Page 55 of Blowing Off Steam

He licked and laved as though his life depended on it, and as Calliope relaxed into enjoyment, it struck her that she might actually have another orgasm. Was that even possible? Her former husband had diddled her enough, and certainly Field was very talented in the area of “mouth congress,” but never had she come again so soon. In fact, it usually took her several hours of rest before she—

Oh. Dear. Lord. Again! Her entire pelvis was flooded with current of blissful ecstasy, her uterine muscles clenching so spasmodically she felt herself expel a gush of liquid against poor Rushy’s mouth. She gripped a handful of Rushy’s hair and rode his mouth, gasping, “Oh—oh—oh!”

But he drank her up, not disgusted in the slightest, lapping even more fervently, if such a thing was possible. This orgasm was different than the one that had come before it—mellower, infused with sleep, as though her pussy was telling her it needed to nap.

Very shortly, she was pushing Rushy away, too, crying, “Stop! Stop!” She must have sent him spinning, for when she sat upright, he was on his ass on the carpet, looking ridiculous with his pants down around his ankles, still clad in his fancy shirt and cravat, although the necktie was a bit worse for wear.

“Bully for you, Rushy!” Field cried, slapping his partner on the shoulder. “See? You’re not so damned lousy at that, after all.”

A feminine, furry feeling came over Calliope, and she wiggled her shoulders, smiling coyly at the men. Her men. “No, he’s not so damned lousy. And Rushy? Congratulations. You look like the cat that ate the canary.”

“I’ll have none of that,” Field insisted proudly, standing to button his pants. “Rushy, you’re going to have to work like a beaver to beat me at this pussy-licking business.”

“Hey,” said Rushy, wiping his face with his palm. He ran what was left on his hand through his floppy hair. “It’s mighty little of this world’s goods I’ve got. Now I’m good at two things. Piloting a steamer and licking pussy.” He gave Calliope a lopsided grin. “Licking newly wedded pussy.”

Calliope smirked at Rushy and peeled off the bodice of her dress. Field was right—she was shivering in that damp, clammy thing, and her honeymoon ensemble was perfectly smart. She stood to step out of the skirts, and as Field took the wet wedding dress to hang to dry on a hook, a rap sounded at their door.

“’Tis only me!” came Tobias’s slurry voice. Calliope had become exceedingly fond of the quirky, spirited mountebank. Particularly after she had heard the reliable news that he had been the proprietor of Dr. Johnson’s Magical Medicine Show in Texas before coming to Sacramento as a lawyer. She had seen the placard in his stateroom that proclaimed him as the “Great Wizard of the West,” capable of dealing with illusions involving The Learned Bottle, the Animated Orange, and the Invisible Pigeon.

“Oh, it’s his old Enchanted Loaf again.” Calliope giggled, referring to another one of Tobias’s illusions. Illusions. Such silliness. “Let him in.”

So Field unlocked the door, although Calliope had now stripped off her camisole to don one that felt roasting warm in comparison. “O Great Wizard!” intoned Field. They would never tire of that one.

Tobias frowned with irritation. “Now, I hate to interrupt you newlywed funsters. But ol’ Samuel Brannan, who has up until now been hiding from you down on the main deck with various cattle, has approached me, desiring a meeting.”

The trio stopped dead in their tracks. Sam Brannan? He had not dared confront them since their former employer Soquel Haight had somehow mysteriously scared him off from his threats, probably with even scarier threats of his own. “Is this some new threat?” Field inquired.

“What a jackleg!” cried Rushy. “Today of all days, to come to us with some extortion attempt! Sacramento is twenty feet underwater, and it’s our wedding day.”

Tobias held out calming hands. “No, no, it’s definitely not a threat. Fact, I’d venture to say he wants to extend an olive branch. Get in on the ol’ People’s Line action, fair and square.”

“Fair and square?” Calliope echoed, her fingers pausing on the buttons of her rose-colored silk traveling costume. “Since when has Brannan ever been fair and square?”

In fact, when Haight’s agents had come to the El Dorado the day after the explosion to inquire about Celestial corpses, Brannan had been among them. Field had told them the corpses had all been blown to kingdom come, and the reporters who gathered around excitedly scribbled how there had “only” been fifteen dead “from the flowery Celestial realm,” probably counting the six already-deceased among the ricemen. Since nobody cared much about dead ricemen, the matter was quickly put to rest. Some rowdies and loafers had tried to harass the El Dorado river men about the lost o-fuyung, but when they realized it was Haight’s fault, they’d begun to harass Haight instead.

Haight must have known it was his own error that caused the El Dorado’s explosion, for he never pressed them to repay him for the lost o-fuyung. The peewee riceman with the plaid cap was never seen again in California, so Field must have put him permanently out of action when he’d tossed him over the rail. However, the traitor Stan Sitwell had been seen in Haight’s company, proudly sporting a puny derby hat atop his hulking frame and looking menacing.

When word had spread that Soquel Haight was responsible for the explosion, many owners who had formerly pledged to join The Combination had joined the People’s Line instead, among them the Cleopatra, who had been racing against them that fateful day, as well as the Jack Hayes. Collis Huntington, too, had thrown his lot in with the People’s Line, and of course Mark Hopkins, when he saw what a hero Field was for pulling all those passengers from the river after the explosion.

Field had disinterred three o-fuyung corpses from the smoking ruins. So they had some capital to repair their boat and had sent the three bodies back to San Francisco for proper burial in Kwangtung. Herr Bloch, their ardent admirer and lumber baron, had staked them to some excellent redwood on the cheap to rebuild the El Dorado.

“I think he’s turned over a new leaf,” said Tobias, “like many have. Including me.”

“You?” Calliope scoffed. “Now you’re doing things out of the kindness of your own heart?”

“You obviously haven’t seen my invoices,” said Tobias. “But nearly all of these new People’s Line members have hired me as their personal attorney. Even Huntington! Hell, I can charge them for three hours for things it’ll only take me an hour to do.”

“That’s some new leaf,” Field agreed.

Tobias continued, “As for Haight? I don’t need Haight as a client anymore. I’ve got new standards! Haight’ll be lucky if they let him race chickens at the local fair.”

“Dear Tobias.” Calliope kissed his cheek, surprised that it made him blush. “Tell Mr. Brannan we’ll be right out to talk.”

“OK. Oh, and Cincinnatus told me to tell you, Rushy.” Tobias squinted at the ceiling as if trying to recall the first mate’s exact words. “He said we’re about to cut across Hop Chong’s potato patch, and there’s a giant farmhouse that wasn’t there before.” He relaxed, as now he could stop remembering.

“A new farmhouse?” asked Field. “That was built in the past week since we last steamed to Sacramento?”

“No,” said Tobias, unconcerned. “One that evidently became unmoored from its foundation during the last twenty-four hours and floated into the middle of…” Irritated again, Tobias waved them away. “Well, into the middle of Hop Chong’s potato patch.”