Page 12 of Blowing Off Steam

Rushy shooed Cincinnatus out of the wheelhouse and steered back downriver. Cincinnatus could be of more assistance in the engine room. Well, that one peach of a gal might’ve been worth the stop. But he still had an erection fit to bust, and he angled his crotch into the mahogany of the pilot wheel, which rubbed pleasantly as he steered, perhaps purposefully in a slight zigzag pattern. But in another way, it only made it worse, so he stepped to the speaking trumpet and yelled,

“Field! What’s the buzz about that new passenger?”

There was a pause, longer than usual, and Field yelled back, “I’ll be right up.”

Rushy hadn’t asked him to come up, but it would be a pleasant respite. Field probably had Cincinnatus checking the gauges to monitor the steam pressure. A few minutes later, the long, lean engineer vaulted himself energetically into the pilothouse. Instead of taking the bench as most people did, Field crossed his arms across his chest, which was indeed sweaty, and leaned back against the paned windows.

Field smiled slyly, idiotically, so Rushy chuckled and asked, “What’s up?” He slowly walked the few steps the small pilothouse would allow, his boot heels sounding with authority. Wood smoke emanated from Field, but mingled with fresh, manly sweat, it was stimulating. “You know something about the new passenger. Do tell.”

Field tossed his head in mock shyness. His grin was delectable, and Rushy just wanted to tear the smoky shirt from his torso. He knew Field had only thrown it on for propriety’s sake among the passengers, and that he worked below without one. “Well. What would you say if I told you…” Field’s eyes twinkled with merriment. “The new gal is a chef.”

Rushy truly was astounded. “A chef?”

Field seemed pleased at Rushy’s astonishment. “She’s originally from some Appalachian backwoods burg but learned to cook in the Creole style in New Orleans and recently did a stint at the City Hotel in Sacramento.”

“The City Hotel? Why, Tobias was staying there. He can verify that. And I’ve spent many a satisfied evening in New Orleans. I’m a cracker from Talladega myself. If you take the wheel—a straight stretch is coming up until we hit Steamboat Slough—I think I’ll just go down and jaw with her a bit.”

But Field seemed reluctant to allow Rushy to leave. He even inched toward the door to block Rushy’s exit, so Rushy nearly slammed into him. Rushy did not move away. They stood so close Rushy could feel the heat emanating from Field’s smoky torso. “That buffalo Tobias brought aboard—Stanley Sitwell, I think his name is—appears to be a hustler of some sort. He’s fine at tossing logs into the firebox, and he’s strong as an ox, but he seems to have…a letch for odd things.”

Rushy grinned. “Well, we didn’t hire those firemen for their fluency in the Old Testament. The best thug is a criminal one. What sort of odd things?”

Field didn’t move away from the heat of Rushy’s body, either. In fact, he looked directly into Rushy’s eyes in that inquiring, almost sad manner. He allowed his arms to hang at his sides, and he chuckled softly. “He won’t stop talking about opium and seems overly interested in it. Don’t only Celestials smoke that? His bald head is shining something fierce and he…” Field gulped. “He keeps slapping me on the ass.”

Rushy nearly burst out into laughter but wanted to stay close to Field. “You’re saying he’s an invert, a molly boy?”

“I’m saying that one time he slapped my ass, his hand lingered a bit further down.”

Rushy chuckled with the image of that enormous, burly, bald giant fondling Field’s balls. His prick instantly erected, and he moved even closer, putting each palm flat on the glass panes at either side of Field’s head. “You’re saying you don’t like having your balls caressed?”

Again, Field didn’t flinch. Guardedly, he said, “I’m saying I don’t like my balls caressed by some huge oily bruiser who smells of cow shit and sardines.”

With the tip of his nose nearly touching Field’s, Rushy deliberately and boldly lowered one hand to cup the length of Field’s cock in his palm. Field’s eyelids fluttered, and his pupils rolled up in his head a bit, but Rushy fondled a throbbing load of delicious meat. He could even feel the stiff ridge of the glans prodding the heel of his palm, and he squeezed with calculated intention. Field’s fingers scrabbled to grip a wooden window sash as Rushy clutched his burgeoning prick. “But you like it when a muscular buck who smells like steam smoke caresses your balls?” Releasing the pulsating tool, Rushy demonstrated by sliding his hand lower to fondle the balls so full they nearly busted his pants seam.

“I…” Field panted in spurts but fearlessly didn’t tense up. “I like it much better,” he admitted.

Rushy licked the hot, parched bottom lip, just a feline flicker of his tongue. “And you like it when I kiss you, even when you’re not soused.”

It was more a statement than a question, but Field answered by allowing his lower jaw to go slack and licking the tip of Rushy’s tongue. “Yes. Even when not sewn up.”

Rushy kissed him fully and deeply then, licking the underside of Field’s thirsty tongue. Field leaned back subserviently against the glass, tilting his head to allow Rushy full access to his lovely mouth. Sucking on the educated engineer’s mouth while feeling his abundant ball sac pulse urgently in his palm, Rushy thrust his hips against Field’s, relishing the exquisite, erotic tingling that came when men rubbed their tools together. This caused Field to release one handhold on the window sash, impulsively running his hand up Rushy’s chest to clutch the back of his neck.

Rushy nearly lost it then, spontaneously gripping both globes of Field’s ass—where that oily brute of a fireman had mauled him—and lunging his hips so firmly into Field that he fairly lifted the elegant engineer off the ground. Field submitted to his aggression, even deepening the kiss while snorting hot puffs against the side of Rushy’s face, and Rushy had to break free to avoid erupting inside his own trousers.

“Land’s sake,” he panted against Field’s mouth, “you’re a sassy rascal.”

Field gasped. “You’ve got a hulking massive prick.”

At that, Rushy nearly lost it again. Praising the length and breadth of his cock never failed to arouse. Almost without prior planning—well, mayhap he had indulged in this sort of thing from time to time in the past—he released Field from his elevated position, backing away only long enough to jerk him by the arm a few feet, over to the bell pull. Grabbing a bit of line he often used to stabilize the pilot wheel, Rushy threaded it through the bell rope’s pulley affixed to the ceiling. “You’re going to learn to like this,” he promised Field as his nimble fingers performed a variety of tricky sailor’s knots between Field’s wrists.

Again, Field didn’t protest, only looked upon Rushy’s undertakings with what seemed to be amusement. For a man inexperienced with the carnal audacity of other men, he sure took it in stride when Rushy jerked the end of the line, raising Field’s bound wrists above and behind his head. When satisfied with the height, Rushy knotted the line around the mouth of the speaking trumpet that was bolted to the floor. He knew it was obvious he was thoroughly familiar with the pulleys and trinkets of the wheel house, but he was more aroused than ashamed.

Field was now plastered to the window glass, utterly helpless, and Rushy humped his hips against the engineer’s, mashing his erection against the other man’s. Roughly yanking Field’s shirt so that a button popped to the deck, Rushy fingered one beaded nipple like he’d been yearning to do in the hooker’s cell yesterday. This time, Field had no option to run away. It was heaven to finally have the athletic chest under his hands—and under his submission—and Rushy instructed, “You’re going to like being manhandled.”

Field’s reaction was surprisingly mild, seeing as how his arms were now pinioned behind his neck. A smile even played at the edges of his luscious mouth. “I’m not made of glass,” he said simply.

Aroused to even greater heights by the engineer’s submission, Rushy bent at the knees and flicked his tongue across the puckered areola. Field’s hips twitched and Rushy locked his arms around his waist, laving the nipple with the flat of his tongue before diving in to nibble with his incisors. Rushy delved his fingers into the moist, satiny depths of Field’s enticing underarm, gratified when Field gasped so loudly it seemed even the revelers on the hurricane deck below could have heard him. Rushy gnawed and supped at the musky, smoky sweat that slicked Field’s pectoral, then buried his face in the silk of his underarm.

Field swiveled his hips so ardently against Rushy’s abdomen his stiff erection seemed near to erupting, and Rushy wanted to accommodate him. Endless teasing was all right for folks schooled in such particulars, but Rushy allowed as it might be too much for a babe such as this delicious engineer. That, and all the blood had probably drained from Field’s hands.