Maximilian Castellanos politely waited. And waited. Finally, realizing that the he was going to have to make his own opening, he cleared his throat and asked the two gringos splattered with axle grease and body fluids if he could help in any way.
Milo managed, with bleary effort, to lift his head far enough from Lenore's come-splattered thigh to see the voice' source. He was sprinkled in leaves and dirt, dried vomit and bodily fluids and remained too epically drunk to care that they were naked. To Maximilian's gentle query he nodded weakly. Then his tortured head fell back to its fleshy pillow. Lenore, jarred awake by the weight of Milo's slack jaw mashing into her gut, grabbed at his flaccid member like the string of an obscene pull toy, and began to hurl an obsessive, tired barrage of liquor-slurred insults.
"Milo! You little shit-fucker! You can't fuck worth a fuck! I loved you! Why the fuck did you stop? Didn't you fuckin' love me? Fuckin' fuck me, you fucking fucker!"
Milo managed no more than a weak moan in reply.
Max took in the situation for a moment longer, and considered. Then, without a word, he parked the rubber-tired wagon, unhitched his Percheron draft mare, Bella, and re-hitched her to the laundry van. He gingerly shovelled the still-swearing Lenore and Milo inside, and hefts them past the seats into the back.
He cast an adoring doubletake at Armand when he discovered him. Armand had slept the entire trip on the mattress, and had gained almost another foot. Still he slept, looking like an oversized yet still cherubic gnome. Max stepped back outside, then slid the door shut behind him with a click.
Realizing the episode had left him horny, he took a moment to jerk off with a well-practiced hand to relieve the pressure, shoulder-checking every few seconds for traffic coming up the road. After he climaxed and the rush of his own blood had stopped pounding in his ears, he was instantly steady on his feet again.
Legs akimbo to help start a stream once his erection subsided, Max took a proprietory, splattering piss on the van's side, and rezipped his grimy dungarees. Then he took up Bella's reins, climbed onto the van's short flat hood, gently slapped the braided leather twice against the horse's flank, and simultaneously sucked his teeth sharply against the inside of his cheek. So coaxed, Bella leaned into her harness to start pulling the new weight toward Cochabamba's outskirts.
Taken in hand
