“Yes,” agreed Willow, although she’d never seen Amadeo’s ranch. She took his chin in her fingers and forced him to look her in the eyes. He was over a foot taller than her, and they looked like a fairy tale couple. “Amadeo, you’re doing a fantastic job. You must understand. Your father is old school. He is never going to accept that you’re bisexual.”
“Thank—”
Willow cut off Amadeo’s gratitude with a kiss. Steffen simmered and cleared his throat nearby, expecting it to finish soon. The couple had never kissed, that Steffen knew of, and already jealousy bit at the inside of his stomach. But that backstabber Amadeo deepened the kiss, taking Willow’s fragile chin in his big paw and closing his bearish, sensual mouth over her little pouty one.
Steffen waited as it became evident Amadeo was licking Willow’s tongue. Steffen got behind Willow and slid his hands around her ribcage to cup her ample tits. It seemed she had been getting more comfortable in her own skin in front of the men, because today she wore a strappy dress with push-up brassiere cups. Her tits jiggled when she walked, and Steffen was glad they were only playing tourist, and not in a nightclub where other men might ogle her.
Amadeo encircled her waist with his giant hands. It was obvious the two men were fighting, literally, for the upper hand. Steffen put a palm against Amadeo’s bare shoulder and shoved. “All right. Enough.” The couple parted with a hungry, smacking sound.
Willow turned to look innocently at Steffen. “What’s wrong, sweetie? You’re not jealous that Amadeo kisses me, are you? I thought we were all equal.”
Amadeo answered for him. “He’s not jealous. He just wants you to himself—to do more with you. Here, sit on this rock in the shade.” Amadeo wasn’t being entirely truthful, but it smoothed over the awkward moment very diplomatically.
Amadeo successfully distracted Willow as he seated her on a low, flat rock hidden from the setting sun by a boulder. As the sun fell behind the mountains, someone inside the Kupka House turned on a few lights. The immaculate turquoise swimming pool was lit from within, too. Steffen wanted to enjoy his meaningful feeling of a bond with the architect Neutra, but Willow posed on the rock was more attractive. Steffen fell to his knees before her.
“My little filly,” he said. He had seen some gangster call a gal that on an old movie, and it fit with the whole Palomino Ranch motif of her motel. Steffen knew women couldn’t resist his German-Irish accent, and Willow was no exception. Was it wrong to use this to his advantage? Why the hell not? He petted her face with the back of his hand. “It does make me jealous to see Amadeo kiss you, but I’ll get over it, I hope. I just want to be the only one pleasuring you. What if Amadeo is better at it than me? You see my dilemma.”
“Sweetie,” cooed Willow. “What do you have to be worried about? You’re the sexiest, tastiest man I’ve ever met. You were obviously so skilled the other day at giving me a hand relief party.”
Steffen was perplexed. “A…a what?”
Willow grinned secretively. She reached into her giant handbag that she’d thrown onto the ground by the rock. Amadeo kneeled beside Steffen to see what Willow pulled from the bag. It was a piece of shiny black cardboard that declared in pink lettering:
The Best Fillies in California!
Ranch Delights
“What the fuck?” said Steffen, taking the cardboard from Willow’s fingers.
“It’s a menu I found in an old file drawer in the motel office.”
A slow smile spread over Steffen’s face. Apparently Willow had discovered a bill of fare from the old “World Famous” Sunset Palomino Ranch. “This is a great find, Willow! Look at this. A Hand Relief Party is one of the appetizers.”
Amadeo said, “I guess we’re just getting started. Hey, look. Bondage Dungeon. That must’ve been the room we were in the other day.”
“No doubt,” said Steffen, eagerly scanning the offerings. “Some of these are obvious, but others are kind of obscure. Like, what’s a Milky Way?”
Amadeo said right off the bat, “That’s when men like to nuzzle women who are lactating.” His hand automatically shot out to fondle one of Willow’s breasts, although he didn’t take his eyes from the menu.
Steffen’s hand automatically shot out to slap Amadeo’s hand away. “Okay, you’re the expert.”
“The sexpert.” Willow giggled.
“Then what’s this? A Spit Roast? I can picture a pig on a spit being roasted over a barbecue. That doesn’t conjure up anything particularly sexy.”
“That’s easy,” said Amadeo. “That can be combined with a Feast at the Y.”
Steffen scoffed. “I can figure out what that is.”
“Oh yeah?” Amadeo’s tone was challenging. “Then do it, lover boy.” To assist, Amadeo took Willow’s skirt hem between his fingers and slid it up her thigh.
Willow didn’t protest, but cast Steffen a low, sultry look. “It is on the entrée menu, Steffen.” She parted her thighs to indicate her willingness to give Steffen a Feast at the Y. She leaned back on the rock on one hand and hitched one sandal up into a cranny, giving Steffen a display of her narrow thong, her pussy lips bulging enticingly on either side of the fabric strip.
Amadeo moved behind Steffen, rubbing the back of his neck with encouragement. “Go ahead, bro. Have your fill.”
Steffen needed no more enticing. He considered himself a proficient muff diver. That Domme he had lived with had often “queened” him while he was tied up, so he had developed strong throat and tongue muscles. That was a couple of years ago, though—he’d been a swinging bachelor ever since, and bachelors didn’t often run around performing cunnilingus. Still, Steffen calculated in his head as he dove in to take tiny, licking bites of Willow’s inner thighs. It had taken her approximately thirty seconds to come the other day when he’d given her that Hand Relief Party. And she still had the Ben Wa balls inside of her. This wouldn’t take long at all.
He hadn’t counted, though, on being so utterly distracted by Amadeo.
First off, Amadeo reached around and grabbed one of Steffen’s wrists. Before Steffen could protest—if he had wanted to—he was once again cuffed, this time with his wrists in front of him. He tried not to miss a beat in his tonguing of Willow. Her inner thigh was like a creamy pillow, and she twitched every time he licked her. He hooked a finger around the strip of fabric and pulled it aside. When he touched the tip of his nose to the clitoris that peeked from between her labia, she gasped.
“Oh! Steffen!”
That was a good sign, and she clutched the back of his skull to cradle him to her.
But Amadeo couldn’t just let him have his fun. He cupped Steffen’s stiff penis, clothed inside his jeans, and squeezed. “This is all I imagined after seeing you in the shower at school. I’d cuff you to the shower head and suck on this long, fat cock.”
“That’s right,” Willow encouraged. Steffen didn’t know if the spoke to him or Amadeo, but either was fine. “That’s perfect.”
Steffen reached out his tongue-tip to swipe at the bulging clitoris, and Willow near about tore a handful of his hair out. He was doing it right, this Feast at the Y.
Amadeo’s other hand unbuckled Steffen’s belt while he massaged his lover’s erection. “After seeing this long, fat hose on you, it was all I could think of. You were soaping your crotch, squeezing your ball sac, wringing soap from your long tool, and I know I wasn’t the only one letching after you with desire. Some of your fellow teammates gazed a bit too long at your dick. More than one guy had a hard-on after watching you shower.”
By the time Amadeo released Steffen’s cock into the air, Steffen was on fire. Amadeo’s praise was pumping up more than his ego. The image of being desired by a locker room full of stiff football players was exciting him. Willow gyrated her hips as she propped herself up on the rock, assisting Steffen to find that sweet spot she seemed to favor. He had fingered her on this exact spot the other day when she’d gone off like a rocket, and he found it again with his tongue, flicking it across the spot rap
idly.
“Oh! Good God! Don’t stop!” Willow panted like a steam engine, her voice getting increasingly higher with each note.
Steffen did miss a beat, however, when Amadeo gripped his dick and squeezed. Steffen nearly lost it. Amadeo curved his buff torso over Steffen’s back and gave his cock a few good pumps.
Amadeo murmured in his ear. “Be prepared for the pounding of your life.”
Chapter Nine
Amadeo was driven nearly insane with lust. He finally had what he wanted—the studly quarterback’s big prick in his hand. Handcuffed, and with ass bared to him. Helpless. This was how he’d imagined Steffen in his wildest dreams for two decades now. And he finally had him. It was a turn-on, too, to watch Steffen muff-diving with such enthusiasm.
Once Willow saw what Amadeo was up to, she couldn’t seem to take her limpid eyes from Amadeo. She gyrated her hips while fondling Steffen’s head, but she avidly watched as Amadeo fisted her boyfriend’s cock and talked nasty.
“Get ready for me to use you, you fucking stud,” Amadeo growled. He tore off his own wifebeater T-shirt to give Willow something else to admire. Spitting into his hand, he applied his palm to the exposed asshole, fingering the puckered entrance, tickling it. Steffen reflexively clenched his cheeks but admirably didn’t neglect Willow for more than a split second. Her eyes grew rounder and her mouth went slacker as Amadeo unsheathed his own tool and rubbed the bulging glans against the delicious opening. He, too, gripped the back of Steffen’s neck, and he had to let go of Steffen’s cock in order to slick up his own.
“Use him, Amadeo,” Willow encouraged. She looked lopsided, deranged with passion. “Give him a good fucking. Ride him like a pony. Roast him on your spit.”
When Amadeo made the first tentative, slight push against his anus, Steffen withdrew from Willow’s steamy pussy. “Amadeo,” he panted, “I’ve never been used that way. A dildo, maybe. But no guy has ever—”
“Silence,” Amadeo commanded, “or I’ll have to put a bit in your mouth too.”
Their nasty talk must have distracted Steffen well enough, for when Amadeo broached the tight ring and penetrated the chiseled quarterback, Steffen just tossed his head back and moaned silently. Willow allowed him a break, as she appeared fascinated with the way Amadeo corkscrewed his hips professionally, sinking himself a little deeper inside Steffen every time. Now Amadeo was free to handle Steffen’s cock again, but he was careful not to bring him off too rapidly. Timing was of the essence in a spit roast. He kneaded the stiff dick lightly, enjoying the slick feel of the shaft in his fist.
“That’s good,” he murmured approvingly. His hand on the back of Steffen’s neck directed his face back into Willow’s pussy, and she purred with delight. “You’re going to like this. You’re going to be begging for more, wait and see. Not a man on this planet who doesn’t like being fucked up the ass, especially by a cowboy like me. Ah. There. There you go.” His cockhead hit Steffen’s prostate gland, and he could actually feel the immense shudder that rolled down Steffen’s spine. Steffen’s dick pulsed in his hand as the seed surged up the length of it, and again, Steffen rolled his head back on a rubbery neck.
When Steffen’s rectum began to clutch at Amadeo’s cock, he lost it, too. “That’s it,” Amadeo choked. Only half his brain was trying to shove Steffen’s face back into Willow’s pretty bush. The other half was swept away on a tidal wave of ecstasy. His dick pulsed deep inside the heated depths of his lover, while Steffen’s seed flowed over his wrist. “Eat her,” Amadeo barely managed to say. He felt like a crow on an electric fence the way he was twitching and jerking, buried inside the man he’d wanted so long.
He didn’t know how Steffen maintained it—some men could walk and chew gum at the same time, and some, like Amadeo, couldn’t—but he lapped away at Willow’s juicy pussy like a pro. She kept up a steady chatter, only some of which made sense.
“Oh, God! That’s good. Don’t stop. Steffen. Don’t stop. Oh, God! You hit it right. That’s it. Eat…my…Y!”
That last got to Amadeo, and he recovered somewhat from his shuddering coma in time to chuckle. Willow certainly was a talker, and a funny one at that. He got the feeling she had some pain in her recent past. There was that ex-husband in Florida she seemed to be running from, emotionally. Well, who hadn’t wished they were an entire continent away from their ex on occasion? Amadeo stumbled behind the boulder to freshen up and find where he’d flung his T-shirt.
He had to chuckle again when he saw Steffen attempting to pull away from his feast. Willow twitched like a worm at the end of a hook, manipulating Steffen’s head with a handful of his hair. “I’m still coming!” she hiccupped. She alternately pushed and pulled Steffen’s head toward her pelvis, seemingly unsure whether she wanted to continue or not. Finally she squealed like a teapot going off and shoved Steffen away. He sat there with a witless grin, wiping his face with the back of his hand.
Amadeo helped him to his feet, and they wandered down the slope to admire the Kupka House lit up like a spaceship. “Now that I know you, I can see this architecture differently. I did always take it for granted.”
“Your ranch house has a mid-century desert flavor to it,” said Steffen. “Your kitchen has those hanging globe lamps, that mod wet bar, and if I recall correctly, some period David Smock furnishings.”
“David Smock? I wouldn’t know David Smock from Spock. You mean I could be sitting on a gold mine?”
“Do you still have a lot of your dad’s sixties furniture? Sure, if they’re in good shape.”
Amadeo grinned. “Could change the name of my ranch from the Lone Palm to the Chi Chi. Oh, here she is.”
Willow looked adorable as she stumbled down the bluff. Her face was lit with a space-age glow from her cell phone as she read a text. “What the fuck?” she wondered in a hushed voice.
Then two men flanked her. “What is it?” asked Steffen.
Amadeo could see the fear in her eyes. “Jaclyn just stopped by the Searchlight to see me. She said we’ve been burglarized.”
* * * *
Well, no one said life in California would be dull.
By the time Willow arrived back at her motel, the cops had taken the full report from Jaclyn and the worker Carl.
“And where was this foreman Chas White,” asked the cop, “at the estimated time of the break-in?”
“Who the hell knows?” Carl glared at the cop. “Chas White is as rare as a stylish mullet! I’m basically the one in charge, if you want to pin responsibility on me. And I’m telling you, that door hasn’t been opened in years. We’ve been accessing that room through the utility room, which was locked.”
The burglar had entered the Cesar Romero Room by crowbarring the stuck front door, which now sat askew, splintered, the hinges crimped. Willow entered to try and discern which items had been stolen. Immediately she noticed the nightstand didn’t hold the silk-inlaid Ben Wa box anymore. Luckily, the balls were still inside her, rolling against each other as though she were having one long continuous orgasm.
But she couldn’t tell the cops about that, or the missing mop flogger. Looking some more, she noticed the cat o’nine tails was also gone, along with some leather straps or harnesses they hadn’t gotten around to yet. They were going to move everything into the Gadabout Gaddis Cottage. So Willow had to lamely tell the cop, “I really don’t notice anything missing.”
Steffen sliced the air with his hand and told the cop, “It’s that Ronnie Dobbs moron, Tony. Amadeo here and I just put a BOLO out on him two days ago and it obviously didn’t work. You can dust for prints all you want, but he’s such an experienced criminal I’m sure he wore gloves.”
“Yeah, I’m not finding much,” called the technician who was dusting.
Carl chuckled. “Aside from Cesar Romero’s prints. I wonder how long prints last?” The cop looked at him oddly, so Carl sobered up and told him, “Look. I agree, it’s this Ronnie Dobbs dickhead. Just last month he was inflating a monster truck tire over
in Beaumont but got distracted by some titty magazine. Tire exploded from being over-inflated, piece of scrap metal nearly sliced the arm off another dude working nearby. I tell you, this project has Ronnie Dobbs written all over it.”
Tony sighed. “But as far as you can discern, nothing was taken. And this is the only room broken into.”
Willow felt horrible having to tell the cop, “Yes, the only room. No, nothing.” The old Ben Wa box, whip, and mop flogger were probably only valued at about twenty dollars, and no cop would even waste time looking for that culprit. She was surprised, overall, that they were even dusting for prints.
Steffen told Tony, “But I want to put out a restraining order on this asshat.”
Tony said, “You do know that sometimes that backfires. Sometimes it enrages the suspect even more. I’m familiar enough with Dobbs to think he might fall into this category. He’s kind of a loose cannon. He was getting drunk with his brother once a couple years ago out in the desert, and the brother shot him. Ronnie fell onto a rattlesnake and was bitten.”
Willow—and other people including Carl—couldn’t help but laugh. It probably wasn’t proper, laughing at a guy being bitten by a rattlesnake, but hell, he had just stolen her Ben Wa box. She told Officer Tony, “You know, there was one thing missing, so tiny I didn’t mention it. It was in this nightstand, and it was an old antique, silk-covered box. That’s it. I know Dobbs was here looking for old mid-century artifacts—he thought I had some wristwatch and he wanted to buy it, so he could have thought the box was valuable.”
“A box,” repeated Tony, bored already.
Steffen pointed at Tony. “Yes. Red, with two circular indentations inside, to carry…circular objects.”
“Objects,” repeated Tony dully, writing. “Circular. So if you want to follow through on the restraining order, come down to the station tomorrow.”
Carl said, “Ronnie doesn’t seem to mind being arrested. It doesn’t deter him. It’s like a freak flag he likes to fly.”
Mercury, Karen - The Sublime Miss Paige (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) Page 9