Page 35 of Blowing Off Steam

“Like you are now,” Field mentioned, instantly regretting it.

She closed her eyes patiently. “Like I am now, but you know what the difference is, my big, well-built stallion?” A rush of pride went through Field that she would call him a “stallion,” especially since Rushy’s horse’s tool was a bit bigger than his. She rubbed some butter cream on his slack lower lip. “Now, sure, I work in a kitchen. But I’m not stuck here. I can go from here to the pilothouse or the engine room. I can suck on your big prick if I want to, or I can go shopping for a new gown if I want to. It’s all about choice.” She regarded him as though he were an artist’s easel. “I don’t have to suck on your fat cock if I don’t particularly feel like it at the moment.”

Stupidly, as though all the blood in his brain had rushed to his crotch, Field said, “But it sounds as though you wanted to suck on your husband’s penis all the time.”

She shrugged. “Pretty much. But those witchy wives ruined all that for me, Field. I was sad for a couple of years, but it only recently came to my realization that”—she exhaled heavily—“if Levi Rowland had truly loved me, he wouldn’t have allowed those funky bitches to kick me out of Utah Territory. He could have built me my own house and got some new wives to help me, wives who didn’t loathe me.”

Field pinpointed where all these waves of anger were coming from. He took Calliope’s wrists in his hands to hold her still. “And why do you have to suck on any man’s cock at all? Is that your only value, Callie?”

“Well,” she scoffed. “If I didn’t suck cock, I’d have a much smaller value. You’ve got to admit that, Field. It’s the only way I know how to entice a man. Who’d want me otherwise?”

“Don’t say that!” Moving his hands down to clasp her abundant ass in his palms, Field lifted her onto the large wooden cutting board where she had been chopping the venison. He had to smear some bloody deer flesh aside to prop her there, but her thighs parted with relaxation and she clung to his neck with a happy smile. “Callie, I need to convince you that not all canoodling is for a man’s enjoyment. You tied up Rushy and forced me to tickle his penis because you knew it’d excite him.”

“And you,” she added.

Field nearly blushed. “Well, yes. But you orchestrated that whole scenario in order to stimulate and satisfy Rushy, right?”

Calliope looked aside. “Yes,” she said uncertainly.

“Which is fine. I like to satisfy Rushy, too. He’s a fine man, and I love him”—Damnation! Did I really just say that? Field raced ahead with his sentence—“but where do you fit into the picture? Because you’re accustomed to satisfying other men doesn’t mean you don’t need satisfaction as well.”

It was Calliope’s turn to blush. Field smiled broadly at the sight of her face reddening. He’d never witnessed Calliope embarrassed or shy in any way, so he took advantage of this feminine weakness by grabbing a handful of her skirt and inching it over her knee, bit by bit. “Did this Levi fellow ever take time to satisfy you, or was he mostly concerned about himself?”

She tilted her head. “Mostly concerned about himself. But once in awhile, he’d remind me that I wasn’t the only one who knew how to pleasure myself.”

Field glanced at Maurice, who had been sitting atop a counter this entire time, loudly chewing on some broccoli. Field gestured with an uplifted chin for the kid to skedaddle. “Here’s another wonderful thing about having sex without being paid for it, just because you love someone.” Saying it in that vague way helped avoid dropping the pronouncement in her lap like a giant hippopotamus. It was more abstract, less a statement of fact. Lightly kissing her luscious, buttery lips, he whispered, “When a man does it out of love, he doesn’t expect or need satisfaction every single time.”

Pulling her hips to him, he bent slightly at the knees and snaked his long fingers around the back of her thigh. From years of sly and married experience, he instantly found the slit in her drawers, and his fingertips slipped against the bulging petals of her labia. He was gratified she was already wet, and his fingertips tickled each side of the elongated clitoris. He needed to find out which side of her button was the most sensitive, and her tiny gasps “oh, oh, oh, oh” told him all he needed to know.

Breathing in tiny hisses, Calliope’s eyeballs rolled up into their sockets when Field concentrated on the right side of her clitoris. As an engineer, he was proud to have so quickly found the right spot.

“Oh! My possum!” She lifted her foot and wedged her toe inside his boot. Wide open to his ministrations, she leaned on her palms and threw her head back on a limp neck. Field was easily able to add his other hand to the mix, diddling her bulging clitoris just inches from his own throbbing cock. But no. He wanted to pleasure Calliope, this Appalachian stunner, this sun-browned gal who would have been a corn-fed farmer’s wife if she hadn’t struck across the plains.

His fingers danced over her clitoris, and already Field was learning much about what made Calliope hot. She gasped and hissed like a teapot when he flicked his fingertip across the right side of her prepuce, and how quickly the clitoris emerged from its little hood! He had to strive to remember the exact pacing of a woman’s orgasm, as it had been so long since he’d induced one in a woman—one did not do that for hookers, of course—and each woman must have her own rhythm. It seemed very swiftly that Calliope entered the breath-holding stage where she appeared to be concentrating intently with an inner mantra, so Field took advantage of this.

He slid two fingers up the slick canal of her pussy because he wanted to feel her orgasm around him. Her breasts heaved and rolled like a current, and he could even see her rapidly beating heart in the pit of her throat. When he bent over and slurped one nipple into his mouth to bite down gently, she came off against his hand.

The walls of her inner cunt contracted so powerfully around his fingers he feared the circulation would be cut off. As she bucked and hissed, her hips twitching like a dying deer, Field continued to twiddle her button, and now to his surprise a gusher of juice spurted from it. Juice flowed down his wrist as Calliope choked on her own breath. She slapped one hand to the back of his neck to hold his mouth to her nipple, so he chewed until her gasps became louder and she shoved him away violently.

“Son of a bitch!” she cried, gazing wide-eyed at him as though he were a ghost.

He felt vaguely stupid but also proud, standing there with a bulging erection while her cunt still spasmed around his fingers. He knew that to continue to stroke her clitoris would result in painful pangs, so he slowed to a mere tickle as she kept gasping.

“Ah! Oh, God! Avast, you son of a bitch!” She slammed her feet to the deck, knocking his hand from her pussy. But after she collected herself, she smiled in that seductive, corn-fed way. “Field. My possum.”

“Yes,” said Field, bringing his dripping fingers to her mouth. “Why do you call Rushy a tadpole, but I’m a disgusting possum?”

“Oh, nasty!” Calliope slapped his wet fingers. “I may enjoy tasting your jism on your tongue, but I stand firm at not tasting my own juices.”

“Sorry.” Field shrugged and proceeded to lick his fingers.

“You nasty man!” she said playfully. “Possum? I don’t know—it means friend, buddy. A tadpole is more of a mischievous little boy. Now tell me. How did you get to be so…talented? You don’t need to bring off hookers.”

“You assume I’ve only been with hookers?” Field feigned insult, but he swiftly added, “I enjoyed learning how to gratify my wife. I knew that when she was gratified she would be very pleasant. And much more inclined to indulge me.”

Calliope traced his lower lip with her finger. “I see. So it was just a selfish, typically male thing for you to learn. You had secret goals of your own.”

“I suppose. But that was a long time ago. I’m surprised I still know how to do it.”