by Hondo Jinx
“Excellent,” Sage said. “I am looking forward to having sexual intercourse with both of you, and I would like to rest in order to replenish my psionic potential. Today has been remarkably interesting but also considerably draining.”
“You’re crazier than a shithouse rat, you know that?” Nina said with a grin. Turning to Brawley, she added, “And don’t you bother cracking on my tinfoil hat, buddy. I have world-class tits, and tits trump tinfoil.”
“I got no argument with that,” Brawley said, cutting across the highway and rolling to a stop in a nondescript pull-off across from a strip mall at the edge of town. “Can you keep the cloak up while you sleep?”
Sage said she could.
Brawley noticed with surprise the blond librarian was already unbuttoning her blouse.
“All right, then,” he said. “We’ll have our fun, catch some sleep, go see Nina’s telepath, grab some pie, and head north.”
“Um,” Nina said, and bit her lip, looking severely cute in the rear view. “I don’t think Tammy will be too happy if we show up in the middle of the night. She’s a single mom, working two jobs.”
“We’ll pay her well enough that she’ll forgive us,” Brawley said, but in the back of his mind, he did some calculations.
People who grow up poor and later come into money split into two basic types. They either blow money like it’s got an expiration date, or they keep on pinching pennies like they can’t believe the numbers on their bank statements.
Brawley had grown up poor as dirt. Grandma Hayes had willed them the ranch, but it was hard, unforgiving ground, and every year they fell deeper into debt.
When Brawley started pulling down prize money, he had helped them out. But he was thrifty by nature, and after that first year, he’d gone back to watching his pennies.
Until now, that was. Suddenly, he seemed to be spending money like an oil baron.
Turns out being an outlaw on the run with two women is an expensive proposition.
But even after buying the ammo and picking up the slimline Glock for Sage, he still had enough to pay the telepath to shield Nina’s mind, which would protect her from her father, who had fallen under the sway of Jamaal Whittaker, a Key West-based Seeker representing the Order.
After they reached Miami, Brawley would hit a bank and restock.
With his new Seeker abilities, he could have passed that gun shop owner a stack of singles and pawned them off as hundred-dollar bills, but he wouldn’t do that. No way was he going to take twenty-five hundred dollars of merchandise off a guy and leave him in a lurch with twenty-five bucks to pay his rent and light bill. To hell with that.
Well, he might pay taxes that way. Because fuck taxes.
But otherwise, no sir. He wasn’t a crook. He was a cowboy. And that meant sticking to a code.
Some people made a big fuss over the cowboy code, writing it down and putting it on coffee mugs and shit like that.
Brawley’s code wasn’t written down anywhere. He and the cowboys he knew perceived its principles intuitively and honored them without feeling the need to talk much or thump their chests or make t-shirts like a bunch of sorority girls. They understood that their lives would collapse without this code just as surely as their bodies would collapse without the bones.
If nothing else, having a code, written or otherwise, kept a man from becoming a self-serving asshole like so many people seemed to be these days. It meant saying “sir” and “ma’am,” honoring the elderly, standing for the national anthem, and holding the door for women. In many ways, it was nothing more than what had passed for common decency in much of the country not all that long ago. But the code demanded more than politeness from a cowboy.
And tricking people out of their livelihood, no matter how easy or profitable it might be, was a definite no-go, thank you very much, and don’t let the door hit you in the ass on your way out.
Brawley killed the engine.
A second later, Nina pulled him back against the headrest and started kissing him passionately, her tongue diving and swirling in his mouth as playfully as an otter. At the same time, Sage’s slender fingers started working at his zipper.
Thirty seconds later, Brawley forgot all about his code, the fact that practically half the state was gunning for him, and pretty much everything else except these two beautiful women whom he loved.
After all, tits trump more than just tinfoil, and it’s hard to think straight with your face pressed between a perfect pair of knockers, especially when another girl’s mouth is sliding up and down your dick.
6
Nina peeled off her shirt and unhooked her bra. She straddled him, grinding against his abdomen and setting his cracked rib on fire. He didn’t mention it.
Pain is temporary. Tits are forever.
Nina clamped her crazy hat in place with one hand, gripped the back of his neck with the other, and swept her amazing breasts back and forth across his face, all but smothering him.
Meanwhile, Sage’s tiny hand pumped his shaft as her head bobbed up and down, sucking him with a curious rhythm. Her lips slid up and cinched tight just below his swollen head while her hand plunged to the base of his shaft. Then her head plunged forward, burying half his considerable length in her throat, and her fist rose, pumping his root.
Brawley caught one of Nina’s nipples in his mouth. It was small and hard. Nina moaned, pressing the firm globe of her breast into his face.
With one hand, he cupped her juicy peach of an ass. His calloused fingertips rode the curve of her flesh and slipped under the tight fabric of her short shorts. Nina wiggled in his grasp, twisting and turning so that his fingertips barely brushed the soaked and swollen folds of her sex.
His other hand grabbed a fistful of Sage’s golden locks and squeezed them like a bull rope. The dominant beast was rising within him again, and it was all he could do not to force her mouth down his length, but he left her to her rhythm, and she bobbed up and down, gobbling him alive.
Brawley was not a passive man. Nor was he a passive lover. So while he gave Sage free rein, he turned his attentions to Nina, switching his mouth from one breast to the other and sucking her tiny nipples as his fingertips plunged more deeply into her shorts, brushing across her smooth, wet mound to press against the upper folds of her sex.
His middle finger rolled over the swollen nub of her clit, and Nina shuddered with pleasure. Brawley inched his hand lower and used his ring and pointer fingers to spread her silky folds. Nina leaned forward, panting into his ear, her breath hot against his skin.
He curled his fingers, brushing her clit, and Nina gasped softly. He ran the rough pad of his thumb across her swollen nub, ironing her clitoral hood flat, then peeled it back, exposing her pearl, which he teased with gentle flicking caresses.
Nina’s breathing grew more ragged, and he knew the bond had supercharged her desire and affection just as it had his own. Nina shoved her wobbling breasts into his face with raw urgency.
Down below, Sage pumped and sucked, pumped and sucked.
Brawley pressed two fingers firmly into Nina’s clit and swiveled them in a tight, circular motion that made her whimper and squirm. A short time later, feeling her muscles tense with impending climax, he hauled his fingers from her shorts, cutting off the build and leaving her panting for breath.
“Don’t stop now,” Nina demanded raggedly, breasts heaving. Her hips swirled, her pulsing sex seeking his fingers like a starving mouth hunting food. “I’m so close. Finish me off, you prick.”
Brawley laughed. “You don’t tell me what to do, darlin. I tell you. Now kiss her.”
Nina’s eyes went wide, but she kept grinding and squirming. “Kiss Sage? I’m not into—”
But, apparently, even Nina didn’t believe her own bullshit, because when Sage popped her mouth free of his throbbing erection and stood, Nina kissed her fiercely, shaking with inflamed passion. Ten seconds later, with no stimulation but this kissing, Nina gasped, hugged Sage’s naked body agai
nst hers, and cried out with a shuddering orgasm, her pretty face half-veiled by purple tresses, the visible mouth twisted with ecstatic agony.
“What the fuck?” Nina groaned, still bucking with wave after powerful wave. The convulsions slowed, and she lifted her head to kiss Sage deeply.
A second later, the slender librarian slipped free of Nina’s embrace, slid in front of Brawley, and started yanking at his jeans, trying to pull them down.
“Hold on, darlin,” Brawley said. “I’m calling the shots.” And hooking his women around the waist, he hoisted them onto his shoulders and carried them into the back of the RV.
He set the laughing girls down and opened the Murphy bed.
The girls fell into an impulsive kiss. Brawley watched their playful kiss deepen and read the eagerness in their quivering bodies as Sage’s shaking hands went about the business of unburdening the other woman of her clothing.
Brawley peeled his t-shirt over his head, ditched his boots, and shucked his jeans and jockeys and socks.
Sage, naked from head to toe, save for her glasses, watched him undress, masturbating absentmindedly and studying his body with a look of uncharacteristically atavistic desire.
Nina stepped free of her cut-offs and silky red panties, leaving them on the floor beside her crumpled half-shirt, but she retained her combat boots and stockings, and her uncoupled bra dangled on her back, still hooked to her toned shoulders.
Nina stepped up behind Sage, softly kissing her neck, and snaked a tanned arm across the Seeker’s pale abdomen. Dropping tentatively lower, Nina’s trembling fingertips swept over Sage’s hip, slipped under the librarian’s masturbating hand, and cupped her sex.
Sage bit her lip as Nina’s hand worked back and forth. The blonde’s lids lazed half shut with pleasure, but it was Nina who a few seconds later cried out with surprise and hunched over with another powerful climax.
“What the fuck?” Nina groaned, cumming hard. “Makes no… damn… sense. Never been into… girls.”
“You still are not into girls,” Sage said and started to masturbate again, “but you are into me, sweet sister-wife. We are bound, remember? And our bonds connect us not only in love but lust as well.”
Nina started to respond, but Sage lifted her slick fingers and tucked them into Nina’s mouth, and half a second later, the purple-haired beauty popped off again, growling and shaking as yet another orgasm rocked her body.
Which was hot as hell, but Brawley was through watching. Grabbing both women, he dragged them to the bed. The girls knelt side by side on the floor and lay on their stomachs, their shapely asses pressed against each other at the edge of the bed.
Brawley knelt behind them and spread their legs, exposing their glistening slits. Then he went to work, entering Nina first, pounding her sweet pussy to yet another climax before switching to Sage, who cried out with ecstasy after only a few strokes.
“Do not cease, husband,” Sage begged, “I am experiencing an orgasm!”
Laughing, Brawley buried himself to the hilt, and Sage spewed a garbled stream of gasps and shrieks and unintelligible phrases.
Surprised to feel his own pleasure already mounting, Brawley pulled out and merely watched, letting his urgency ebb away.
Nina rolled onto her back and pulled the still shuddering blonde up her body, hugging Sage’s head to her glistening breasts and cooing softly as she stroked the Seeker’s golden hair. Then Nina pushed Sage’s head down across her stomach and lower.
Nina drew her knees up, and her tanned legs flopped open, exposing herself like a submissive puppy. But there was nothing submissive in the way Nina shoved Sage’s mouth between her legs. A second later, Nina was gasping as her sister-wife kissed and sucked, licked and lapped.
Brawley had never been particularly into the girl-on-girl thing, but this was different. He loved these women and loved that they loved each other. Now they were wild as untamed mares galloping across open country, and he was swept into their unbridled passion.
Sage cried out with another orgasm as soon as he entered her, but he pumped away mercilessly, slapping crisply against her flesh as his throbbing hardness pounded her tight channel, which spasmed with pleasure, gripping him almost painfully as waves of climax hammered her.
“This orgasm feels very pleasant!” Sage declared, her voice rattling through the climax like tires passing over rumble strips.
Brawley seized her narrow hips and pounded away, burying himself with each stroke. Nina’s mismatched eyes, gleaming with desire and affection, locked with his as he pounded the other woman, who continued to suck feverishly at the wetness between the punker’s legs.
Brawley’s pleasure mounted again, but this time rather than delaying climax, he just pounded harder, plunging deep inside one wife while eye-fucking the other. They were all riding the edge now, all hurtling toward orgasm, and a crazy idea occurred to Brawley.
He released a trickle of yellow energy, and a second later, he could sense his wives’ impending climaxes. He felt them building rapidly, Nina edging slightly ahead of Sage, and understood what he needed to do.
He buried his entire length and stopped pumping, tilting his pelvis slightly to change the angle, and ground hard, filling and stretching the skinny librarian.
Sage exploded with a cry of passion, and in the same instant, Nina grimaced with love agony, gripping her sister-wife’s golden hair and pressing Sage’s warbling mouth against her thrusting, pulsing sex, soaking her pretty face with her sweet juices.
Simultaneously, Brawley pulled free and roared as orgasm struck. Holding himself by the root, he launched rope after heavy rope into the air. Hot seed lashed Sage’s pale back, streaked her golden hair, stretched in pearly lines across Nina’s convulsing body, and splashed across her pretty face.
Gasping for air, Nina ran her tongue over her lips, cleaning them and savoring the taste of him.
“That was most satisfactory,” Sage remarked with a shaky voice.
“To hell with was,” Brawley said, and gave her tight ass a crisp smack.
He flopped onto the bed and lay on his back. His erection, shiny with Sage’s essence and dribbling seed, jutted up, still hard as a fencepost. “Which of you cowgirls wants to ride first?”
7
Brawley woke in the night, feeling well rested. The LED on the microwave read 12:17.
His arm throbbed, reminding him that he’d been shot, and his left side, where Marco had tackled him, ached from his floating rib all the way up to his armpit.
Brawley registered these pains the way a farmer might note a morning sky tinged in red. Perhaps a warning, but work remained to be done.
He untangled himself from the warm, soft flesh of his women and rose from the bed. Nina stirred, murmuring softly in the gloom, draped a slender arm over Sage’s hip, and rolled into the slumbering blonde, pressing her bare breasts into her sister-wife’s naked back.
Brawley loved these women as if he’d known them for eternity and a day.
He got dressed and put on his boots and seated his XDS at the front of his waistband. Then he tucked the Smith & Wesson in back, exited the RV, and locked the door behind him.
He stood for a moment, breathing the warm, salt air. The ocean was close here but quiet. The air was still, and the road was empty both ways.
From up the road just around the bend came a hollow thunk, and the soft green light of an unseen traffic light shifted to yellow. There was another mechanical thunk, and red light infused the darkness.
Across the highway, clouds of insects swarmed the glowing sign overtop the strip mall shops.
Brawley crossed the road and used the ATM. Then he went into the all-night drugstore and bought peroxide, bandages, and two rolls of gauze and a spool of medical tape.
Then he walked to the end of the strip mall and waded through hip-high grass to the edge of the water, where he pulled the Smith & Wesson from his waistband and used his shirt to wipe it down as best he could and heaved it as far as he could
out into the water.
He was already carrying life in prison on board the RV. No sense doubling that or worse if he got caught with a pistol that ended up matching the ballistics of unsolved cases where the dead were better citizens than the men Brawley had killed.
He went back across the road, reentered the RV as quietly as he could, and locked the door. Then he carried his purchases into the bathroom and peeled off his shirt to have a look.
His arm was the deep red purple of raw steak from shoulder to elbow, and the scratches across his chest were red and swollen with inflammation. The scratches were more concerning than the buckshot wound, which was a clean hole through the meat of his upper arm. An uncle of his had gotten cat scratch fever and landed in the hospital for a week.
Brawley didn’t have a week, and he’d rather chew the business end of a disposable razor than go back into the hospital, thank you very much.
He washed out his wounds with soap and warm water and patted them dry. Then he uncapped the brown bottle, pushed a finger through the foil, and soaked a facecloth with peroxide. He wiped it back and forth over his chest, and the scratches bubbled like lava.
He leaned over the sink and turned his injured arm toward the mirror and wiped it down with the cloth and squeezed some of the peroxide down into the wound. He stood there for half a minute, gripping the sink’s edge and sweating.
Then he rinsed out the rag and put the cap back on the peroxide and set to bandaging his arm. It was awkward work, but the edges of the pads were adhesive, and he managed to cover both ends of the wound. He wrapped his upper arm in gauze and bit off the end and taped it down and turned his shoulder in the mirror, studying his handiwork.
Not bad. Not bad at all.
Brawley fetched his medicine ball and carried it outside and dropped it onto the sandy ground alongside the RV. Then he did what he always did when life tried to throw him. He climbed onto the ball and just stood, minding his balance, slowing things down and getting back to basics. For a few minutes, he reviewed the day’s events like scenes from a movie, seeing all yet dwelling on none, memories of lovemaking and bloodletting alike whisking weightlessly away, clearing his head.