Wild to the Bone (3 page)

4

M
iss Downing's pussy felt
like a pot of warm honey overturned on his fully engorged, iron-hard cock, which curved up deep inside her.

Straddling him, the girl rose slowly onto her knees, lifting that warm honey pot to the very tip of his organ, before leaning forward and pressing both her soft hands on his chest and lowering the honey pot once more, twisting her hips slightly from left to right and back again. When she'd bottomed out, Haskell swallowed and gasped as she ground down hard against him, making little whimpering sounds deep in her throat.

He could hear her honey crackling softly against his shaft, feel the wet hair of her bush prickling deliciously against his crotch.

“Feels . . . sooo . . . goooood,” she said raspily, continuing to lean into her hands on his chest.

Her long hair, still lightly damp from the bath they'd taken together when they'd pulled into the little ranch-supply town of New Haven, tickled as the feathery ends danced across his chest and neck. He stared up into her soft jade eyes as she slowly lowered her head to his, and he opened his mouth slightly as she pressed her lips against his, sticking her tongue out to gently caress his own.

Haskell reached up to cup her deliciously full, supple breasts in his hands, feeling the jutting nipples rake across his palms.

“So, so . . . good!” she said, pulling her head back from his and slowly lifting her pussy to the end of his cock once more.

“Oh, yeah,” Haskell said through a long sigh, rolling the girl's nipples between his thumbs and index fingers and trying hard to keep his passion on a leash. He didn't want to come. Not yet. He wanted to thoroughly enjoy every ounce of pleasure this girl had to offer.

It was an old rancher heading to town for supplies who had given Haskell and Miss Downing a ride after Haskell turned all the stage horses loose and removed the strongbox from the roof. New Haven wasn't much but a handful of tent shacks and plank-board shops, but it did boast a two-story hotel with a café and saloon in it.

After reporting the trail trouble to the local stage office and stowing the lockbox, he and Miss Downing wandered over to the New Haven Hotel and Saloon for a meal over which they'd gotten to know each other, and a bath, during which they'd gotten to know each other better.

Of course, the middle-aged gent who ran the place didn't know that Haskell had slipped into the girl's room by prior arrangement, and he hoped like hell no one ever found out. She was from this neck of the woods, after all, and her reputation was on the line. In fact, the station agent had sent a telegram to Cybill's father, Harcourt Downing, in Montrose, so he'd likely ride to town in the morning to fetch the stranded girl, whom he had hadn't seen in the two years she'd been away bettering herself at the girls' school in New York State.

Miss Downing herself didn't seem overly worried that someone might find out about the little fuck party she was throwing in her room for the relative stranger who'd saved her life, because several times over the course of the late afternoon, Haskell had had to clamp a hand over the girl's mouth to muffle her groans of pleasure.

He did so again now as she slid her slick little pussy down to his belly and tipped her head back, opening her mouth as though to scream.
“
Hmmmmmmmm!”
she said, grinding her lips into the palm of Bear's big hand, jerking her shoulders with sultry laughter.

Her lips opened, and he could feel the sharpness of her teeth and then the wetness of her tongue licking him.

She pushed his hand down from her face, pressing it to her right breast and groaning more quietly now as she continued to fuck him.

Haskell looked up at her. Her pretty, heart-shaped face between the wings of her long hair was touched with the salmon pinks and purples of the sunset out the window to her right. The light danced softly in her hair, flashing on the lightest strands as they continued to slide back and forth with every rise and fall of her sweet ass.

Haskell swept her hair away from her face, brushed his thumbs across the nubs of her impossibly smooth cheeks. As the crackling of the honey continued against his cock, he said in a voice deep and hoarse with his effort to hold his passion in check, “Miss Cybill, if you ain't careful, I'm gonna start thinkin' you've done this before.”

“Never with anyone as big as you, Bear.” She turned her face to kiss one of his hands as she rocked up and down, her hair jostling now across her jiggling breasts. “I can feel your wonderful cock all the way up in my stomach.”

“Not that far.”

“Feels like it.”

“Don't bother answering if you'd rather not kiss and tell, but who was it, a big-city college boy?”

Cybill stopped rising and falling. Her eyes were smoky as she quirked her mouth corners up alluringly, blinked once, cupped her breasts in her own small, pale hands, lifting them up against her chest, and said, “I'll tell you all about him if we can do it doggie-style.”

Haskell laughed as he sat up and slid to one side. She gave a delighted chuckle and lifted off of him, crouched down to kiss his honey-coated cock, continuing to massage her breasts, and then dropped to all fours.

She wagged her taut, round ass, and Haskell knelt behind her, closing his hands over her hip bones. He slid his hand between her butt cheeks and against the furry mound beneath her small, pink asshole.

She was so hot and wet that he knew he'd have no trouble sliding into her again.

He didn't. As he bottomed out inside her, she lifted her head and said, “Oh!” Her damp hair tumbled down her slender back toward the flare of her beautiful hips.

“Oh, God!” she cried as he started to fuck her.

Her body shuddered as he slid in and out of her. She lowered her head until her forehead was pressed deep into her pillow, her forearms lying flat. She said, as though from far away, her voice husky with passion, “This is how we used to do it.”

“You and who?” he said, slowly sliding in and all the way out before shoving his swollen head through her snatch once more. “Eastern boy?”

“No eastern boy, silly. I went to a school for girls, and Emma Willard doesn't allow conjugal visits.” Cybill giggled. “Oh, fuck, that feels good. Could you start fucking me just a little faster, Bear? If you don't, I fear my heart is going to burst!”

“Shhh!”

“OK,” she said, giggling.

“Who was it?” he wheezed, fucking her only slightly faster. The friction made his cock feel as if the fire had been stoked ten degrees hotter beneath that honey pot.

“A young cowboy . . . in my father's employ,” she said between labored breaths. “Back at the . . . ranch—oh, Jesus, I feel like I'm being fucked with a
pump handle
!”

Haskell chuckled. “You mean, before you left home?”

“That's why Father . . . finally let me go . . . to New York and attend the school I'd been dreaming of attending . . . ever since I'd read about it in
Harper's Magazine
. He caught me and Jimmy doing it like this . . . or not quite like
this
! . . . in the old bunkhouse. On a pile of horse blankets. Oh, it sounds so . . . so
dirty
to talk about it like this . . . with you . . . here . . . now. With your cock inside me!”

“Musta been quite a shock to the old man.”

Cybill giggled. “At the time, I was quite horrified . . . until I realized . . . that I'd fucked my way . . . off the ranch. I . . . I always . . . felt a little guilty—oh, God, yes, faster, that's wonderful—about Jimmy, though. My father chased him off the ranch—oh, Jesus! oh, Jesus!—though I heard he'd been . . . heard he'd—oh, fuck me, Bear!—picked up by the Slash-Bar Z.”

Haskell felt sweat dribbling down his cheeks and into his beard. He was thrashing against the girl in earnest, her hip bones in his hands, drawing her toward him, away, toward him, away . . .

“You ready?”

“Oh, fuck, yes!”

“Shhhh!”

Cybill laughed. “OK!”

Bear pulled out of her and used his hand to finish her with his fingers, grinding his knuckles up hard against her clit. She convulsed before him, thrashing her ass up and down and mewling into her pillow. She bathed his hand clear up to his wrist with her hot spend.

When her convulsions started to die, he said hoarsely, “Turn over. Hurry!”

She turned onto her back, and he slid his throbbing cock up between her breasts.

“Squeeze your tits together,” he ordered tightly.

Quickly, she did as he'd instructed, watching in wild delight as, rising up onto his toes, propped on his locked arms, he slid his large organ up and down between her sumptuous breasts.

“Ah,
fuck
!” he grunted.

His seed fairly blasted out of him. She tipped her head back and opened her mouth as it jetted up across her face. She lapped at it, coating her lips with it, as he continued to thrust his shaft between her squeezed-together tits. She chortled and laughed as the jism kept coming until her face was drenched. Several beads were even clinging to her brows.

Haskell pulled his gradually dwindling cock out of the hollow between her breasts and flopped over onto his back with a sigh. She smacked her lips and giggled.

“Oh, Christ, you 'bout killed me.” He was still trying to catch his breath.

She wiped her face with a corner of the sheet and turned over on her side, thrusting her wet pussy against his hip and grinding her face against his chest. “That was fun—my first fuck in two years, and with a man big as you. How tall are you, anyway, Bear?”

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, drawing her taut against him. Unlike most men he'd heard about, he didn't like to fun and run. Lying with a girl before and afterward was almost as fun as the tumble itself.

He pressed his lips to her sweaty temple. “Six-five, give or take an inch.”

“You were appropriately named.” Cybill ran a hand through the hair on his head. She raked it through his sweat-damp beard and then down through the tangle of thick, dark brown hair matting his broad chest. “A real bear of a man, aren't you?”

Bear chuckled. “That ain't my real name. I got that name when I was still in grammar school, before the war broke out.”

“What's your real name, Bear?”

“William.”

“No!” She lightly bit his side.

“Sure as hell. William Barrett Travis Haskell.”

“Oh, after the Texas commander of the Alamo, of course,” she said, looking up at him, the white line of her teeth showing between her slightly parted lips. The last light touched her cheeks and forehead with pink rouge, and it made her jade eyes sparkle like diamonds. “You're a Texan. By your size, I should have known. Hey, I think it's coming alive again,” she added, squeezing the organ resting on his thigh.

“Just ignore it. Damn thing has a mind of its own. It's always ready to go when the rest of me is tired.”

“Oh, I like it.” Cybill squeezed the organ of topic again, and he felt the nerves tingle in his big left toe. “A Texan with a Texas-sized dong. What more could a girl ask for?” She tittered as she lowered her other hand to his crotch and hefted his heavy scrotum.

While Cybill's soft fingers continued to ply him very gently under the covers, she wriggled her warm body against him. Haskell reached over to the bedside table for one of his favored Cleopatra Federales cigars. He loved the dynamite-sized stogies so much that he'd arranged for the Pinkerton Agency to pay him partly in the heavenly smokes from Cuba, a full box of cigars at the satisfactory completion of every assignment.

“You don't mind if I smoke in here, do you, Miss Cybill?” he asked the girl, sliding the aromatic cigar—it smelled like chocolate, coffee, and the cognac it had been infused with—back and forth beneath his nose.

“Not if I can play with your cock.”

Haskell chuckled as he reached up and struck a match against the headboard. “There's a deal I can live with.”

When he'd gotten the cigar fired to his liking, expelling the aromatic smoke out through his mouth and nostrils to catch the last pink of the fading sunset, Cybill continued to play with his cock and scrotum, keeping her face snugged taut against his ribs, occasionally pressing her sweet lips against him.

They didn't say anything for a time, both of them just lying there, Haskell smoking, the girl manipulating his private parts, listening to the early-evening sounds of a dog barking and the quiet
clomp
s of a horseman passing in the street outside the hotel.

Downstairs, someone was tuning the saloon's piano, sending an occasional quiet, discordant note through the floor. Somewhere in the hills surrounding the town, a couple of coyotes were also tuning themselves up.

Forlorn sounds at a forlorn time of the day.

This time of the day or early evening was never much fun. Haskell was glad to have Cybill in bed with him.