Longarm 243: Longarm and the Debt of Honor (14 page)

Closer inspection disclosed that his companion for the night was—was he still drunk and seeing things, or was this somehow true?—Mrs. Eleanor Fitzpatrick, sometime lady friend and nocturnal playmate of his old buddy Norm.

This was not ... not exactly what he'd expected.

Longarm blinked. The question now was what the hell to do about it.

Later.

But first he had to get up and find the thunder mug, and be mighty damn quick about it lest he wake the lady by bathing her backside—she was sleeping soundly on one side, her back to him—in warm urine.

Longarm figured that could be considered an impolite way to reward the concern she'd shown him thus far, and crawled carefully backward off the foot of the bed so as not to jostle the sleeping woman.

He was still wondering just what in hell she was doing there when he finished with what was necessary and stood stark naked in the middle of the moonlit bedroom trying to work out why Eleanor might be there and what he should do next.

She was, dammit, Norm's woman. Was she trying to be nice to him for Norm's sake? Take care of him? He supposed she might have remained close by out of some sense of concern for his well-being, might have been afraid he was sick or something. She could have been sitting on the side of the bed keeping watch over him, say, and fallen asleep kinda by accident.

Longarm considered that possibility. But only until he noticed that the foot he could see sticking out from under the sheet on this side was bare. A woman didn't generally take her shoes and stockings off if she was keeping a nursing watch over a casual friend.

But if it wasn't something as innocent as that, then ...

Longarm eased a little closer, gently picked up the edge of the sheet, and lifted.

Eleanor was as bare as a hard-boiled egg. And considerably more interesting to look at.

Longarm pulled the sheet the rest of the way back and spent a few moments admiring the scenery.

Eleanor was even better looking naked than she was with clothes on. And not just every woman could make a claim like that, although few enough of them seemed to realize it.

Those huge knockers were more than big; they were also firm and shapely, with unusually long nipples set atop rather large pink circles of areolae. Her waist was naturally small, at least in comparison with the rest of her overlarge frame. If she used a corset, it was a matter of fashion and not necessity.

Her upper belly was flat and firm, the lower stomach only slightly rounded before it disappeared into a soft thatch of dark brown curls.

Her hair had been unpinned and let down for the night. Brushed out too, he guessed from the appearance, although that would imply that she'd taken some time to prepare herself for bed. The hair lay in soft waves spread across her pillow. Had she been standing, he figured it would fall all the way to her waist, or close enough to it that the difference wouldn't matter.

Her thighs were somewhat on the heavy side, but again, that was mostly in proportion to the overall size of her. This was a very large female person in pretty much every respect that he could see.

Her eyes were....

Longarm blinked. And looked again.

Her eyes were wide open, that was what they were.

Eleanor realized she'd been caught looking—her own attention seemed to be focused pretty much on the territory south of Longarm's belly button—and commenced to smile.

“You look like a cat that's got the canary cage open,” he said.

“Meow,” she told him.

“Should I ask why you're here?”

“Do you need to?”

“I got to admit to wondering,” he confessed.

“I wasn't going to stay. Then when I undressed you . . .” Very deliberately, she looked at the cock that was dangling there for all the world to admire. “What did you do, rob a horse to get something that size?”

“Just a pony.”

Eleanor kept her eyes on it and slowly, boldly, licked her lips. “Lucky me,” she said.

The woman had an effect on him, no doubt about it. He could have denied it, of course. But he didn't think she would much believe him. Not when the evidence was growing and growing and then some.

“Come here,” Eleanor instructed, her voice low and husky.

“Say please.” He didn't know why he was all of a sudden feeling perverse. But he kinda was.

“Yes, sir,” she said contritely. “Please.” She lifted her eyes for a moment to meet his, smiled, and then looked back at his cock, which by now was standing to rigid attention with a parade-ground posture. “Please come give me a taste of that beautiful thing.”

“Since you ask so nice,” he said. And stepped half a pace closer.

Longarm arched his back, driving his hips upward. He didn't mean to. Didn't want to. He just couldn't help himself. It felt so damn good, what Eleanor was doing to him.

She had him deep in her mouth. No, that wasn't exactly right really. Where he was was deep into her throat. All the way in. He could feel her lips wrapped hard and tight at the base of his balls, her nose nuzzling the hair on his balls—the thought came to him that that probably tickled like crazy—while at the same time she used the fingertips of one hand to lightly stroke his scrotum, and with the other hand, her arm wrapped around and under his butt, she was gently dragging a fingernail across his asshole.

The combined sensations were damn near more than he could stand. Although, with great fortitude, he did manage to put up with it all.

Eleanor sucked hard and pulled slowly, deliberately away. Longarm wasn't sure, but he thought he just might go out of his mind.

“Damn,” he muttered. “That is almighty good, lady.”

She disengaged for a moment and turned to give him a grin. Her lips were soft and wet, and she seemed quite pleased with herself. That was fine by Longarm. He was well pleased with her too.

“You like that?” she asked.

“Give me a couple hours more of it so's I can make my mind up proper.”

She laughed. “I'm glad you approve.”

“Kinda special, that is.”

“It really isn't that difficult,” Eleanor said. She grinned again. “Have you ever been to a circus?”

“Of course.”

“Ever seen a sword swallower in a sideshow?”

“Sure, who hasn't.”

“I used to have a girlfriend who worked the side-shows. She told me about how they do that. It's all a matter of learning to ignore the place way at the back of the mouth, right at the top of the throat, where a person gags when something tries to go through there. You know what I mean?”

“Sure,” he said. “Like when you want to throw up, you stick a finger down your throat.”

“Exactly. Except if you try real hard and learn to relax instead of tightening up, you can learn to let something slide past that spot without you puking. Well, that's what those sword swallowers do. The fella my friend worked for explained it to her. And she, bless her heart, figured out if a man could do that with a sword, then surely a girl could do it with a cock. And it works. She learned how to do it, and she taught me. It isn't anything at all once you know how.”

“And you damn sure know how,” Longarm commented.

“Would you like a little more?” Eleanor offered.

“Maybe later. Right now there's something else I want to do.” He reached for her, and Eleanor came into his arms. She kissed him, her tongue hot and busy, and his hands wandered over her tits and belly, and he fingered the soft wetness he found behind the curls of her pubic hair.

“Wet,” he said.

“Ready,” she told him.

“Not yet.”

Eleanor writhed and squirmed under his touch. Her breath came quick and eager, but he would not relent. He wanted to take his time about this.

Longarm sucked and nibbled her left breast while she stroked him. He probed deep inside her with the fingers of his left hand, and squeezed the cheeks of her ass with the other. Eleanor began to moan and pump her hips.

He kept at it, stroking with his fingers, caressing her sensitive clitoris with the ball of his thumb while with two fingers he explored deep inside her. After a scant few minutes Eleanor tensed, her body growing rigid and her back and butt arching high off the bed. She cried out aloud, a sharp, high-pitched squeak, and he felt the muscles at the entrance to her pussy clench tight around his fingers as she spasmed into a climax.

Longarm gave her a moment to rest and recuperate, then once more began to stroke and lick her. Her nipples were rigid, as hard and erect as his cock, although on a miniature scale.

“God,” she whispered, and quickly came again, her body trembling and quivering under the assault of pleasure he was giving her.

Longarm let the woman enjoy the moment, then placed a hand behind her neck, the spill of her hair cool and heavy on the back of his hand. He pulled, rolling her on top of him and pushing her face onto his cock.

“Yes. Give me a drink, baby. Let me,” she murmured, then slid down and forward, impaling herself on his shaft and taking him again deep into her throat until the full length of him filled her there.

Once more Longarm tried to hold himself motionless, tried to let her orchestrate the sensations. But as before, the feeling was simply too intense. He could not remain still, not with all that going on.

In all too short a time he felt the rising, swelling excitement, felt the gathering force and then the ultimate release that gushed in a hot, electric flow, pulsing and spewing into the woman's throat.

Longarm groaned and let himself go limp. Eleanor continued to hold him inside her mouth for long moments, then slowly withdrew, smiling.

She dipped her head low to plant a soft kiss on the tip of his cock.

And then, no more willing to let him rest than he himself had been with her a little earlier, she ran her tongue up onto his belly, took one tiny nipple between her lips, and once more began to suck on Longarm's sensitive flesh.

He'd thought he was so thoroughly sated by the first explosion that he would not be able to rise for a repeat performance. Not for hours.

He'd been wrong about that.

Under Eleanor's expert ministrations, it turned out that he was more ready than he'd thought possible, and it was with pleasure that he allowed the woman to straddle him, taking his cock into her body. The flesh that engulfed him was burning hot, the feeling enhanced by his recent first climax, and she was already drenched in slick, slippery juices to ease his way inside.

This, Longarm decided without a hell of a lot of difficulty, was most definitely a fine way to wake up.

Hell, he didn't even have a hangover.

Maybe he'd gone and discovered the cure mankind had been looking for all these years. Great. But how was he gonna patent it?

Longarm chuckled at the thought, causing Eleanor to pause in what she was so busily doing and raise an eyebrow.

“Don't let me stop you,” he said. “I was just kinda enjoying myself.”

“So am I, dear. Now be quiet please and let me concentrate on feeling this lovely thing inside me, will you? It isn't every day a girl finds something this nice to play with.”

There wasn't much Longarm could say in response to that, so he did as the lady asked and quieted down. Eleanor closed her eyes and tipped her head back and returned to what she'd been so nicely doing.

Longarm did not mind that. Not even a little bit.

The tangy and entirely delectable scent of frying bacon brought him awake. Bright, full daylight showed around the edges of the blinds in Norm's bedroom. It was hours after Longarm normally woke. But then last night hadn't exactly been normal, what with one thing and another.

He sat upright, teeth chattering in the restrained impulse to yawn. There was a hollowness in his balls and a slight soreness in his pecker, but all in all he felt considerably better than he had any right to after a wet night out. It was the moist night in—in Eleanor, that is—that probably accounted for that. Damn, but she was a fine, accomplished filly. She could turn a man inside out, drain him purely dry, and still keep him coming back for more. Longarm could attest to that, but hoped he wouldn't have to.

It did occur to him, fleetingly, that spending a night screwing Norm's woman had
not
been written on his list of things to do in Crow's Point. He supposed he should feel pretty shitty about bedding his buddy's play-pretty.

Still, dammit, Eleanor was a big girl. And the call had been hers. Longarm might've felt worse about this if he'd been the one to make the first move. But he hadn't. The choice was most definitely hers.

And it would have taken a strong man—to say nothing of a stupid one—to kick Eleanor Fitzpatrick out of bed.

Well, he thought with a wry grin, he might kick her out himself. But only because there was more room to thrash around on the floor.

Longarm stood and wrapped the rumpled, stained, and more than just a little bit sweaty sheet around his middle, then threw the trailing end over one shoulder to keep from tripping over it.

The clothing he'd been wearing last night was tossed in a jumble beside the tiny bedside table—the lady was talented, but apparently she wasn't tidy—with the last things off at the top of the pile. Longarm dug down to the bottom and found his coat. He extracted a cheroot, then rooted through the mess again long enough to unearth his vest. He found a match, struck it, and lit that first tasty smoke of the day, then ambled out into the kitchen to check on the progress of the bacon. The smell of it had his mouth watering and his belly growling.