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

by Karen Mercury

  “Of course, El Ladid.” Harley gathered the woman in his arms and kissed her deeply.

  Neil was happy he didn’t feel one shred of resentment that another man was kissing his fiancée. Because the man was Captain Harland Park, translator of erotic Arabic texts, linguist, falconer, fencer, and surveyor of the Union Pacific Railroad.

  Harley said against Ivy’s mouth, “There is always enough love. Love isn’t finite. There is no end to it. The more you give, the more there is.”

  And Neil gulped his champagne, which normally he hated. He’d had a lot of fresh, new, and wild experiences lately. He knew there were many more in his future.

  Epilogue

  September 1868

  Tomatoes engulfed Ivy Tempest with their spicy, pungent aroma. She picked them slowly, reveling in the scent that bloomed inside her nose. Reluctantly she put them in the basket, knowing the sauce would taste better the longer she simmered it. Neil had taught her that adding claret to the sauce gave it a savory and snobbish taste. Many guests to Serendipity Ranch had asked Ivy if she had a French chef.

  She had just moved on to the herb garden to pick some oregano when her husband’s voice sounded, practically in her ear. He could be so sneaky! She jumped and jammed the handful of pungent herbs to her nose.

  “El Ladid.” His lovely Australian drawl was like honey to her.

  “Oh,” she gasped and tried to turn around. But Neil took the herbs from her, laid them in the basket, and walked her to the wooden fence that surrounded their vegetable garden in an attempt to keep out foraging critters.

  “Marshal Tempest,” she protested feebly. “You may be able to arrest many criminals, but I hardly think I need arresting.”

  “How do you know?” he teased. “Perhaps you’ve done something wrong.”

  “Well,” Ivy admitted, balancing herself on the fence. “I did send a telegram that told a tracklayer’s wife back East that he’d gone off to find gold.”

  Neil nuzzled the side of her neck, and she could feel the hot, insistent bulge cradled in his chaps pressing into her ass. “What’s wrong with that?”

  “I was supposed to telegraph that he’d gone to find Mr. Gold, to invest their money.”

  “Oh. Well, you only left out one word.”

  Neil was bunching her skirts up in his hand, his penis insistent upon her backside. His scent of fresh sweetgrass was mingled with the manly aroma of steer hide, as he’d been out riding with his crew to corral some beeves for market. Ivy’s vulva pulsed with craving, but a slight worry had entered her mind.

  “Is this smart?”

  “Fucking is always smart.”

  Ivy rolled her eyes. Typical man. Didn’t know what she meant, but his answer would’ve been the same for anything. “No. I meant for the baby. Could you…dislodge it or something?” Nevertheless, she assisted him by clutching the hems of her skirts to the fence rail and spreading her slippers against the soil.

  “Don’t worry,” he said as he nudged the bulbous tip of his hot cock against her slimy pussy lips. “You don’t see any of these Indians with child worrying about that.” Neil had become quite interested in Indians lately, since Caleb had been coming around. Serendipity Ranch was closer to Caleb’s tribal camping spot, and Caleb seemed to know he would never have his own children. One day, he’d appeared with the prior knowledge that Ivy was pregnant. She had only known for a few days at that time, but of course, Caleb knew almost everything. Caleb was quite engaged in her pregnancy, bringing her helpful herbs and suchlike.

  “Ah,” Neil sighed as his prick slid inside her, lodging it firmly against her cervix. “I love fucking you, knowing you’ve got my child inside you.”

  “Can’t the cowhands see us?”

  Neil groaned. “Who cares?” Then he seemed to come to his senses, for he added, “They’re way over there.”

  They were hidden by the tall teepees of tomato and bean vines, so Ivy felt secure and safe. Droning bees buzzed past as Neil began to move inside of her, tickling her pussy with his admirably muscular cock. He cupped her labia, diddling her bulging clitoris with the tip of his longest finger. He knew this excited her, made her pussy clutch his cock, got her juices flowing.

  Ivy arched her back to give her husband better access. This was what they’d been doing the day she’d conceived, standing up humping “bull style.” Ivy had known it was that day—she’d just had a feeling.

  “Ah.” Harley’s voice came, resonant and clear, from somewhere behind the vine teepees. “Leave you alone for one minute and you’re on top of our wife.”

  “There’s room for more,” Ivy said. Neil had not allowed Harley to penetrate her until they were absolutely certain she’d conceived. They’d come up with a plan so that the father of the child was a certainty. Now that she was with child, Harley could fuck her as well, but at the moment she was otherwise engaged.

  She had to crane her neck and twist her torso to view the stunning adventurer, bronzed by the sun. His neckerchief hung loosely about his barrel chest, and he was still huffing with the exertion of riding. When he plastered his body to Neil’s back, their comingled sweat wafted pleasantly. Fresh sweat was not abhorrent. In fact, it excited Ivy.

  Caleb had tried to explain that humans exuded some chemical when aroused that attracted others, as animals did. Ivy had pretended to scoff, but the idea had taken ahold of her. She knew that deep down she was just an animal, responding on a subconscious level to the scents emitted by her mates. The idea now made her giggle.

  Harley withdrew a tin of grease. They often carried these tins for waterproofing saddles and lubricating various pieces of machinery, and he now greased up his mammoth cock. Ivy clutched Neil’s penis with the walls of her pussy to slow him down, to ready him for penetration by Harley’s big tool. Looking over her shoulder, Ivy saw that Neil was poised with nostrils flaring, eyes rolling into his skull. Neil had learned to take Harley’s massive cock slowly the first few times, but today Harley didn’t seem inclined to dawdling.

  “That’s right,” Harley growled. “Raise your succulent ass to me, Neil. Take me. Bedi fawit eyri bi tizik.” Which Ivy now knew to mean I want to put my cock in your ass.

  It wasn’t lurid the way Harley grunted it, with the mellifluous tones she knew had enabled him to sneak inside the holy city of Mecca, to convince everyone he was a Muslim—he’d even undergone a circumcision to gain their confidence. Ivy supposed he did not get much of a chance to practice his Arabic or the seventeen other languages he purportedly was fluent in, other than his French, German, and Spanish. But Harley had eased right into life on Serendipity Ranch with a jolly readiness. He’d found that the Mexican ranch hands had an affinity for falconry, often went out prospecting, and lately he’d been teaching townsmen the art of fencing. His mind was a constant whirlwind of learning and studying. He was the most intelligent man Ivy had ever known. He had already entered into a new venture to design and build Laramie City’s first bank.

  Now the linguist humped her husband. His sinewy hips swiveled erotically as Harley threw his head back in an anguished haze of lust. Ivy was stimulated to the heights of ecstasy to feel Neil’s prick inside her actually throb with wanting to spend, and she heard prurient language come from her own mouth.

  “Fuck him, Harley! Mount him like a stag. Spear him with your big phallus.”

  “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. Instant
ly 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 st
ick. 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.