The Mammoth Book of Threesomes and Moresomes

by Linda Alvarez

  The widow said, “If they do, I’ve got a whole case of shells right next to my coffee and my thunder mug. You men can leave my property to me, now. Go on, get.”

  There was no arguing with her. Austin carried Harcourt’s rifle and the silver case, then lit and hung a lantern while Harcourt assisted DeVille back into the barn.

  Once inside, DeVille snapped, “Get your damned hands off me!” and shoved Harcourt away. He spun his hat on to the pile of saddlebags, followed it with his gloves, ripped his necktie loose, then sat down, hard, on the same bale as before, wrapping his arms around his chest. He’d seemed perfectly collected while bullets whizzed by, but after his outburst, Austin could see him shaking.

  Austin said, “I think we could all do with a drink.”

  “In my saddlebag,” Harcourt said.

  Austin had not imagined spending the night sitting around the barn on hay bales, passing a flask from hand to hand with two men who had been, at suppertime, complete strangers. DeVille didn’t speak for a long time, only took two gulps of the smooth whiskey for Harcourt’s every one. The two men sat shoulder to shoulder and wore still, tight expressions that made them seem oddly alike. Austin took the flask from Harcourt’s hand and sipped, just enough for flavour and a touch of heat, and to try to ease an unexpected trembling.

  At last, DeVille said, “That damned harpy is paying me double. You can tell her.”

  Sympathy evaporating in a flash of steam, Austin snapped, “Don’t talk about her like that!”

  DeVille snatched the flask, gulped, then upended it, looking disgusted when nothing dripped out. “She was awfully mean to me. You only like her because you think females have to stick together.”

  Austin’s breathing stuttered. “What?”

  “I’ve landed on more than a few women in my time,” DeVille said, still vainly shaking the flask. “Also, you smell better than a cowboy. Doesn’t the widow know?”

  Austin glanced at Harcourt. He looked mildly curious. Austin took a deep breath and said, “The widow don’t hold with women wearing men’s clothes.”

  DeVille shrugged. “Lot of people don’t hold with me being friends with Harcourt.”

  “The reverse is also true,” Harcourt drawled. “What point are you making, Virgil?”

  DeVille smiled, though Austin noted the smile wasn’t as brilliant as before the fight. He said, “If nobody knows about Miss Austin, here, I thought it might be a relief to her to let her hair down for an evening. So to speak.”

  Before Austin could reply, Harcourt had thumped DeVille on the arm. “I told you, hands off the wrangler!”

  “She’s not paying us,” DeVille pointed out. “What d’you think, Miss Austin? Care to be entertained by two fine and discriminating gentlemen?” DeVille appeared to be completely serious.

  Harcourt said, “Now wait just a minute, I never said—”

  DeVille held up a hand to stop his words, in a graceful gesture like an actor on stage. “We can’t leave you out—”

  “This woman is not a—”

  “Don’t say it. You have some cussed strange ideas about women—”

  “I respect women!”

  “So do I!”

  “You respect them right into bed with you!”

  “Jealous? That’s not my fault. I sure as hell invited you along enough times!”

  The two men glared straight into each other’s eyes as they argued. DeVille wore a strange half-smile, which appeared to enrage Harcourt more every second. They were sitting so close they could, Austin thought dizzily, lean forwards and kiss each other with no effort at all. Such a thing had never occurred to her before. She hadn’t even known she wanted to see it, until now.

  She sprang to her feet. “It’ll be both, or none!”

  DeVille snorted and shoved at Harcourt’s shoulder, then grinned. “I was right. They always like you best.”

  Harcourt glared at him, then stood and took off his hat. “Miss Austin, don’t let that silver-tongued rascal talk you into something you might regret. Please understand, we’ll keep your secret, there’s no need to worry about that.”

  Rough as it was, he did have a lovely deep voice. She could’ve listened to him all night. Now she’d have the chance. “That’s mighty kind of you,” she said, looking him up and down. His shoulders were broad and strong; his torso narrowed down to a waist more slender than hers. His thighs looked hard beneath his worn denim pants, and when she looked at the bulge his cock made beneath the fabric, her mouth watered. “But it’s you who don’t understand. I was married once. Earning my living the way I do, though, I haven’t been able to think about the pleasures of the flesh in a long time, because for sure, somebody would talk; and nobody’s going to put a woman, a fallen woman, in charge of their remuda. You two don’t have anything to do with that, do you? And I might as well make up for lost time.” She looked at DeVille and smiled.

  He said to Harcourt, “You can’t complain about this one’s intentions, can you?”

  Austin took a step closer to the men and tipped her hat back on her head. “You ain’t scared, Captain Harcourt?”

  He glanced at DeVille, then back at her. His fingers tightened on his hat brim. “You two might want to speak in private. Perhaps I should take my leave.”

  “Don’t,” Austin said. “Please?”

  DeVille reached out and slapped Harcourt’s leg. “Come on, Harcourt. For the lady.”

  Austin stepped forwards quickly, tugged Harcourt’s hat from his hand, and pressed her lips to his, interrupting whatever he had been about to say in protest. Her hat fell off. His lips were far softer than she’d expected, and he tasted like whiskey with all the burn gone.

  She dropped his hat in the straw and ran her gloved hand up his chest. That was nice and firm. She scrubbed her palm across a nipple, but she could barely feel it beneath his clothing. His fingers closed over her wrist and lifted it. “Are you sure about this?” he said. Flickers of lantern light reflected in his eyes and glistened off the new dampness on his lips.

  “As sure as shooting,” Austin said. “Get over here, DeVille.”

  “That’d be Virgil to you.”

  “Then I’m Sarah. Sarah Jane Austin.” Her free hand, ignoring the pleasantries, shaped Harcourt’s narrow waist and rubbed next to the knife sheath at the small of his back.

  Harcourt’s eyes closed for a moment, then he grinned down at her, a quick flash. “Virgil, this lady is compromising me.”

  “I’ll protect you,” he said, solemnly.

  Preparations took little time. Harcourt opened out the men’s bedrolls atop their canvas tarps, with enough straw beneath for cushioning, while DeVille skimmed off Austin’s coat, knelt, and unbuckled her chaps. His fingers danced along her hip bones, then slid down the outsides of her thighs and cupped her knees above her boots. He tipped his head back to look up at her and said, “It’s a nice change from petticoats and corsetry. Downright inspirational, in fact.”

  Austin swallowed and said, “You’ve got considerable clothes yourself. Harcourt, you going to help me with this?”

  “Give me his coat, and I’ll hang it up.”

  That wasn’t what she’d meant. She stripped off her gloves and, before laying her hands on DeVille’s coat, cupped his face instead. Stubble rasped her palms; he turned his head to press a damp, whiskery kiss into her palm before she reached his mouth. He was more skilled and intent than she’d been prepared for, and when she finally tugged away from him and shoved his coat off, her vest was off, her shirt had been unbuttoned to the waist, and pulled mostly out of her pants. She didn’t linger over DeVille’s waistcoat buttons as she’d intended, fearing she’d find herself ravished and sated before she’d even extracted his watch from its pocket. That would hardly be fair to Captain Harcourt.

  DeVille helped her with the shoulder holsters he wore, laying his guns carefully away on a big silk handkerchief. Austin then glanced at Harcourt, whose hands went to the buckle of his gun belt, letting it slither d
own his hips until she caught the worn leather and laid the weapons aside.

  She said to Harcourt, “You take his shirt off.”

  A pause. DeVille said, “Lady’s choice, Aaron.” Their gaze met and held in silent conversation. Austin tried imagining using Harcourt’s Christian name herself, and couldn’t quite conceive of it.

  Harcourt took a moment, visibly collecting himself, then went to work in businesslike fashion on DeVille’s cuffs and collar. He hesitated again. “You sure about this?”

  DeVille shrugged. “I don’t think our Sarah’s that delicate, are you, honey?” He licked his lips, though, and looked away while Harcourt’s hands, suddenly gentle, worked the linen over DeVille’s shoulders and down his arms, and pulled off even his undershirt.

  Austin understood, then. The bruise from earlier wasn’t showing except as a red mark, but DeVille was scarred all over his ribs and belly, as if he’d been peppered with a giant shotgun. She forced herself to look away from the damage and saw he had a good pair of shoulders on him. He said, “It’s from canister shot, down in Virginia. You got anything to say?”

  “You look fine to me,” she said. She elbowed Harcourt aside and set to DeVille’s pants buttons. He didn’t seem to mind her fumbling there, so she fondled his cock and balls through the fall of his pants before dipping her hands inside and drawing him out. His rosy cock had a pretty arch to it, and she imagined, with suddenly dry mouth, how it might feel inside her cunny.

  Harcourt moved behind her and unknotted the thong binding her hair, then spreading her hair over her shoulders. He burrowed his calloused fingers down to her scalp and massaged, a pleasure that brought tears to her eyes. By the time she had DeVille fully naked, her own shirt had disappeared and Harcourt had his arms around her waist from behind, nuzzling her ear while neatly flicking open the buttons on her pants.

  Harcourt lifted his head long enough to say to DeVille, “You first,” and returned to her ear, her cheek, her throat, her shoulder, each kiss or nip making her tremble. She shuddered when she felt him hardening against the small of her back, and squirmed against him. He breathed raggedly into her neck and squeezed her to him more tightly. She wondered why he hadn’t wanted to go first himself. So long as she had him eventually, she supposed it didn’t matter.

  Austin tugged DeVille forwards by the arm. “Kiss me,” she said, just before his mouth closed over hers. His clever fingers delved beneath the bandages she used to bind her bosom, and a moment later she felt another set of hands join in. Cotton fluttered down her sides and to the floor, and for the first time in six years, hands other than her own touched bare skin. She whimpered and sagged back against Harcourt, who cupped and held her breasts for DeVille’s hot, delicate mouth.

  She twisted in their grip for an eternity, until DeVille muttered something and Harcourt lifted her off her feet, with no more effort than she would have used in picking up a kitten. DeVille, she realized, was yanking off her boots, then her pants. She had just enough presence of mind to grab, but she wasn’t quick enough to prevent him from seeing the rolled bandage that provided the other element of her male disguise. He grinned up at her and kissed her right on the quim. “Maybe it’s time for those bedrolls,” he said. “Harcourt, do take off that blamed knife. And the rest of it, while you’re at it.”

  Austin lost some details after that. Both men seemed intent on making her lose her mind. She had never felt anything so good in her life as strong male bodies pressed both to her front and her back, their hands seeking out every sensitive spot she had. For a long time she did nothing but hold on and respond to whomever happened to be kissing her at the time. She could tell them apart even with her eyes closed: DeVille’s artistry and the scrape of his moustache, Harcourt’s smoother skin and more aggressive tongue and teeth. Harcourt’s hands were more direct, too, which she appreciated as she began to feel more and more wild for release.

  His blunt, calloused finger delicately traced down the line between her buttocks, then stroked the folds of her quim. She cried out. The finger pressed upwards, opening her with impossible gentleness. The tip of the finger curled inside, and she cried out again. Harcourt said, sounding out of breath, “I think she might be ready for you, Virgil.”

  “God damn … hold her for me …”

  She didn’t want to wait for anything. Austin grabbed DeVille’s cock. “Hurry up, you son of a—” She lost her breath as he nudged himself inside, stretching her deliciously; then Harcourt’s hands shifted her hips in some small way, and DeVille slid in even more deeply, until there was no more space between them at all. He rolled his hips, rubbing deeply into the centre of her pleasure, and she gasped, “Again!”

  “Anything for a lady,” he said, and after a little more of this she crested with a sharp cry, clinging to him until the waves of pleasure ebbed. She felt wonderful, but still wanted more. She squirmed between them both, sliding her hands from DeVille’s shoulders to his hips and back again. She could still feel him inside her, harder than before, and Harcourt’s cock like an iron bar digging into her waist.

  DeVille said, tightly, “I need her on her back right now.”

  Harcourt took her head in his lap. She hadn’t had a good look at his cock before now. She rubbed her cheek against it and kissed his velvety skin; after a muttered curse from him and a strained chuckle from DeVille, Harcourt took her shoulders firmly in his big hands and shifted her down, so she could no longer reach. She braced her feet on the blanket for what she expected would be a wild ride. Tense as he’d sounded, though, DeVille took his time, each stroke long and slow and sweet, punctuated now and then by his mouth on her breasts. Austin eased into a trance of pleasure, spiralling around DeVille’s cock and Harcourt’s gentle fingers playing in her hair and stroking her forehead and lips.

  She didn’t think she could come this time, but she revelled in DeVille’s gasping breaths as his thrusts gradually turned short and ragged. She squeezed her passage tightly on him, on his next push; it felt even better, and DeVille’s back arched, his fingers tightening on her hips. She did it again from then on, keeping up the torture until, with a soundless exhalation, he spilled his pleasure inside her. At the end, as he began to soften, he wedged two fingers into her and stroked up and forwards, just enough hardness and pressure to wring another crest from her, this one deeper, seeming to flood her from the inside out.

  After that, she drifted, barely aware of Harcourt shifting her more fully into DeVille’s embrace, then sliding down behind her and throwing his arm over them both. His cock was soft; she hadn’t seen him come, but perhaps he had, while she was occupied by her own pleasure. That was good; it meant there was no rush to satisfy him. She dozed a little then, and she thought DeVille did, too, for when she opened her eyes Harcourt had propped himself on his elbow and was stroking his friend’s brown curls. As if he’d felt her eyes, his hand abruptly stilled.

  “I was just remembering something,” he said, withdrawing his hand and pretending interest in the door of the barn. He shook DeVille’s shoulder. “Wake up, lazybones!”

  “But she tuckered me out!”

  Austin grinned. “I want to tucker him, too.” She eased her backside against Harcourt and found him ready for her. He growled and grasped her hip, holding her there for a stroke or two. She said tentatively, not sure if he would allow it, “I’d like a taste of you.”

  Harcourt’s breath whooshed out against her neck.

  “Lady’s choice!” DeVille said, gleefully. “You can’t say it’s wicked if she offers.” Austin was relieved he didn’t seem to mind he hadn’t received the same; she hadn’t even thought of asking until that moment. Maybe after this round, they could—DeVille leaned down and kissed her, smiling against her mouth. “You are one fine woman,” he said. He drew his finger down the length of her nose. She couldn’t help but smile at him.

  Austin turned in Harcourt’s arms and said, “Just a little taste?”

  His lips parted, but he didn’t speak, only nodded. He laid
his hand on the back of her head as she crouched and licked the length of his erection. His legs trembled, and his hand fisted in her hair. It was something amazing, to have power over a man like that. Holding his cock steady with one hand, she lapped his balls, then dragged her tongue up his length again and pushed back his foreskin. She traced his rim before pressing tiny kisses on to the head. The slit leaked clear fluid, and she drew it between her lips. He tasted salty. She pressed her lips around the head and sucked. A noise like a howl burst from him, and she jerked back, startled.

  “Enough,” he gasped. “Virgil, quit laughing!” Harcourt yanked her towards him and kissed her feverishly.

  He seemed to want her on top of him. Austin was happy to oblige, stretching out on his muscled length, pressing her bosom to his strong chest and matching up her quim against his rigid cock. She rubbed against him and moaned into his mouth, hungry as if she hadn’t already come twice that night. Harcourt kneaded her backside and DeVille stroked the rest of her, from one end to the other. Harcourt’s cock was insistent, though, and she began to feel hollow, so she sat astride him, lifted up enough to get a grip on his cock, and slid down. Harcourt reached up and played with her nipples, panting but not thrusting into her. “Lady’s choice,” he said. DeVille settled on his heels next to them, apparently content to watch for now.

  Austin laid one hand on Harcourt’s belly, letting her fingers stray down into his curls, and then touching where they were joined. “I want a good, hard ride.”

  He grinned, a flash of teeth she would’ve missed if she’d blinked. “That’d be a mercy just now, ma’am, but you please yourself.”

  Austin found herself smiling. “I’m not aiming to have any mercy,” she said, and squeezed her passage on him. She could have sworn she felt the pulse of blood moving in his cock and throbbing against her inner walls. She bit her lip and rocked against him while he steadied her hips with his hands.