many liquor casks stashed in the barracks as well. Right now, many of the men swayed precariously, still roostered from their bender.

Reynaldo said to Milo, “Why don’t just the two of us go get Don Vallejo? I’m sure he’ll come without protest.”

“Good plan,” Milo agreed. “However, let us take Grigsby and Stuttering Zeke. That way we can’t be accused of ignoring the more radical contingent.”

“Right. Placating the Californios or some such hot gas.”

The two partners shook their rifles manfully in agreement. Louder, Milo instructed the gangly, calm Semple, “Take five men to hold the garrison in case there’s resistance. Origin, try and control those oiled Osos when they show up.”

“Aye aye, Captain!” Origin trilled enthusiastically. The dough-head even saluted Milo, and the four men started for Vallejo’s Casa Grande.

“That fellow’s a little
too
exuberant if you ask me,” Reynaldo opined to Milo.

“I agree,” said Milo. “Anyone that exuberant usually winds up causing tumult when they get carried away. I don’t see why Tallulah retains him. He’s constantly roostered and prefers strumming away on his obnoxious guitar to serving patrons or cleaning anything.”

“I think I understand their companionship,” said Reynaldo. “They’re like siblings. Tallulah treats him like a brother, with indulgence. There’s something in Origin that reminds her perhaps of her own brother.”

Not a word had been spoken between the two men about their randy encounter in the barracks yesterday. Reynaldo was thoroughly aware he’d been duped by Milo once again, and once again he’d taken the bait. As the foremost Yankee military man at Sonoma, Reynaldo had sat up until midnight with Milo and others at the Blue Wing, plotting their overthrow of the Mexican regime, but not even a glance from Milo or a fingertip on a wrist had indicated to anyone they’d recently been screwing in the army barracks till the cows came home.

No, Milo was all business, writing up his proclamation that would be delivered to Commodore Stockton of the United States Navy, stationed in Monterey. Milo only betrayed his intimacy with Tallulah a few times that Reynaldo could see. Once, as she’d been placing a cup of tea on the table next to him, his arm had lifted as though he was about to grab her ass. He’d started as though taken aback and grabbed the cup of tea instead of her ass.

It was obvious to Reynaldo that Milo was an extremely conflicted man. He wasn’t a ganymede, yet he trucked only with men—until meeting up with the bountiful Tallulah. He had a rule to only submit to one erotic encounter with men, yet now there had been three—since meeting up with Reynaldo. A great many rules appeared to have been flung out the window in the past couple weeks for Milosz Stefanski, Polish farmer. To add to his intimate turmoil, he was now the leader of a rebellion that stood to gain thousands of leagues of land for the United States. Sure, Frémont the Pathfinder would probably take credit for it, knowing Frémont as well as Reynaldo did. But Reynaldo, as well as everyone up and down the California coast, would know of Milo’s part in freeing them from the tyrannical Mexico City.