The Obedient Servant [Going for the Gold 6] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) (2 page)

Milo chuckled. Reynaldo Vargas was very handsome when self-righteously riled. He was probably just as handsome in other attitudes, as well. “And what’s wrong with that? We all know Polk will declare war sooner or later. Frémont is only being very farsighted. Listen. I’m going to bathe in these cool waters. I’m not a funky roughneck like the rest of these dogs. Vargas, your soldiers are more rough-looking than us frontier Osos.”

With a knowing wink, Milo shouldered his rifle and started off toward the Sacramento River. That had been his goal ten minutes ago, anyway, and he had soap in the possible bag slung over his shoulder.
Let these rowdy loafers run around smelling like a three-day-old dead skunk
. Although as a recent mountain man himself, he normally would be wearing an animal on his head like some of these men. He’d just had to stop trapping and start farming because the beaver appeared to be all trapped out.

He could feel Vargas’s eyes on his ass as he strode to the river.
Dobry
. Milo knew from past experience that Vargas would take his bait. He knew he had a curvaceous ass that looked tempting between the fringed leggings tied about his hips. Women were so scarce in California, men had practically started an uprising a few weeks ago when a thieving prostitute had been hung near Sutter’s Fort. This scarcity meant that most men put aside their normal mores from the Old States in order to enthusiastically bugger any fellow who caught their fancy. And Corporal Vargas had caught Milo’s fancy.

Milosz Stefanski could care less about the prostitute who had been given the necktie party. He’d been happily bumfucking only men since his wife and daughter had died at the hands of Indians on that godforsaken Oregon Trail in forty-one. He didn’t want to—couldn’t—open himself up to the tender emotions even looking at another woman brought surging up inside him. Women were frail creatures and susceptible to every ailment that came down the pike. Who wanted to risk associating with them?

Yet he still had the drive, the fired-up lust of the vigorous pioneer. Since there were so few women about to torture him anyway, Milo had easily fallen into a habit of seducing any attractive buck he crossed paths with. It had seemed foreign and strange at first, but it had become such a compulsive habit it was now like a drug that one had to return to again and again to feel pleasure.

In fact, Milo had turned into something of a libertine. His prick was already halfway erect when he kicked aside his moccasins and stepped out of his leggings and pantaloons. He peeled off his filthy shirt. He’d paid Digger women to wash some clothes for him and was waiting for their return. He was accustomed to plunging into the melted snow waters of the Sacramento, which he did now. The water shocked his blood and numbed his skin, but he plowed on through the glittering sheet of water. Coming to a deep pool, he treaded water, as the river bottom was far below his feet. He dipped his head backward into the frigid water, instantly numbing it. But when he emerged into the bright sunlight, clarity and peace began to spread through him.

Milo floated on his back for awhile, feeling lighter than air. He deserved to rest and bathe if he was going to spend the next several months engaged in warfare. There was plenty of time for flea-riddled bedclothes, trying to sleep next to snoring, belching soldiers. For now, Milo wanted to float in the pure, clean waters.

His cock twitched as his mind drifted back to the virile soldier, Reynaldo Vargas. Milo knew that the curly-haired buck would succumb easily under his prodding. He knew it wouldn’t take long to taunt and tease that potent bugger to a healthy climax. Since surrendering to this Greek love type of life, Milo had heartily accepted his own domineering nature. He liked subduing other men, watching as their faces turned from innocent protestation to debauched joy. While Milo’s method of coaxing was usually quite brutal, it was always a pleasure to watch the men cave as bliss washed over them. By the time Milo cut them loose, they were usually a bowl of pudding in his hands.

His prick was throbbing against his hip bone when a large splash sounded off the shore. He’d been on alert for weeks now since hearing about Castro’s proclamation, so he snapped to attention, eyes wide, treading water. His heart near about stopped when he realized his pistols were on the beach. But shortly, in a shower of diamond droplets, the soldier’s head emerged through the water’s surface, and Milo exhaled violently with relief.

“What in hell, Vargas? I thought you were a band of greasers.”

Vargas bobbed just five feet from Milo. The reflection off the water’s surface played against his sculpted, resolute chin. “Sorry about that. You’ll get your greasers soon enough, I fear. You have a farm upriver, you said. Did you take an oath and convert to Mexican citizenship to be allowed to purchase the land?”

“That I did, several years ago. It made me no difference at the time as long as I was allowed to own land. Now the rumor is Mexico is disallowing conversion and will expel all pioneers once the spring thaw clears the passes in the mountains.”

A shadow passed over Vargas’s eyes. “That’s what I heard, too. I can’t say as I blame you for being a rabble-rouser. I’m just saying I doubt the veracity of Gillespie’s message to Frémont. I think the Pathfinder is more of an explorer than a soldier, and he’s going to interpret any message as an invitation to claim more land under his own glorious name. That’s all. One can’t just tear around starting a war with an entire country without direct orders.”

Milo chuckled. “That’s Manifest Destiny for you.”

Vargas smiled, a low smolder that had Milo’s penis lengthening even under the icy water.
Perhaps this expedition won’t be so painful and unpleasant after all
. Vargas swept his arms over the water’s surface and kicked away toward an overhanging rocky ledge where the water was so deep and cold it was turquoise. Milo stroked toward shore and grabbed the bar of soap, glad he always carried a length of reata rope in his possible bag as well. One never knew when one might need reata.

Swimming out to where Vargas frolicked in the shadows of the overhang, Milo tossed his items on a little beach, stood where the water only reached his knees, and soaped up his hair. He wanted to gauge Vargas’s reaction to his thick, long cock waggling in midair as he pretended to squeeze his eyes shut against the foamy soap. He was gratified that Vargas didn’t bother averting his gaze. Indeed, the soldier’s jaw even went slack, and Milo could swear he could see his pupils dilate with awe. Just his luck this stud would prove to be a cocksucker, when Milo was the one who liked tasting that choice morsel.

Milo sat on the sandy river bottom in order to rinse his hair. He was delighted when Vargas surfaced from the river, water streaming from his beautiful limbs, and approached him with hand held out. “Soap?” Vargas requested.

From this angle Milo was face-to-face with Vargas’s impressive tool. It swung at half-mast too, its enormous mushroom head shiny and satiny in the reflected sunlight. A sprinkling of silken hair peppered Vargas’s well-developed pectorals. A fine line of glossy hair arrowed down the center of his taut abdomen, drawing Milo’s eyes to the delectable pubic mound where the cock jutted so boldly.

“All right,” he agreed, blindly reaching for the bar on the bank.

But instead of handing the bar to Vargas, Milo kneeled before the soldier and gripped one of his hips. He applied the wet bar of tallow to the delicious layer of fat covering the pubic bone and rubbed salaciously, hooking his thumb under the base of the cock. Vargas merely groaned, deep and resonant in his abdomen. Jamming his fists against the small of his back, he angled his pelvis obscenely toward Milo’s face, throwing his head back with abandon.

It was nice to have such instant submission at his fingertips, but sometimes Milo liked them to put up a battle.
No fear, he will soon.
He’ll be bucking and snorting as he struggles against my domination
. For a few moments, Milo was content to massage the savory pubic bone, satisfied with the way his kneading made the lengthy meat wag before his hungry mouth.

Corporal Vargas groaned to show his approval as Milo moved the foamy bar to handle the dangling ball sac. Vargas gyrated his hips as though fucking the air. Milo approved of the soldier’s lewd abandon, uncaring who might come over the rise to bathe and watch them so engaged.

Not many men cared who saw, and in fact, a few battalion privates came crawling over the embankment. A lusty heat spread through Milo’s limbs as he slid the bar of tallow along the length of the panting cock. The fellows on the embankment froze—Milo could tell they held their breaths.

Vargas did, too, his head tossed back submissively, his glorious throat bared. Milo frigged the beautiful cock vigorously. He gave it a few healthy, talented jerks with his fist, squiggling his thumb about the bulbous head. He knew that Vargas was prepared for him to spear it down his throat. The privates on the hill apparently thought so, too, as they all quickly unsheathed their tools and began pumping away in earnest. Vargas even slapped a palm to the back of Milo’s skull, urging Milo’s face toward his crotch.

Milo tricked Vargas. Quick as a bolt of lightning, Milo was on his feet behind Vargas, cinching both of Vargas’s wrists in one fist. “March,” he growled into Vargas’s ear, kneeing the soldier in the backs of his own knees, buckling his legs.

No doubt taken by surprise, Vargas obeyed. He stumbled through the shallows to the shore, where Milo chucked the soap onto his possible bag. He knew from the way Vargas’s cock remained stiff that he was not dismayed at this turn of events. Bending in one fluid movement, Milo swiped the reata coil from the sand, tossing one end over the crook of an overhanging oak branch. Swiftly, with the experience of a seasoned ruffian and vaquero, Milo knotted the reata around Vargas’s wrists at the back of his neck, joining both free ends into a rapid square knot. Vargas could have struggled much more violently, instead only putting a nominal jerking of the limbs into it. Perhaps Vargas relished what was coming, too.

“You’re a good, good soldier,” Milo snarled into Vargas’s ear. “You listen to instructions and obey.” His own prick throbbed, pulsing in the air just inches from the saucy, shapely ass. He didn’t care if the dough-heads on the hill pulling their own johnsons knew that he wanted Vargas as badly as Vargas wanted him. It always added to Milo’s pleasure if some unknown strangers watched him perform. He especially liked dominating an officer. The unexpected perversion added to his arousal. He liked the idea that all eager eyes were on his throbbing dick. It made him feel even more powerful and potent when unknown blockheads were admiring him—his physique, his punishments, his partner.

Now he yanked the reata taut so Vargas nearly dangled on his tiptoes. He was lean all stretched out like that, his skin tightly pulled across his ribs, his juicy ass jiggling temptingly. Milo couldn’t stop himself from slapping that ass with his wet palm, the slap so loud it resounded up along both riverbanks, even over the sound of the rushing waters. “You’re an alluring morsel,” he said with appreciation.

“What is it you want, you shit sack?” Vargas snarled, unconvincingly.

Milo continued to slowly slap the ass, letting Vargas sway from the gnarled branch. The dick still stuck out urgently at a right angle from the rigid belly, but Milo slapped Vargas’s haunches until he raised red handprints. “The same thing you do,” he said smoothly. Between slaps, he allowed his fingers to tickle the anal ring and wander down to caress the swaying testicles. Now he fondled the soldier lightly, alternating with vicious spanks to the reddened rump. How well Milo knew the tantalizing cycle of pain and pleasure when a talented practitioner alternated techniques like that.

“You like cock, don’t you?” Milo knew his Polish accent aroused men, and he played it up, allowing the syllables to roll off his tongue. “I could tell by the way your beautiful Spanish eyes ogled my crotch.”

“I did no such thing!” Vargas protested weakly. “We were having a civilized conversation about the coming war, that’s all. Let me down.”

“I’ll do no such thing,” Milo repeated salaciously, now slapping both the saucy globe of the ass and the balls as well. Vargas flinched when he smacked the testicles, but his prick remained stiffly engorged, and now Milo quickly bent to swipe the soap from his possible bag.

Vargas hissed in air when Milo slapped his balls, but exhaled with sheer pleasure when Milo squeezed the soapy bar of lard along his dick in his fist. “There,” breathed Milo, as though talking to a beloved cat. “Is this better?”

Vargas relaxed into the frigging, letting his head loll back. “God, yes.”

“Do you want me to stop?” Milo teased.

Vargas’s eyelids fluttered. “
Dios
,
no
. Keep on. Keep petting me.”

Milo continued to slap the crimson ass while pleasuring the soldier’s member with the other. He captured the muscular thigh between his own, humping the sinewy hip with his hard prick. Vargas’s penis was so foamy Milo couldn’t admire the bulging, purplish cockhead, so he tossed the tallow bar into his other hand, jamming it between the shapely globes. He grabbed a soapy handful of the swollen testicles while Vargas hissed and flinched.

Milo snarled, “You want me to keep petting you?”

“Yes,” said Vargas, without conviction. “You hurt so good. I don’t know what feels pleasurable and what hurts.”

“It may sting,” Milo allowed, swatting the soapy cock some more, “but your cock isn’t flagging one centimeter, Vargas. You’re a deviant, twisted stud, aren’t you?” Milo swept his hand up to tweak the nipple that was crying out for attention.