Longarm and the Amorous Amazon by Tabor Evans

Author:Tabor Evans
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group

Chapter 11

Like most women, Consuela Garson was slower than most women to warm up and more than one man could ever completely satisfy, once they got started. But a man could try, and she did allow he was hung as well as she’d been hoping, once he had it in and they were going at it serious, with her doing more than half the work under him. Thanks to that long restful train ride and a warm meal since, Longarm felt too relaxed to hold until she came. But he was enough of a sport to leave it in her as she went on bucking. He’d thought she hadn’t noticed until she crooned, “Oh, how sweet of you, darling! I think I’m almost there, too, and ... Yes, yes, yessss!”

So, naturally, by that time he was fully erect again and ready to go on, that gigantic rump thrust up to encourage his dog style enthusiasm. It sure looked encouraging, glowing like a blushing ghost in the ruddy skylight of a Pueblo evening.

They naturally finished in a more romantic position, against one wall as he explored the possibilities of her astounding legs. Women liked wall jobs because of the way they felt a man’s shaft against their clits in that position. But most men found the position a tad awkward because of the way they usually had to spread their own feet or bend their knees. Tall men like Longarm found the position downright tedious with a woman of average height, but with a lady giant with longer legs than his own, the results were delightful.

She said she liked it, too.

Then they got back in bed to share a smoke and allow their hearts to slow down. Over in the creekside park, Consuela had mentioned her husband dying young of a heart stroke. Longarm was beginning to see how such a calamity could occur around Consuela.

But he made it through the night alive and despite his earlier plans for an early start, he had to be a good sport about having a late breakfast with her on the American plan before they parted for the day to pursue their own chores.

Consuela said she had to have lunch with a contract wagon master. Longarm toted his saddle to the nearest livery on Main Street, with his Winchester and all, to hire a cordovan mare with a white blaze and Morgan lines at the steep big city rates of four bits a day.

Out on the trail, the mare seemed willing, or dispirited enough to carry him at an uncomfortable but mile-eating trot as he tried to make up for lost time.

The spread Crimp Gooding had bought with blood money lay well east of Fountain Creek and the city limits beyond, off the service road that followed the Arkansas River and railroad line running east to Wichita. They’d told him to watch for an antelope skull on the crossbar above the gateposts.

The prairie pronghorn was not, in fact, a real antelope, but it was hard to hit and getting scarce.

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