Working the Lode (14 page)

Alarmed, Joaquin shouted “No!” to his henchman.
Mi dios
, he should not have uttered that, for now Bowmaker knew he did not want him harmed. “Drop your pistol, Señor.”

Reluctantly, one finger at a time, Bowmaker let his Colt’s fall to the rocks. Joaquin tossed Feliz a lariat with which he tied Bowmaker’s hands behind his back. With his leather broadfall still unbuttoned, hanging from his thighs, Joaquin had a good view of his sinewy pubic region, outthrust in his anger, the root of his cock brilliant in its potent strength. He was relieved he was now able to lower his pistol, for it was getting rather heavy, Joaquin not being any more robust than his fellow bandits
.
He sat on a flat rock and gestured for Garcia to bring Zelnora to him after cutting another length of lariat to hitch around her wrists.

Garcia, not being a great lover of women, or anyone for that matter, tossed her with disgust onto Joaquin’s lap. She wriggled in frustration, but it only served to bring Joaquin’s cock to attention, expanding and burgeoning against her bottom. Garcia returned to guarding the mountain man. Bowmaker could hardly have been expected to do anything with his hands bound as they were, yet lickety-split he shot out one booted foot like greased lightning, bashing Garcia directly in the kneecap, bowling him backward about ten feet. Three-Fingered Jack again raised his pistol to Bowmaker’s head, shouting at Joaquin, “Now,
jefe
? Now?”

“Quedate quieto!”
Joaquin yelled back.
Stay still! “Si lo matamos, no vamos a saber donde está el oro.”
If we kill him, we won’t find out where the gold is.
So Jack satisfied himself with clouting Bowmaker on the cheekbone with his pistol grip. The man merely flinched a few inches, but swiftly returned himself to his upright stiffly angry position.

“Don’t tell them a thing, Cormack,” Zelnora wailed, her hair all in lovely disarray around her face. Bowmaker said nothing, but his eyes narrowed, as though formulating a plan.

Joaquin called out, “Do you like your woman’s teats?” He yanked her chemise down below her breasts, and they popped out obligingly, bobbing buoyantly in the hot, still summer air. Joaquin cupped them aloft for all to admire, and to his right shoulder, Jack began to massage his own crotch, leering. “You are very lucky to have such a well-endowed woman.”

Bowmaker only closed his eyes and leaned against the rock, seemingly defeated. The breasts of Spanish women were not usually as globular and heavy. Every time she squirmed, her bottom rubbed against his erection, directly up and down the length of it, almost purposefully. Joaquin began to wonder whether he could hold out until they extracted their information. It would be most grossly shameful if he ejaculated without even taking his cock out of his
calzoneras.
Such a thing had never happened before!

“Where is the gold câched, pretty woman?” Joaquin said into her ear.

“I cannot tell; it is not my gold; I don’t know where it is,” she said over and over.

“Tell me where the gold is hidden, and I will let you and Bowmaker go right now.” Joaquin needed to maintain the pretext he had his sights on the gold still. It wouldn’t do to let Jack know he’d been run off the rails by the sight of the white woman’s firm tits.

“I tell you, I don’t know.” Her voice had softened, was not as harshly angry as a few minutes before. “If I knew, I would tell you. Why don’t you just rob Ward Brannagh? He’s the one with all the money.”

Joaquin chortled. “Very sly of you,
mi mujer bonita.
But you have already told me you loathe Señor Brannagh.” Although her idea was a good one, he had thought of it many times before. He just didn’t want his face to be known yet in these parts. He needed to be able to move freely into various communities before he struck.

And then he noticed. Bowmaker, leaning against his rock with hands tied behind his back. Bowmaker gazed at the couple with a disgusted, snarling upper lip and narrowed eyes, yet…His enviable penis had obviously lifted the crotch of his buckskins, engorging and filling the delectable leather with savory plumpness. He seemed to almost defiantly thrust his erection at Joaquin—perhaps daring him to manhandle him instead of the woman?

“It doesn’t matter that I loathe him. The fact remains he is the richest man around. If you let us go, I will tell you how to get into his safe.”

Joaquin could now clearly view the swollen head of Bowmaker’s cock under the tight leather. His cock was so stiff it stretched the leather as it elongated against his hip, exposing another couple of inches of the robust base where it jutted proudly. Had the mountain man been alone so long in the Rockies he had developed an entirely perverse set of morals and desires? Perhaps he had become accustomed to fondling other men. The idea so aroused Joaquin that he jerked Zelnora off his lap and tossed her at Jack.

He was careful to tighten his serape about his torso as he sauntered over to the doctor. After all, it was more expedient to torment the man who knew where the câche was than waste time with his flame, who may be sincere in not knowing. Expressionless, he reached out and tweaked one of the deliciously hard nipples, hoping none of his men noticed his fingertips caressing the compact muscles of his shimmering pectoral. The man’s hips seemed to twitch, and his nostrils flared with hatred. A wave of lust rolled down Joaquin’s chest, stiffening his own penis so suddenly he could feel a drop of semen ooze from the tip. He had never touched another man in a non-violent manner. Yet an overpowering part of his brain screamed at him to bend his knees and suck that exquisite nipple into his mouth, to nibble till the man moaned with pleasure, until his prick dripped semen from its bulging tip as well.

His voice wavered a bit when he said, “Now we shall see how you take to having your debauched body mauled.”

Chapter Fourteen

Cormack was filled with disgust, yet his traitorous body rebelled against his mind.

Valenzuela tweaked his nipple in a way that was supposed to be painful, but it only sent a current of lust down his belly and into his cock. He knew his cock was already half-erect owing to some perverted enjoyment at seeing Zelnora’s tits juggled so erotically by another man. She had the most exquisite bosom, and if Cormack was a judge of Spaniard sign, this infamous bandit was more harmless than the stories told. He would have killed them by now or at least maimed them if bloodthirstiness was truly his main trait.

This sign, and the way that the bandit stood so close to his hip, Cormack could feel the heat of his erection even under the serape, made the trail as plain as writing.

Was this the fellow who had been watching him frig himself in the creek? The serape looked similar, and the fellow was about the same height. That chap had been watching him stroke his own prick for at least five minutes. If so, Cormack might know a way to get out of here alive using only his wits.

Now Valenzuela fiddled with both nipples at once, standing so boldly in front of him their erections nearly touched. “It makes you randy to watch me fondle your woman, eh, Señor Mountain Man. You like to watch? I like to watch, too. I like to watch a man cry out and tell me where his gold is câched, so I do not have to move on to torturing him more intimately.”

Cormack nearly spat in his face, but remembered his goal. Hating himself even more profoundly when his prick elongated inside his buckskins, he said evenly, “Go ahead. Hurt me.” Nothing about gold.

A smile curled the edges of Valenzuela’s handsome mouth, and he spun about suddenly, marching back to his flat rock and giving his men instructions. They hauled Cormack over to the bandit, the brigand Cormack had kicked limping, he noted with satisfaction. Tossing him face up onto Valenzuela’s lap, he felt the hard ridge of the highwayman’s erection against his ass. He leaned back with his bound hands against the sandy rocks, his torso supported by one of the henchmen who kneeled behind him.

Grinning casually as though at an afternoon tea, Valenzuela’s brown paw slid down Cormack’s stomach, massaging his taut muscles gently, it seemed. He lingered over his pubic bone, rubbing in a circular motion almost lovingly, his fingertips brushing against the root of Cormack’s taut prick. Cormack was shamed when his prick twitched and jumped visibly underneath the buckskin. Like the time he had frigged himself while his fellow miners watched, he found it strangely erotic to be admired by another man. And now the other two murderers stood around, occupied with massaging their own crotches, and exhorting Valenzuela, “
Si, si,
take it out. Whip him, he’ll tell you where the gold is then.”

“Shut up!” Valenzuela snapped at the miscreants. A pleasant cast came over his face when he turned back to Cormack, slithering his long brown fingers around the base of his erection. “Oh, my, what do we have here? It seems this rough mountain man is stimulated by the feel of my penis against his muscular ass. The idea that my hand is touching his long, stiff penis. You like that, don’t you, mountain man? A man has a much more rough touch than a woman, eh?”

Cormack merely narrowed his eyes at the ruffian and snorted through his nostrils as Valenzuela lifted the embarrassing heavy length of his cock from under the buckskin. It sprang into the hot summer air with readiness, mortifyingly shiny and purplish, ready to spurt jets of semen into the odious fellow’s face. His body was betraying him! Was he truly so eager and desperate for the most repulsive sort of release that he would take more than a pretense of enjoyment out of being handled by this brigand? Yet he’d already known that he loved to display his body for anyone’s pleasure, he loved to be admired, and the way the men marveled at his enormously meaty tool throbbing in the sun, in a man’s brown fist, was the apex of narcissism.

“I see you are well-hung like a bull,” Valenzuela nearly purred, squeezing his cock with apparent relish. His hand swept down to caress Cormack’s balls, hard and full to bursting with seed, as the henchman he had punted hobbled over to stand between his feet, forcing his thighs open. Cormack could see a wet stain on the front of the henchman’s cotton pants, and he looked to his own prick where a few drops glistened at the tip.

“You can humiliate me all you wish, Valenzuela,” Cormack fairly whispered.

Valenzuela grinned. “That is such an…inviting invitation.”

Cormack wasn’t so sure about his strategy when Valenzuela snapped his fingers, held out his palm, and the fourth accomplice handed him a tasseled length of rawhide lariat. Popping it against his other palm while Cormack’s nude prick pulsated against his belly, Valenzuela said, “You shall be crying, telling me where the gold is, Cormack.” And he spanked Cormack’s erection with the rawhide! Again. And again.

Cormack squeezed his eyes shut, using an old Far East technique for rising above pain. Yet that was only in anticipation, for he swiftly realized he didn’t need to close his eyes—the “pain” was quite exquisite. Every time the Spaniard spanked his cock, it bobbed in appreciation, turned even purpler, and raged to be allowed to spend. The slaps brought blood to his penis, stinging in an erotic rush of lust. Though the assassin might mean his slaps to be a form of torture, soon Cormack thought he would climax just from the sweet salacious needling.

“Ah!” snarled Valenzuela. “I see this is not torment for a depraved hombre such as you—you take vast pleasure in having your cock swatted, don’t you? Don’t you?”

It seemed to Cormack that the Spaniard also took vast pleasure, as every time Cormack’s hips quivered, he rubbed his ass against Valenzuela’s long prick that throbbed tellingly.

Perhaps aware of that, too, Valenzuela turned the lariat about and commenced to slapping his erection and testicles with the tasseled end, as if that would pain him more. But it tingled more deliciously as the tassels swept across his balls almost lovingly, Valenzuela apparently not so eager to inflict pain as he was to observe the jutting mass of a male erection.

Locking his eyes onto Valenzuela’s, Cormack whispered through clenched teeth, “That’s right. Harder, you vile raider. You like watching my erection get stiffer, don’t you? Did you know I would enjoy being slapped by your filthy hand? Watching my giant cock excites you, doesn’t it? I can feel your hard penis against my ass. Are you imagining thrusting your prick into my ass? But you can’t do it, can you? Because your men are watching—”

As he spoke, Cormack noted the color rising in Valenzuela’s face. Indeed, he swatted his cock harder, but the more Cormack taunted him, the angrier Valenzuela got, until he tossed the quirt to the rocks and energetically turned Cormack onto his stomach. Now their erections were pressed directly together, Cormack’s thighs spread wide by the boots of the limping man. Cormack realized that Valenzuela could not admit he was stimulated by the feel of another man. Being of Spanish descent, this would debase him, and especially since his denigrating band of desperadoes were watching, he must pretend he was merely attempting to get the gold information from Cormack.