Instinctively, Crispin lurked underneath the window, listening. The double-wide Bettina had chosen was actually quite nice. This model would have two bedrooms, thermal pane windows, and one of those tubs you could soak in, but Taos was yelling.
“Listen to me! If I wanted to be stuck in a burg where the homes are mobile but the cars aren’t, you could’ve stuck me within city limits, couldn’t you? There must be plenty of rednecky trailer parks inside Vegas limits.”
Crispin could tell Bettina was trying to keep her voice low. “Taos. You don’t seem to realize that you don’t hold all the cards. A nice clean town like Rescue is better for you than the bright and sleazy lights of Vegas.”
Taos was pacing the kitchen. “Jesus criminy, Bettina! I’m surprised there isn’t a cable spool for a coffee table! And what’s this? This coffee pot used to be plugged into a Motel 6 wall. And I don’t think I want to know why there’s a can of Raid on the kitchen table.”
“Look, Taos. Once you’re in, you’re in. Opting out means going back into the danger zone. WITSEC rules are here for a reason. I can promise to keep you alive and safe. I can’t promise that if you opt out.”
Crispin could practically see the outlaw biker pointing at Bettina’s well-endowed chest. “No. You listen to me. You don’t hold all the cards. If you want my testimony, you’re going to move me within Vegas city limits instead of this hellhole where people’s gas pedals are shaped like a bare foot and the main car color is bondo.”
Bettina gave up on modulating her voice. Crispin decided now was a good time to go inside, so he climbed the steps to the front door. “All right, asshole. You want out? You’reout. I’ve got better things to do than to stand here listening to this shit. You may have been able to boss around your weenie whiny biker friends, but I’m a federal marshal, and I do hold all the cards. Taos, you’re a high-risk witness, and I’m going to do everything in my power to protect you.”
“Shitfire, Bettina! This home has more miles on it than my bike.”
“Listen, asshole.” Crispin spoke in his best authoritative voice, and his hand was on the grip of his pistol. Taos and Bettina both spun around to stare at him, and it was then that Crispin realized the crackling in the air between them wasn’t just over the black velvet painting on the wall.
It was sexual tension, and Crispin had ignorantly just stepped into the middle of it.
Their chests heaved and they panted with emotion. Sweat beaded on Taos’s forehead, although he could hardly be a stranger to hot weather, coming from Texas. Bettina’s aura of case-hardened tough-as-nails flint had chipped away to reveal a woman with some vulnerabilities.
Crispin wouldn’t blame Bettina for belting him, but now he’d started it, he had to finish it. He took his hand off his pistol grip. “Not only do you not talk to a federal marshal like that, but you don’t talk to a lady like that. She went out of her fucking way to find you this house and get you safely relocated. You knew it wasn’t going to be as easy as falling off the face of the earth.”
Taos was stubborn, and it was obvious he didn’t want to back down right away. He pointed at the floor. “Did you see that fucking trading post on the way in? They were selling paintings of dogs playing cards. And my next door neighbor has a fucking washing machine in his front yard.”
Crispin continued, “You may have come from a higher echelon of society, Taos or whatever your name is. You’re perfectly free to work your way back up the ladder here in Rescue.”
Taos snorted. “Phh. Some ladder.”
“It’s all right, Sheriff,” Bettina said soothingly. “I don’t need defending. This guy’s just a two-bit hustler. I’m sure his house in Texas had big-eyed kids on the kitchen towels, too.”
“Big-eyed kids?” Taos eyed the kitchen suspiciously.
“It’s just a form of speech. Listen, Taos. Why don’t you practice your new patter on the sheriff here? Introduce yourself.”
Taos pointed at Crispin. “Do I call him ‘sheriff,’ too? Or ‘Bob’ or whatever his real name is?”
Bettina said, “No, he’s got to be Sheriff Marwick because everyone knows who he is. He’s just another friend of the family, like I am. Go ahead, Taos. Tell Marwick who you are.”
Taos faced Crispin squarely, looking supremely unsure of himself. He was doing a bang-up job of covering his insecurity with swagger, though. “I’m Taos Hopewell from El Paso, Texas. I owned my own surf shop there, but the economy ruined it.”
Bettina got down on her knees with no hesitation.
She’d been dying to, really, ever since Taos had first taken off his shirt. But she had to rein in her libido. She couldn’t let her rampant hormones dictate her actions.
She had to be reasonable, and so she had told Taos that she couldn’t decide between him and Crispin. That had turned out, just by sheer luck, to be one of the best decisions of her life.
She was thrilled to the core to be acting out a bawdy scene with not one but two men. Two men she had exciting, deep affection for. Their approval meant the world to her. She wanted to perform up to their usual standards—whatever those might be for Crispin.
“Oh, yes,” she breathed as Taos’s hand went to his belt buckle. But what is Crispin going to do while I do this? Not surprisingly, the cock that leaped out at her was long, thick, veined. It had been awhile and Bettina’s throat muscles weren’t as toned as they could be, but she sank the cock down her throat and sucked away.
Oh, yes. Oh, yes. She’d forgotten how gratifying it could be, knowing that every time she sucked, every time she gulped, she was providing sensual thrills to Taos.
Her subservient position aroused her, too. She was literally on one hand and knees with her butt in the air suctioning that big prick down her throat. Taos encouraged her. His moans resonated through his pelvis and down his penis, vibrating her lips. He didn’t seem to care who heard, either. That was fine. Taos Hopewell, casino owner, could have his cock sucked until the cows came home. There was nothing wrong with that.
“That’s good, little one. You’re a good cocksucker. You love sucking my big dick, don’t you?”
Bettina could hardly stop and converse, but her “mmm hmms” caused Taos to groan even louder. This encouraged her to greater heights, and she broke away to lave his balls with her saliva, the better to fondle and massage them with her free hand.
Just the temporary pause made Taos shout. He had a handful of her hair and was using it like a rein. “Back to work, little one! I want you to work that cock like a piece of candy. Suck it down! Take me deeper. Deeper!”
Taos’s raunchy talk spurred her onward, and now she hoovered his meat while rolling his balls in her palm. She tensed a bit, though, when Taos called out,
“Spank her, Crispin. Slap that fine, jiggly ass.”
Although Bettina had longed to be dominated in the bedroom, suddenly she wasn’t sure she was quite ready for it. She knew she would be berated if she paused in her cocksucking, but suddenly Crispin was behind her, undoing her gun belt with his deft, talented fingers.
“She needs a spanking,” Taos growled in a new, low voice. “Don’t you agree, brother?”
“I could not agree more,” said Crispin as he viciously yanked her jeans and panties down to her knees.
Before she knew it, Crispin was smacking her like there was no tomorrow. The spanks cracked out sharply in the tinny trailer atmosphere, like rifle reports from across a field. Every time his palm slapped her, she gasped in air through her nostrils. At first the slaps felt punitive, and her eyes teared up wondering what she’d done wrong. Were the men always going to be this mean to her? She didn’t think she could take that.
But in between slaps, Crispin’s fingers strayed. He was caressing her between slaps, alternating between punishment and arousal. When his exquisite fingertips happened to brush her outer pussy lip, she was surprised to realize how wet she was. Was it from her cocksucking, or the slaps?
“You’re doing a good job,” Taos grunted. “Take off her shirt, Crispin. I want to see her boobs hanging low in that mirror. She’s got big, juicy titties. I want to see them sway as she sucks me.”
For a man allegedly inexperienced in the ways of love, Crispin sure made short work of her shirt and bra. She was not normally proud of her body. Even with only one other man, she almost always turned off the lights. She could be thinner, she knew, if she didn’t have a cop’s diet of potato chips, fast food, and basic crap. She always aced the physical endurance part of the Marshals Service tests because she was agile and quick on her feet. But Bettina knew she was what they called “curvy.”
She knew that when Crispin smacked her rump it was creating a ripple throughout her entire haunch. And apparently Taos was ardently watching her in a mirror she thought had been propped against the wall for body building purposes. Shame washed over her that she hadn’t tried harder to diet. She could have brought celery sticks with her to work, like that little old lady Park did.
“Oh yeah,” roared Taos. “Slap those titties, Crispin. Slap her titties and her ass like she’s a horse. Yeah. My little pony, yeah!”
Apparently Crispin could walk and chew gum, as he slapped and caressed her ass while smacking her boobs with the back of his hand. As Bettina let go of the shame and allowed the brisk paddling to overwhelm her, it stopped hurting and started…well, pleasurably stinging.
I like this. I really do.
Crispin’s punishment created a warming sensation that spread over her skin. Her pussy tingled with the alternation of slaps and caresses. When Crispin began spanking her swaying tits in between pinches to her nipples, her inner pussy actually fluttered. She knew she was craving to be filled.