The Legend of El Duque Page 4

  She reached between them to grasp his hard shaft and pull him toward her. She spread her legs and he pushed the spongy head of his cock against the wet lips of her pussy until they parted and he slid inside. He slid his hands beneath her to cup the smooth orbs of her ass and began to move in and out of her. Her breath came harshly in his ear as the intensity of his strokes increased.

  “Oh, yes!” she cried, biting him on the shoulder.

  “Damn it!” he yelled, and increased his stroke until he was fairly pummeling her . . .

  * * *

  “I’ve told you not to do that,” Montero said later.

  “What?”

  “Bite me.”

  She chuckled, rolled onto her side. Her small, exquisite breasts barely moved.

  “You’re afraid your young paramour will see it?” she asked.

  “I don’t need any trouble with Katerina right now, Antonia,” Montero said. “And neither one of us needs any trouble with your husband.”

  She grinned at him and said, “However you look at it, Carlos, we are all heading for some trouble.”

  “Well, not yet,” he said, pulling on his trousers. “First we have to deal with this matter of the bull.”

  “Why are you so concerned with that bull?” she asked.

  “Because the bull is the future.”

  “Whose?” she asked.

  “Ours,” he said, although what he was thinking was, Mine.

  He put on his vest and strapped on his gun.

  “Are you going to get dressed?” he asked her.

  “Yes,” she said, “after you leave. You know I don’t mind being watched while I disrobe, but not when I dress.”

  “Where does he think you are?”

  “In town.”

  “Why?”

  She shrugged.

  “He never cares.”

  “Well,” he said, “I must get back before he looks for me.”

  “When is this gringo supposed to arrive?” she asked.

  “At the end of the month.”

  “Then it will all be over by then,” she said, “one way or another.”

  “Sí,” he said, before leaving, “one way or another.”

  TWELVE

  Clint arrived at the Mexican border with two weeks left to go on his trip. He thought about crossing at El Paso, but instead had chosen the small U.S. border town of El Codo. El Codo meant “The Elbow,” which was how the town was shaped.

  El Codo was of little significance, really. Across the river from it was the larger and more populated Mexican town of Nogales, but El Codo had something Nogales did not—a telegraph.

  He rode into town late in the afternoon, which meant he was probably going to have to either spend the night there, or cross the river into Mexico and spend the night in Nogales.

  He looked for and found the small telegraph office, leaving Eclipse unattended while he went inside to see if he had any replies.

  “Why, yes, sir,” the clerk said, “I believe they’re right here.”

  The clerk went through a pile of messages, and just when Clint almost came to the conclusion that the man had lost them, he came up with them.

  “Here ya go,” he said, handing them to Clint.

  “Is this all of them?” Clint asked.

  “Yessir,” the clerk said, “ya got three.”

  “Thanks.”

  Clint went outside to read them. Bat Masterson apologized, but he had recently taken a bullet in his thigh and couldn’t ride. However, if Clint could find no one else, he’d wrap the thigh up as tight as he could, hop on a buckboard, and make the trip.

  Bass Reeves was still marshaling in Indian territory, and had to testify in court, but if Clint couldn’t find anyone else, he’d risk the wrath of the Hanging Judge and come to his aide.

  The third message was from south of the border. Clint’s friend Sebastián de la Vega had recently been thrown from a horse and the feeling had not yet returned to his legs. But he was sending someone to meet Clint in Nogales. He assured Clint that, despite this person’s youth, he was very capable of watching Clint’s back, and guiding him through Mexico.

  Clint’s first choice would have been Bat Masterson, but he wasn’t about to make his friend travel while injured. His second choice would have been Talbot Roper from Denver, but he had not heard back from him. Roper was the best private detective in the country, and he was probably away from Denver on a case. Next would have been Bass Reeves, but he couldn’t ask Reeves to go against the Judge.

  So he was prepared to at least meet the man that de la Vega was sending him. He felt bad that his friend was paralyzed from a fall, and hoped that the use of his legs would return.

  He went back inside and sent his own replies back to all three telegrams. De la Vega’s man was probably already in Nogales, so even if he wasn’t willing to use him, he couldn’t stop him. He had to at least meet the man.

  When he came out, he decided to go ahead and cross the river to Nogales and spend the night there. It would also give him more time with de la Vega’s man.

  He rode out of El Codo, found a shallow place in the river, and crossed into Mexico. Within half a mile he came to Nogales. It was getting dark as he rode in, and Nogales was alive with light, music, and loud voices. Clint felt lucky to find the livery pen so he could leave Eclipse there to be cared for, then he carried his saddlebags and rifle to a small hotel across from a noisy saloon.

  “One night,” he told the young clerk.

  “Sí, señor.” He handed Clint the key.

  Clint went to the first-floor room, which was in the back, and dropped off his saddlebags and rifle. He didn’t know where he was going to meet de la Vega’s man, so he decided to just get himself a beer, and something to eat.

  He went back to the clerk and asked him where the best food in town was.

  “Across the street, señor.”

  “That noisy cantina?”

  “Sí, señor. They have the best beer, the best señoritas, and the best enchiladas and frijoles.”

  “And what about trouble?”

  “It is not allowed.”

  “Really?”

  “Sí, señor. The owner, he is my cousin, and he does not allow trouble.”

  Now Clint had to decide if the clerk was sending him there because it had the best food, or because the clerk’s cousin owned it.

  “I’ll tell you what,” Clint said. “If I pay you, can you get some food brought to my room from there?”

  “Sí, señor,” the clerk said. “I can do that. Just tell me what you want.”

  “A little bit of everything,” Clint said, handing the clerk some money. “Is that enough?”

  “More than enough, señor.”

  “Well, you keep what’s left.”

  “Gracias, señor.”

  The young man was in his twenties, and the extra money would be a good tip for him.

  As Clint started back to his room, the clerk shouted, “Señor, what to drink?”

  “Cerveza!”

  * * *

  Clint was sitting in his room when, a half hour later, there was a knock on his door. When he opened it, the clerk was there with two black-haired Mexican women wearing off-the-shoulder blouses, holding plates of food. The clerk was carrying a bucket of beer.

  “Come on in,” Clint said.

  They entered and put the plates down on the top of the chest of drawers. The clerk handed Clint the bucket, which had kept the beer cold. To top it off, he handed Clint a glass mug.

  “These are my cousins, Lupita and Consuelo.”

  Lupita was young, probably not yet twenty, and pretty. Someday she would be as beautiful as Consuelo, who was in her thirties and possessed of a mature beauty that Mexican women grew into.

  They had brought h
im plates of enchiladas, tacos, frijoles, tortillas, sliced peppers and tomatoes, and beer.

  It was a feast.

  “Lupita and Consuelo can stay while you eat, señor,” the clerk said, “and give you anything you want.”

  “I think I’ve got all I need,” I said. “What’s your name?”

  “Eduardo.”

  “Well, Eddie, the girls can come back for the plates in about half an hour.”

  “The señor is sure he does not want us to stay?” Consuelo asked. “Maybe one of us?”

  “Right now,” Clint said, “the señor is only interested in eating.”

  Consuelo spoke to Lupita in Spanish, and the younger woman seemed crushed by what she’d been told.

  “Sí, señor,” Eduardo said, “they will return. Please, enjoy the food.”

  “Thank you, Eduardo,” Clint said, “and thanks to all your cousins.”

  THIRTEEN

  The food was delicious, and Clint was so hungry he ate almost all of it. Same for the bucket of beer, which held probably four mugs. He drank two and stopped, not wanting to alter his perception at all, not while he was carrying Bill Werter’s money. That was also the reason he preferred to stay away from the lively cantina. There’d be plenty of men there drinking and having a good time, and every chance for trouble.

  There was a knock on the door about forty minutes later, and while he was expecting Eduardo or one of his cousins, he still went to answer it holding his gun. When he opened it, a young man with a smooth, unlined face smiled broadly at him.

  “Clint Adams?” he asked.

  “That’s right.”

  “I am here!” the young man said, spreading his arms wide.

  “I can see that,” Clint said. “Who are you?”

  “I am Manolito!”

  Clint waited a moment, then said, “Sorry, I still don’t know—”

  “De la Vega,” the boy said. “I am Manolito de la Vega!”

  “Ah . . .” Clint said, still unsure how to react.

  “Don Sebastián is my papa,” Manolito said, “and he instructed me to come to Nogales and assist his good friend, Clint Adams.” The boy slammed his fist against his chest. “I am here!”

  “So you are,” Clint said. “Come in.”

  “Gracias, señor.”

  Clint allowed the young man to enter then closed the door.

  “Ah, a feast!” Manolito said, eyeing the remains of Clint’s meal. “I am very hungry after my long ride.”

  “Well, help yourself,” Clint said. “I’m finished.”

  “Gracias, señor,” Manolito said. He grabbed an enchilada in his hands and took a huge bite. Studying the young man, Clint could see the resemblance between father and son. They were the same height and build, though Manolito was slender. Clint had not seen Don Sebastián in about six years, but the last time he had, the older man was still standing tall, ramrod straight, with just the hint of a belly.

  “There’s beer in that bucket,” Clint said.

  “Ah, gracias!”

  “If you’re old enough,” Clint added. The boy looked all of seventeen or eighteen to him.

  “Señor, I am twenty-two,” Manolito said. “I am a man!”

  “Yes, you are,” Clint said, “a young man.”

  Manolito drank some beer and wiped it from his upper lip.

  “But a man, nevertheless,” he said. He was dressed like a vaquero, with silver conches down the legs of his pants and on his vest, and a bolero hat hanging behind him, tied around his neck. He also wore a gun in a holster festooned with silver, the pistol itself bearing an ivory grip.

  “Can you use that gun?” Clint asked. “Or is it just for show?”

  “I can use it, señor,” the young man said. “Perhaps not as good as you, but my father would not have sent me if he did not think I could be of use.”

  “No, you’re probably right about that,” Clint said, sliding his gun back into the holster hanging on the bedpost.

  “I can show you if you like,” Manolito said with a mouthful of frijoles.

  “Perhaps tomorrow,” Clint said. “Not tonight. You’ll be needing a room.”

  “I have money, señor,” Manolito said. “I can get myself a room. I just wanted to let you know that I am here.”

  “Okay,” Clint said. “The desk clerk and his cousins brought me that food, so when they come for the plates, you can get yourself a room.”

  Manolito picked up the last enchilada and said, “I should be finished eating by then.”

  * * *

  True to his word, Manolito was wiping his hands on a cloth napkin when there was a knock at the door.

  This time it was the two cousins, Lupita and Consuelo. Eduardo wasn’t with them. As they entered, Manolito snapped to attention.

  “Good evening, ladies,” he said, removing his hat and bowing. “I am Manolito.”

  Consuelo looked at Clint, but Lupita clearly found Manolito interesting.

  “He’s the son of a friend,” Clint said. “And he needs a room. Could you get him a key?”

  “Sí, señor,” Consuelo said, but instead of going herself, she turned and said something quickly to Lupita in Spanish. Reluctantly, the younger woman left the room.

  “Is that your sister?” Manolito asked Consuelo.

  “No, señor, she is my cousin.”

  “Ah . . .”

  “But I am very protective of her,” Consuelo continued, “as if she were my little sister.”

  “I see.”

  When she saw the empty plates, she said to Clint, “You were very hungry, señor.”

  “My friend Manolito helped me finish,” Clint said.

  Manolito smiled at her.

  “That was very nice of him.”

  “Yes, it was.”

  “I am a very nice man,” Manolito said, grinning happily at Consuelo.

  She nodded and walked to the chest of drawers, started stacking the plates. Before long, Lupita was back with a key, which she handed to Manolito. The hot looks they were giving each other were unmistakable. Apparently, the young man had inherited his father’s appetite for women.

  “Siete,” she said to him. “Room 7.”

  “Why don’t you show me the way?” he suggested.

  Lupita looked at Consuelo, who nodded and said something in Spanish.

  The two young people left the room. Consuelo went to the door and closed it.

  “What did you say to her?” he asked.

  “I told her she would not be needed anymore tonight,” she said, turning to face him. Before he knew it, her loose blouse was over her head and on the floor.

  FOURTEEN

  Consuelo was a meaty gal.

  Her breasts were big and bottom heavy, with large, brown nipples. She slipped off her skirt, then turned to show him her ass as she leaned against the door.

  “Consuelo,” Clint said, “I don’t pay—”

  “I am not asking you to pay, señor,” she said, cutting him off. “I am not asking you to love, or marry. I am only asking that you—how do you gringos say it . . . fock?”

  “Yeah,” Clint said, “yeah, that’s how some gringos say it.”

  She wriggled her ass at him, got up on her toes, then bent over so he could see her shadowy butthole.

  “The men here they are . . . estúpido. They get drunk, they grab, they pay a dollar, grunt, squirt, and sleep.” She looked over her shoulder at him. “You would not sleep after.”

  “Probably not,” he said, then thought, Not with that body in bed with me.

  Only they didn’t make it to bed right away. He dropped his pants, didn’t bother removing his shirt or his boots. He went over to her, slid his raging cock up between her chubby thighs, found her wet and ready, and entered her. He “focked” her that way, agai
nst the door. Every time he thrust himself into her, she rotated her hips and pressed back against him. He held her by the hips, tried not to trip and fall over his pants, which were gathered at his ankle. She grunted and groaned, her hands pressed tightly against the door, which vibrated every time their flesh smacked together.

  She spoke in Spanish, very low so that he was only aware that she was speaking, but had no idea what she was saying. It was almost like a prayer. Then he grunted and exploded inside her so violently that it hurt. He withdrew his cock, which was still hard and pulsating, and glistening wet with her juices.

  She looked over her shoulder at him, smiling lasciviously, and said, “And now, señor, we go to bed?”

  “What else would we do?” he asked.

  * * *

  Lupita showed Manolito to his room, using the key to open the door for him, then holding the key in her hand and staring up at him.

  “This is your room, señor.”

  “Sí,” he said, “this is my room.”

  “And your key.” She held it out.

  “Why don’t you come inside, chiquita, and show me the room.”

  She pushed the door open and said, “There it is, señor. Your room.”

  “With a big bed,” he observed.

  “Sí,” she said, “a beeg bed.”

  From down the hall they heard the door to Clint’s room vibrating on its hinges. It sounded like someone was lunging into it from the other side.

  “I think your cousin is going to be busy for a while,” he said.

  “Sí.”

  He hooked his finger into the neck of her loose-fitting blouse, pulled it down until her little breasts popped free. Her dark brown nipples were already hard.

  “Come inside, Lupita,” he said, “I have something to show you.”

  “Something beeg?” she asked.

  “Sí,” he said, “something very beeg.”

  * * *

  Clint and Consuelo moved the proceedings to the bed. He sat down and she got on her knees in front of him first. She took off his boots, then his trousers. He slipped his shirt off, simply pulling it over his head without unbuttoning it. His dick was standing up from his crotch at full attention, so she leaned in and took it in her mouth. Moaning, she began to bob up and down on him, bracing herself with her hands on his thighs. He sat back, leaning on his hands, and let his head fall back. She took every inch of his cock into her hot mouth, and it felt as if the back of her throat closed around him. She was very, very good at this.