Page 27 of A Good Prospect

“She swims as though she’s accustomed to the cold water,” Sal observed.

“Maybe she is, being from Ireland. Isn’t it cold there?”

“The nuns probably didn’t heat their baths.”

“I doubt it. Hey, Sal.”

“What.”

“What do you think of her breasts? I mean, is she average…for a white woman? Aren’t they usually bigger, hang down more, more like a shelf you could lay your head on?”

Sal didn’t even laugh at him, evidently not wanting to take his eyes off the porcelain figure that now hopped from rock to rock below. She was frolicking by herself, as though a child! “She’s not average,” he breathed. “I have honestly never gazed upon such a splendid example of womanhood.” Sal spoke as though he were being crushed by a mountainous rock, expressing all the air from his lungs.

Ophir tried to keep things light, although his prick was swelling painfully against his tough leather calzoneras. “She’s gained some weight.” He tried to speak casually, but it came out the husky grunt of a copulating animal. “That’s good. I’ve tried to get her to gain weight by giving her tortillas.” And…he couldn’t recall what else he’d been feeding her.

“Yes,” Sal puffed. “She has the most perfectly balanced hourglass figure. A perfect Venus de Milo.”

Ophir attempted a laugh. “Who would have thought, when we first brought her home? She looked like a mangy polecat.”

All thoughts of sculpture and any pretenses at hoity-toity airs went completely out the window at what occurred next. Tamasin vaulted herself up on a rock in the middle of the pool where she had placed a small bundle. Heat emanating from the rock must have burned her ass, for she quickly shook out a towel of some sort and sat on it.

“Holy mother of Joseph,” Sal whispered.

She reached for a wedge of tallow soap, pressing it to the pit of her throat and tilting her chin up, clearly reveling in the feel of sun and cleanliness. With knees drawn up in a relaxed masculine manner, her pussy was bared to the bald heat bouncing off the rock. Ophir’s straining prick nearly busted his fancy calzonera buttons. He knew if he just rubbed against the ground, he’d instantly come off in an explosive fashion he could never manage to hide. He could not push away persistent thoughts of a similar sight, when he’d watched Salvador frig himself in a rampant fury while bathing in a river. That had been a sight permanently engraved on the backside of his eyelids, but now he had a fresh image to replace it.

“I can’t take this anymore.”

Ophir had no idea what Sal was talking about—he was too intent on finding out what Tamasin did next. Annoyed when one of the resplendent dotted orange butterflies landed on his hand, Ophir brushed it away, and when he looked back to Tamasin, he was rewarded to see that her bar of soap had slipped lower. She was now lathering up the underside of her breast, lifting it to the sun, then slithering the bar over the stiff nub of a nipple. All the while her chin was inclined almost arrogantly, eyes firmly shut, as though she knew she was torturing her two saviors. But how could she know that? She was an innocent, devoid of all knowledge of how to torment using her sex.

Now, Ophir really did hump the ground. He gasped when the sudden intense pleasure shot through his testicles and up the underside of his cock, nearly erupting. Twisting onto his side with one arm thrown out for balance, he could still watch Tamasin and grip his own erection in his palm. His prick was so taut against the leather, he knew he had reached the crisis point. He simply had to do something. No, it was not healthy to keep it in. A man’s seed had to be spent or he would contract some illness. Some ague or scurvy, bleeding of the gums, some Chagres fever was bound to come of it if he did not unbutton his calzoneras and pump his prick until he shot his seed.

One hand scrabbled to undo the ball and chain buttons at his hip—damn this lunkheaded sash getting in the way! He had wanted to emulate Salvador’s style of dress, but these fancy sashes, ties, and ribbons created a conundrum to getting undressed in a hurry. His prick soon leaped into his hand as he uttered a groan of relief, the bulbous crown hot in his hand, nearly burning his palm. With spread thighs, one knee pointing directly into the burning sun above, Ophir dragged his torso up to lean on one elbow and stroked his prick as lightly as he could. He did not want to miss what Tamasin was to do next, whatever that might be.

A steaming sweat broke out on his skull as he craned his neck to view the girl. Ah, her soap had slipped even lower now as she washed her mons veneris, a simple strip of the lightest red-blonde positioned exactly above the juncture of her pearly white thighs. Was she being purposefully seductive, or was this an act of innocent ablution? Ophir had to think she was blameless, but he wouldn’t last long at this rate. Even the slightest touch of his palm against—

“Get back, amigo!” Sal hissed from somewhere behind him. “She can see your entire estúpido head!”

It was true. Just as Sal whispered that, Tamasin’s closed eyelids appeared to flutter a bit, and Ophir released his hold on his cock and scuttled away from the cliff’s edge, on his ass like a frightened crab.

He was shocked to find Sal kneeling away from the cliff. The broadfalls of his calzoneras and pants were down to his knees, and the gloriously thick and muscular prick Ophir had often daydreamed about was in his fist, drooling with a drop of moisture glinting at the tip. Sal grabbed Ophir by the bicep and yanked him so they kneeled abreast of one another. Now Tamasin’s blinding image could only be seen if they straightened their backs, but Salvador’s vivid imagination had apparently been filling in for him.

“Ay amigo, su piel es tan blanca,” Sal moaned, defeated. “I can’t help it, amigo. We have got to do something about this exquisite gentle flower. She’s making me so loco.” He palmed the slick crown of his prick, circling his thumb around the shining mushroom cap head.

Ophir squeezed his own prick as he sat side by side with his partner. “Estoy loco también,” he agreed, falling easily into the Spanish that he didn’t utilize often. I am crazy, too.

Sal leaned upon his free palm, tossing his head so the gloriously brawny throat was exposed to the roasting sun. His hat hung down his back by its chin strap, so the insolent beauty of his profile was shown to its best advantage. The slight bump in his aquiline nose, the arched flaring nostrils, the bowed full lips. He had not shaved in a few days, and his lazy-lidded eyes fringed with such long lashes gave him the dangerous look of a bandit. How easy it would be to reach out and slide the fingertips of one hand down that hot chest, feeling the crinkle of the silken chest hair before pinching a sensitive nipple! That would make Salvador gasp, his nostrils tremble, the muscles of his beautifully ridged abdomen jump with a mixture of pain and pleasure. “We have to do something, Ophir. You would not mind if I approached her?” There were enough drops of semen on the tip of that delectable jutting prick that Sal was now sliding his palm the entire length of it, making it stand out at a right angle from the steamy root of his pubic bone.

Ophir was so loco that Sal’s words barely registered. Just three more pumps of his own hand would bring him off, but then it would all be over, and Ophir wanted to make this last. To be allowed just one more, two more, three more moments of admiring the imposing style of this aristocratic man, to be kneeling next to him when he shot in a wide arc, instead of revering him from the opposite bank of a pool. He tried to swallow with a dry throat. “Yes, I would mind,” he said huskily. “I would be very jealous, because I want her too.”

Sal shot Ophir a competitive, flashing look, but soon he was back to fondling the entire length of his ownprick, so shiny and taut it looked about to burst. “All I can think about is slurping one of those white breasts into my mouth.” Ophir gasped at the word “mouth,” for he wanted to taste Sal’s tempting, ripe lips, to have his pliant, sweet mouth under his once again.

Ophir breathed, “What if I want to suck on her breast?”

Sal half-opened one eye to regard Ophir skeptically. “What if we let her decide?” Sal smoothed his free hand down the flat plane of his belly and over the humid mound of his pubic bone. His fingers slithered down to grasp his balls in his hand, and that’s when Ophir’s mind must have gone blank.

Ophir faced Salvador. He tentatively reached out to touch his fingertips to that alluring corrugated abdomen, the skin so hot Ophir’s fingertips nearly sizzled. Sal’s cock jumped in his fist. “Listen. We both want her. Who’s to say she wants either one of us?”

Thankfully, Sal did not shove him away. Instead, he swiveled his head to face Ophir with those droopy, almost drugged eyes. The bulging head of Sal’s enormous erection nearly brushed against his prick, and Ophir drew in a jagged half-breath. Sal snaked his hand around Ophir’s neck, digging his fingers in and shaking Ophir. “I cannot rest until I sink this penis inside that sweet cunt of hers.” Like a defeated man, he gently rested his forehead against Ophir’s. Ophir’s eyelids fluttered as he thought of licking the drop of sweat at the tip of his partner’s nose.