The flavor of her kisses was nice. Smoke and applejack and homy female all blended together. That was a combination that made for a tasty stew.
And Aggie had herself one helluva nice body. Full and lush and a tad on the plump side. But creamy. Oh, my, soft and creamy.
Proud tits as big as pumpkins. Bright red nipples. Soft mound of belly. Big creamy thighs. Bright pink pussy winking through a veil of copper-colored pubic hair. Aggie had it all.
The only thing wrong was that the poor woman didn’t know what the hell to do with it.
It was just plain damned lucky for her that she found it so easy to reach a climax. Most women couldn’t, not without some patience and a knowledgeable man applying himself to the job of making them scream and go wild. Some women never came, not in their whole lives.
Not Aggie, though. Pinch her nipple and she’d shudder. Touch her clitoris and she’d go into convulsions. Shove a cock—hell, a finger, a toe, probably a banana or any other damned thing—into her cunt and she’d turn herself inside out and shriek loud enough to rattle the shingles on the roof.
Aggie was what a man might think of as being easy to please.
Which was fine, of course. Longarm thought every woman ought to have it so good.
Except Aggie never had learned to keep up her end of the deal .
Once he got in the saddle a guy was on his own as far as Aggie was concerned. By then she’d had her explosion and was waiting for the next impulses to build. Whatever the guy wanted to do to amuse himself in the meantime was okay by her. But she wasn’t going to participate in it.
She just lay there.
A guy could get as much response out of a bowl of warm oatmeal as he could out of Aggie once she’d come.
Come to think of it, Longarm decided, the oatmeal might be the better fuck. Tighter. He had no idea what might’ve happened to stretch her cunt out, but he suspected it was big enough that she didn’t need a handbag. She could just shove stuff into her snatch instead.
All in all, the woman was a disappointment of the first water.
“You’re beautiful,” he said. “Lovely.”
“Was it good for you, Longarm?”
“Wonderful.”
“It was for me too.” She tried to reach for his cock, but he kept a tight grip on her hand.
‘Tell me, Aggie, do you enjoy French style?”
“I don’t understand.”
He explained it to her.
“Longarm! You can’t be serious. In my mouth? But you pee with that. And you want me to put it into my mouth? Ick. How disgusting.”
“It was only a thought.”
“Well, think again. That’s awful.”
“Sorry.” He reached between those magnificent tits and deposited some cigar ash onto the china dish she’d set on her chest.
Helluva body, he thought.
Helluva waste.
“I’m getting sleepy, pretty lady. How ’bout you?”
“One more time first. Please?”
He forced a smile. “I was hoping that’s what you’d
The community’s tolerance for their eccentric lady lawyer did not extend to the federal deputy she’d caused to be there. If Aggie hadn’t been with him, Longarm doubted he could have gotten the clerk at City Hall to look in his direction. Although even at that, her presence was a mixed blessing. Aggie Able in private seemed quite a different woman from Agnes Able in public.
“John.”
“Yes, Miss Agnes?”
“Answer the deputy’s question, John.”
“Sorry, ma’am. I didn’t hear him ask one.”
“John. Really now.”
“But I didn’t. Honest.”
“Well, we aren’t going to argue about it, are we. Now, please. Answer the gentleman’s question, John, and quickly, quickly.” .
The clerk, John, gave Longarm a pointedly vacant look, but waited without comment for Longarm to repeat a question he’d already asked three times without response.
“Where is the police chief this morning, mister?” Longarm asked.
“If he isn’t downstairs, then I wouldn’t know,” John said. It was a barefaced lie, as was plain in his tone of voice and his smug, smirking demeanor. And there was shit-for-all that Longarm could do about it.
“John!” Aggie chided.
“Sorry, Miss Agnes. I don’t happen to know, that’s all.”
“You know, of course, it won’t do any good for the police chief or the mayor or whoever else to hide from me,” Longarm said. “I’ll serve my writ on whoever is guarding those Indians, and they will be released on the spot.”
“I wouldn’t know about any of that,” John insisted. “You asked me a question, I gave you an answer. Is there anything else you want?”
“No, I suppose not,” Longarm said, conceding an impasse if not exactly a defeat.
The clerk nodded smugly and went back to whatever it was he did on behalf of the good citizens of Snowshoe. “Well?” Aggie asked.
“Let’s go get those people out of custody,” Longarm said.
“Shouldn’t we have breakfast first?”
He thought that sounded like a damned strange question coming from the Indians’ own lawyer. He would’ve expected her to be even more eager to get the paper served than he was. Apparently that wasn’t quite so.
Not that he wasn’t hungry at the moment. It seemed that Lawyer Able had many talents—he was sure that she must, otherwise she never would have made it into the practice of law—but cooking was no more her forte than screwing was. At least she was aware that she couldn’t cook, and therefore didn’t bother trying.
“We’ll have breakfast later,” Longarm insisted.
“A cup of coffee on our way?”
“Later.”
“You needn’t snap at me like that. After all, dear, it is your own fault that I’m so famished this morning.”
“Quit batting your eyelashes at me, Aggie. You ain’t the type for it.”
She sulked up into a pout, but the expression lasted only for a moment. Then she laughed and took his elbow. “All right, Longarm. I give up. We shall tend to business first and have our pleasures afterward.”
“Fine.” He hoped—but of course couldn’t say—that Aggie’s notions about pleasures after duty weren’t going
to extend to any more sweaty two-party masturbations on that bed of hers. Which was about the way he viewed having to hump the woman. It was no better, and in some ways not so much fun, as screwing Five Finger Mamie.
‘This way,” she said crisply.
Aggie led him not directly to the mine where the Utes were being kept, but to a ramshackle livery bam on the edge of town. “I don’t own a carriage,” she explained, “but I pay a retainer fee for first call against the rigs Marty has here.”
At the livery she acted for all the world like she owned the place. For that matter, maybe she did. She ordered the employees around like they were her own personal servants, and was imperiously precise about which rig she wanted, which horse in the traces, even which set of harness was to be fitted and which whip placed in the socket. Longarm saw that he wouldn’t want to work for this woman. If he’d been Marty or Bill at the livery, he knew he would’ve refused Aggie’s business rather than put up with her shit. It was just as well, then, that he wasn’t either one of them, he supposed.