Page 30 of Blowing Off Steam

Field breathed through his nostrils, suctioning the cock in and out of his throat until he felt Rushy’s entire body shudder. Field, clutching Rushy’s poor molested ass, felt great convulsions shake the pilot. Then all at once gushers of hot, salty jism flooded Field’s throat.

Damnation. Field struggled to swallow it all, but he was floundering, drowning in the flood of semen. It had been his dream for weeks now to suckle this stupendous prick, and now he was fighting to gulp down a veritable deluge of jism.

Rushy had gone strangely silent when he began to erupt, but now he exhaled in a great whoosh of breath. “You bumsucker!” he snarled as his hips jerked against Field’s face. “Suck me, you sassy old rascal!”

Field had to detach to take a few deep breaths, and he milked the remaining spurts of fluid from the big, drooling penis. He fell to sucking and licking the lacy curls of Rushy’s pubic mound while Calliope slowed her corkscrewing of his ass, and everyone as one unit breathed slower.

When their panting had died down to a vague hiss, Calliope collapsed against the washstand, tossing the ivory implement into it. Leaning forward, her head lolled on a weak neck. “Whew,” she said.

Field licked his way up Rushy’s torso as Rushy sucked in air and flinched.

“You miserable old critter!” Rushy roared.

“Oh dear!” Calliope cried. The seductress was gone, and now it was only the El Dorado chef who flung herself on Rushy to untie him. “I’m so sorry, my possum! Here, let me get this knot. Hm. This is a strange new knot. I don’t appear to be able to…”

It was Field’s revenge now, to kiss Rushy fully on the mouth, licking his mouth with his own jism-coated tongue. And Rushy did seem to enjoy tasting himself and saw nothing wrong in sucking on his partner’s tongue in return.

“Oh, you boys!” Calliope sounded vexed. “All you can think about is groping.”

Field blindly reached behind Rushy’s neck and untied the knot. But he took his time doing it.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Rushy was bending over a cask of beer when someone clutched him between the legs.

Of course his first impression was that the hand belonged to Field, so naturally he spread his feet a bit farther apart on the deck as his cock elongated, and only pretended to fiddle with the cask’s leaking bunghole.

The hand fondled his balls ardently, stiffening his prick instantly. Land’s sake.You just can’t keep a good man down, can you? “Listen, Field. I—” When a rigid member was pressed against his asshole, Rushy had the sinking feeling it wasn’t Field. This fellow wasn’t hung nearly as well. Straightening, he spun about and was facing a passenger he knew as Herr Bloch, some lumber merchant or other, a dried-up old fellow who traveled with his wife and child. Rushy had never seen Bloch hug up his wife or child before, but he sure was full of devilment when it came to handling Rushy’s ball sac.

“Bloch!” was all he could think to say.

Bloch leered knowingly and stood uncomfortably close. “Captain Wakeman,” he oozed. “I’ve been watching you closely. I’ve admired the way you handle that engineer, and your lack of circumspection regarding such matters.”

What the hell did “circumspection” mean? Wasn’t that when they knifed off the penis’s foreskin? Such a thought made Rushy’s cock shrivel even further than the sight of Bloch’s wizened face. “What ‘matters’?”

Bloch squiggled his bushy eyebrows. “Shall we say, I have been enjoying the shows you’ve been putting on when you snuggle that handsome engineer. Many of the merchants have enjoyed these shows. Many merchants wish it was them in the stead of that engineer, being handled with such…precision.”

Without thinking, Rushy walloped Bloch into the middle of next week. The lumber merchant, being rather slight, actually went flying over the beer cask, landing sprawled on a goat. The goat got up on another goat, and there was a general melee of barnyard animals there on the main deck.

Rushy felt bad, so he went and took the merchant’s hand to help him up. “Sorry about that, Herr Bloch. It just makes my blood boil when people think I’m some kind of free and easy fellow they can just manhandle, just cause I…” He brushed some dried goat shit from Herr Bloch’s sleeve, but his spectacles had been knocked askew and mangled. Rushy sighed.

Bloch touched his jaw for signs of breakage. “I understand, Captain Wakeman. Many of us just assumed you were free and easy because you seem to enjoy rousing the passengers with your displays of animal ability.”

Rushy had noticed he’d been pawed and fingered quite a bit lately. Even in the dining room, standing with hands behind his back to make small chatter with some muckety-mucks, passing hands would experimentally handle his ass. When Rushy would turn around, there would be some stoic businessman with a mortifying lump in his trousers, all goggle-eyed with knowing. The lower classes tended to travel only one way because they couldn’t afford to constantly go up and downriver, but even there while threading his way through the masses Rushy’s prick had been squeezed several times. And once he had been called to see to an “ill” miner who turned out to have his greasy rod in his paw. They had perhaps heard of his previous reputation for humping deckhands in not very darkened corners, so Rushy assumed that was the explanation.

Field had claimed this only happened to him when the culprit was ol’ Stan Sitwell, who had developed quite a puppy love for the hapless engineer. But now Rushy thought perhaps he should be more discreet, if only to avoid tormenting these deviant merchants, or making them go out of their heads with lust.

He tipped his cap. “I apologize for that, Herr Bloch. The glory ain’t mine. Rest assured it won’t happen again.” Rushy was a businessman himself. He must maintain civil relations with his passengers.

He turned to leave, but Bloch was saying, “Captain Wakeman. I must submit another challenge to you of a different nature.”

Rushy stilled. A challenge. He would never walk away from one of those.

“Captain Bixby of the Jack Hayes claims he has a new engine, better than the El Dorado’s.”

“Oh, is that so? You’re associated with that lowdown cur from the bottomless pit, Clive Bixby? He’d claim he remodeled his mother’s boudoir if he thought it would impress anyone.”

“Even so. He is looking forward to racing you back to Sacramento today at four.”