Derrick gasped at the sudden invasion. Swiftly he found that there was a thin line between pain and pleasure as Rudy inched this object inside him. If he relaxed, panting like a dog against Alameda’s distended clitoris, Rudy could screw the object inside him lewdly, and waves of pleasure began washing over him. Of course he’d never been sodomized by a foreign object, but he was starting to suspect it could be pleasurable, especially with Rudy’s lascivious talk, murmuring in his ear.
“Do you like this, Derrick? Do you like being fucked by this dildo?”
So that’s what it was. How did Rudy have a dildo handy? Rudy was so lecherous it didn’t surprise Derrick, but he could hardly answer with his face smashed against Alameda’s steamy pussy. He just groaned, but this encouraged Rudy, who squiggled the dildo another inch inside him.
Rudy cradled Derrick’s back to his torso now, his free hand snaking around and gripping Derrick’s prick with a palm full of grease. “You like being buggered by another man, don’t you,” Rudy suggested. “You like having this long, hard thing up your ass. God, your cock is the biggest I’ve ever had in my fist. You’re well-hung like a stallion, did you know that? You’ve got the most beautiful, fattest circumcised tool I’ve ever frigged. Does it make you hot licking your fetching belle like that, coaxing an explosive orgasm from her?”
“Damn it to hell, Rudy!” Alameda shrieked so loudly the neighbors next door could probably hear her. She had the high-pitched, nearly hysterical tone of a woman who would tear someone’s head off if she wasn’t satisfied this instant. Derrick had heard that tone before from his wife, Cora, and more recently from Alameda herself, and she would not be ignored. “Shut up with your nasty talk and just give it to him!” Gripping the back of Derrick’s head, she smashed his face to her pussy and humped his face frantically.
Derrick would have laughed if he wasn’t being buggered and frigged forty-six ways to Sunday. Rudy’s experience in the underworld of bumfucking was sending Derrick over the edge. He had the showman’s ability to manipulate the dildo with precision, simultaneously corkscrewing his fist up and down the length of Derrick’s pleasured cock, his thumb describing ecstatic figure eights. Derrick heard Rudy chuckle at the exact moment the dildo hit a highly sensitive spot Derrick had never known existed, and what felt like a bucket of jism instantly shot from his aroused cock.
Derrick somehow had the presence of mind to reapply himself to his lapping. He was rewarded when Alameda’s keening became higher and higher in pitch like a teakettle about to boil. When he heard her hold her breath he knew she was set to topple over that cliff and plunge into a wrenching orgasm. Rudy milked Derrick’s cock and continued to expertly fuck him while a tidal wave of sweet pussy juice poured from Alameda.
By now her thigh was constricted around his neck, and she clutched his skull so tightly he was having trouble inhaling, but he wanted to ride the waves of her ecstasy. He was proud that this orgasm seemed to last longer than the one Rudy had given her—maybe a full five minutes. He wasn’t terribly cognizant with the lack of air to his brain and the orgasm Rudy still coaxed from his throbbing prick.
When Alameda finally released her grip on his skull and even shoved him away, Derrick fell back on his ass like an empty sack of chicken feed. Alameda stumbled to lean on another counter, panting as though about to puke into a bowl, while Derrick wiped his saturated face on his sleeve.
Rudy was also bowled back on his ass, laughing in disbelief and approval at their antics. He seemed unaware that he looked completely absurd wearing what looked like one of C. Chang’s collarless robes, gripping a marble pestle he’d probably grabbed from a mortar on some counter.
Derrick had to laugh, too, that he’d just been reamed by a kitchen implement. “You’re so inventive, Remington Rudy,” he said weakly.
“Hey,” Rudy said modestly. “It’s the tricks of the trade. It’s the duty of all magicians to give entertainment.”
“Dear Lord,” panted Alameda, holding her stomach. She looked heavenly from behind like this, the slope of her ass under the diaphanous stocking fabric like a serene, glowing moon. Turning around, she laughed at the sight of Rudy. “Whatever are you wearing?”
Rudy stood, going to toss the pestle into the sink. “Well, when I ran out of Chang’s, I realized I still had no shirt. Just the thought of me, the alleged murderer of Kittie, tearing through the circus troupe’s encampment put the fear of God into me, so I rushed back and asked Chang for some disguise.” From the depths of the robe he pulled out a little cap and tugged it onto his head then withdrew something that looked like a black garter snake and affixed it to his upper lip. “Makes for good disguise!” he proclaimed.
Derrick was incredulous. He had to grab the handles of a drawer to lug himself to his feet, where he swayed as though roostered. “You ran around the encampment dressed like a riceman?” He tore the fake mustache from Rudy to discover it was really a very long shriveled mushroom. Or so he hoped. One never knew with C. Chang, Proprietor.
“Well,” said Rudy. “It was better than running around looking like Rudy Dunraven, Cinnabar Murderer of Kittie Wells. Castillo was just coming around when I left Chang’s, so I didn’t have much time, but I searched in his tent.” He shrugged. “I didn’t care if it was obvious someone had been rifling through things. The way he’s hallucinating, he might not even notice.”
“Or think some elephant did it,” Alameda suggested.
“Right. I have to say, I didn’t find much. Only that two beds were made up inside the tent, so it’s possible Kittie could have been held there, drugged, sleeping. I did find these in one of the beds.”
Derrick had to squint to see what Rudy held up to the lamplight. But Rudy had clearly found about six strands of long blonde hair. “He’s our culprit, by God! And the only way we’re going to prove it is by shadowing Castillo around. You can’t do it, obviously. You can’t leave this house without being lynched, unless you’re dressed like an oiled, loco riceman. And I don’t want Alameda stumbling around in the snow, so that leaves only me.”
“I’d like to get my spirit cabinet back, too,” said Rudy. “If they haven’t already smashed it up for kindling. What did you find when you went back to the Oddfellows Hall?”
Alameda said, “We didn’t get very far. The crowd was far too unruly. I’ll get your cabinet back tomorrow, and I can keep rehearsing the play to keep an eye on Castillo. I’ll go to Kittie’s house for a viewing of the body, to pay my respects.”
“Yes,” Derrick told Rudy. “Alameda had a very good idea. Remember when Castillo was raving about women’s toes? Their dainty little pinkie toes or some such perverted drivel? Well, Alameda used to know a fellow who was very, shall we say, overly interested in women’s feet. He liked to smell their shoes.”
Alameda added, “He liked to wash their feet and also to paint their toenails. Not with cinnabar, but he painted them all the same. He usually had to pay a woman to allow this sort of odd behavior, but it was harmless, really.”
Rudy chuckled. “I’ve heard of worse sorts of odd behaviors. But that’s a good idea. Check Kittie’s feet, see if they’re painted. Chang can testify to that perverted obsession Castillo was blathering about, inasmuch as anyone will believe the word of a riceman around these parts.”
Alameda sighed heavily. “It would help immensely if Marshal Tempest could make it back to town. But we can’t expect him to fly over miles of snowdrifts.” She snatched her rust-red suit from the pile on the floor. She had never looked lovelier than this moment, all bouncing curves and silken coils of dark hair that had come undone from her coiffure. “Well, Percy was right. The cabinet did bring Kittie back. Just not in the way we imagined.”
“Yes.” Derrick frowned. “That fellow has a way of being much too literal. We should call him forth again, though. He obviously has some all-seeing abilities.”
“Tomorrow,” said Alameda wearily, walking past the two men to the dining room door. “I’m so exhausted I’m about to swoon. Rudy, yo
u can’t go back to your hotel. Stay here. Sleep with Derrick.”
Derrick looked at Rudy as though they’d just been handed—well, free circus passes. But before they could get any ideas, Alameda turned around in the doorway and pointed a finger at them.
“No touching!”
Rudy pouted. “Aw.”
Alameda declared, “If you do, I’ll question Percy and get the truth out of him!”
Both men stared in awe at her voluptuous ass as she stalked out. Derrick’s mind was so heavy with so many thoughts that it must have reached its capacity for all rational thought. Suddenly his mind went blank, and he grabbed the lamp to bring it upstairs, Rudy following.
Chapter Fifteen
The next morning, while Alameda was dressing to take the sleigh to Kittie’s, an angry mob had gathered in front of Albuquerque House.
The heavy curtains of her bedroom window were closed, of course, but she could hear men shouting. She drew the curtains aside a fraction of an inch, just enough to see Bob Freund and his cohorts waving rifles around in the snowy front yard.
“Give us Remington Rudy!” Bob was shouting.
Others shouted, “Give us the murderer of Kittie Wells!”
Alameda whispered, “Oh, dear Lord.” The sun shone brilliantly today, the only thing that would assist Neil Tempest in getting back to Laramie and calming these roughnecks down.
Ivy swirled into Alameda’s bedroom, fully dressed as though for church, and pulled Alameda from the window. “How did they even know Rudy was here?” she asked. “Josefina let him in last night wearing some kind of oriental tracklayer’s disguise.”
“That was a Chinese pharmacist’s disguise,” Alameda told her sister. “And apparently it didn’t work very well.”
Now Montreal Jed entered, clutching someone’s dressing gown about his thin frame, his bulging eyes even rounder than usual. “What in the name of Sam Hill is going on? I thought I was the alleged murderer, not Remington Rudy.”
Alameda said, “I think you still might be—a sort of helpmate for the nefarious Remington Rudy—so stay out of sight. And Ivy, I don’t want you showing your face out front, not in your condition. You don’t need the additional distress on little Coraline.” Coraline was the name chosen for the daughter Ivy would birth, the daughter prophesied by another spirit who had helped Ivy a while back. Alameda continued buttoning up her bodice.
“We have to somehow send for Father,” Ivy insisted. “He’s the only one who can convince these irate brawlers that Rudy isn’t guilty of anything.”
In a way, Ivy was right. Simon Hudson was the biggest merchant in town, one of the railroad big bugs, and Bob Freund’s father was an associate of his. There was only one major thing lacking with this idea. “Father has never even met Rudy,” Alameda mentioned. “Damn it to hell, he hasn’t even met Derrick. I’m in love with them—him—and the first time he meets them is when a lynch mob is waiting for them? That’s not going to make Father more liable to approve of them—him—when he’s been pushing all those idiotic Freund boys on me all these months to no avail.”
Montreal Jed pointed out, “And it’s not more liable to make the Freund boys more fond of Rudy and Derrick, if you’ve been turning them down for months now.”
For lack of anything more constructive to do, Alameda retrieved her derringer from her white fur muff. To further complicate matters, two muscular naked men now entered Alameda’s bedroom but skidded to a stop when they saw Ivy and Montreal Jed.
“Oh, Jesus,” said Derrick, finally bothering to wrap the bedsheet he held around his waist.
Rudy didn’t have a bedsheet, so he snatched up something that turned out to be Alameda’s dressing gown and held it to his privates.
Ivy giggled and turned toward the wall as Montreal Jed pointed out, “And the Freund boys will become even more irate if they see two nude men at the window.”
Rudy stepped forward boldly. “Listen, Alameda. If we don’t arrest Castillo, I’m going to have to leave town, hopefully more than two steps ahead of that lynch mob. I’m more at home with strong-arm men and bear wrestlers than the blue bloods of this town anyway.”
“But you didn’t do it!” Alameda protested, waving her derringer about. “Rudy, I will shoot that dough-headed jackass Bob Freund myself before I will let you slink out of town!”
“Dressed like a Chinese pharmacist,” Jeremiah added.
“You be careful!” Alameda shrieked at the balloon-headed punch man. “You seem to forget everyone in town thinks you’re the one who kidnapped poor Kittie in the first place!”
“Not to mention,” Derrick pointed out, “how far can Rudy slink when the roads are all impassable and the train won’t run?” He sidled up to Alameda and forced her to lower the hand that held the derringer.
Ivy huffed angrily, “There’s only one person in this room who can safely leave this house and go get Father. Me!”
“Or the cook,” Montreal Jed said.
“No!” Alameda protested. “I will not let you set foot outside that door, Ivy! You never know when one of those pickled rummies will mistake you for an Indian and just plug you!”
“Or mistake you for Rudy and plug you,” Jeremiah added helpfully.
Peeking out the curtains, Alameda saw that a few Freund boys and their buddies were tearing up rosebushes that lined the walkway of Albuquerque House, bellowing things such as “Get out here, you cowardly snake!” and “Come out and act like a man, you yellow bastard!”
Twirling about, Alameda gripped Rudy’s bare shoulder. “Listen. Can you call upon Percy? Ask for his help?”
Rudy shrugged. “I suppose I can. He only seems to come when I’m performing animal magnetism, so I can try. What were you thinking?”
“I’m not exactly sure, but Percy is resourceful. Ask him to scare them away or something! I’m going down there to talk some sense into Bob.” She whisked her way around Ivy and Rudy so that Derrick could not grab her.
He shouted, “I’m coming with you, Alameda! I’m not hiding in here like a lowdown culprit. I can deal with irate crowds—I’m a senator!”
Alameda was halfway down the stairs. “Derrick, you’re a naked senator!”
When her hand touched the front doorknob, she heard a shot. Upstairs, everyone fell silent, and Alameda peered through the curtains of a side window.
Her father Simon had arrived on horseback through the melting snow, still holding his smoking rifle aloft. “Any more of you boys want to tear up my daughter’s landscaping?” Oh, dear. He had probably had a late night at the Frontier Hotel slamming beers with business associates. Maybe that’s how he had gotten wind of the lynch mob.
But it seemed to do the trick, temporarily. Buffoons dropped the rosebushes they had torn from the ground and lowered their rifle barrels, giving Simon a chance to slush through the snow up the front walkway and make his stand in front of the porch. Alameda now dared to gently open the front door and reveal herself, one part of her body at a time, with the shield of Simon and his horse emboldening her. Simon continued to yell, “This is the home of my daughter Liberty and her husband Levi Colter, agent at Fort Sanders and gold mining tycoon! Liberty opened the first schoolhouse in Laramie, and many of your children are her charges! Now you come storming down here claiming they are harboring some fugitive charlatan named Remington Rudy?”
“Father,” Alameda said insistently, standing by his stirrup. “Liberty and Levi are in South Pass at their mine. And Remington—Rudy Dunraven is staying here. He is my guest. But he’s no charlatan.”
Simon looked down at his daughter as though he’d never seen her before. “Please don’t tell me this Remington Rudy did actually kidnap and kill Kittie Wells.”
“Of course not! Father, we know who did it. They just have to give us more time to get more evidence. Neil is on his way back from Serendipity Ranch—”
Simon cut her off by hollering at the crowd, “And here is my other daughter Alameda, who has served all of you many meals at the
Cactus Club! It is unthinkable that Allie would harbor this master of illusions and mind control if he truly had harmed poor Kittie Wells!”
Anger again clouded Bob Freund’s face, and he took a few steps forward. “But Mr. Hudson. We are not doubting your daughters or any of their husbands. We are doubting Remington Rudy, a newcomer to town who is so secretive he hadn’t performed in public until last night!”
“Yeah!” another fellow roared. “And we found this in his room at the Union Pacific Hotel!”
Alameda gasped when the beefy fellow yanked what looked like a naked woman from the depths of his saddle blankets. But the woman was oddly stiff, missing a head, hands, and feet, and had no nipples or pubic hair. The guy was able to wave her around freely as though she only weighed five pounds, and Alameda knew it was a dressmaker’s mannequin, often used by magicians and other artists to practice acts.
Bob Freund shouted, red-faced, “What kind of perverted degenerate would keep that in his room unless he was practicing for the sort of perversions he later committed upon the body of Miss Kittie Wells?”
Alameda now stepped forward. “Oh, now you’ve gone loco, Bob! Would the real murderer be so stupid as to reveal Kittie’s body during their own act? It’s obvious someone else put Kittie into the cabinet. Boy, if your brains were dynamite, you wouldn’t have enough to blow your nose, Bob.”
Bob pointed an accusatory finger at Alameda and opened his mouth to speak, but just then the mannequin went flying out of his friend’s hands. A crystalline spray of snow exploded from the mannequin’s neck as it sailed headlong into a snowdrift.
Alameda turned around to find out who had thrown the snowball. Everyone else seemed to be doing the same. She even looked at the second-story bedroom window but saw only Montreal Jed’s round eyes peering out, the window still closed.
Cold Steel and Hot Lead [How the West Was Done 3] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) Page 13