The Slack Night
Copyright © 1999, Kellis
“So what’s Angela got that I ain’t?”
Helena’s voice was disdainful. The haberdasher noted other ears perking up, so he considered the question a moment before answering. Most of the ears were female, and their owners regarded him with amusement. The two men lounging in indecision beside him on the settee had eyes only for Helena.
She was pale blonde and heavily painted. She wore only a sheer blue batiste slip that would have descended to her knees while concealing little, had she been standing. Seated, she had let it bunch about her hips.
She sat before him in a padded straight chair placed against the wall. A slippered heel was perched on the seat edge, its knee raised ostensibly to support an elbow. The other leg splayed toward an extended foot, permitting the whole company to conclude that this was only a bottle blonde. The separated thighs parted her labia enough to exhibit a line of red and the glitter of moisture in the light of the mirrored lamps.
His eyes rose to meet hers at last and he admitted, “Not much that I can see.”
She glanced quickly across the room, but Madam Rosa was bent over a sailor. Helena leered at the haberdasher and suddenly snatched the hem of the flimsy slip up to her chin. “What about now?”
The man’s hand rose to beardless chin. He coughed politely, took a breath and murmured, “Nothing at all. In fact you may be a bit fuller.”
“Where it counts.”
She sniffed, releasing the slip. “Then what’re you waiting for? Do you like sloppy seconds?”
“Helena!” Madam Rosa’s ears were tuned to the ambiance of the large salon. Her head snapped around from the sailor seated at her side. Her hand gently maintained the young man’s interest in their negotiation, but her voice of admonishment was hardly gentle. “Watch your mouth! We do not criticize a client’s tastes.”
Helena shrugged. “Who’s criticizing?” A strap of the slip fell off her shoulder when she lowered it. The dependent cup fell away from her breast, re-exposing the dark brown nipple.
“And straighten your clothing!” the older woman added.
“Okay, don’t pop a cork!” Helena lowered the knee, restored the strap and brushed out the skirt of the slip. She promptly raised the other knee, however, which lifted the skirt and, because of her twisted seating, opened the labia even wider. A dark recess was visible within the crimson interior, now directed toward the haberdasher. She glanced at the man, whose complexion had reddened in greater contrast with his gray head, and commented with a slight smile, “I just wanted to find out what he likes about Angela.”
One of the idle women tittered. The sign painter and the dog catcher, seated beside the haberdasher, inclined their heads, the better to view Helena’s display. Her glance took in both of them but concentrated upon the haberdasher, who had turned to look wide-eyed at the madam. “Don’t your girls always wash?”
“Of course they do!”
“Unless you say not,” Helena countered, resuming her leer.
He cleared his throat, swallowed, took a breath and turned back to Helena. “As to what’s special about Angela … I like her, that’s all.”
“You see her lots, they say.”
Helena’s eyebrows rose. “A faithful man!” Her grin widened. She wriggled her shoulder and again the strap fell down the arm, though not quite so far. The lacy edge of the slip caught on the very tip of the nipple. The dog catcher coughed, twitching his wiry black beard.
The haberdasher hastened to protest, “It’s not that! We’re comfortable with each other. It’s just … actually, it’s just familiarity.”
“‘Familiarity,’” she repeated, studying him a moment. “Ain’t you ever heard that old saying: variety is the spice of life?”
“I’ve heard it.”
“Don’t you believe it?”
“Hmph! You don’t know what you’re missing.” She shrugged and the other strap fell off. The weight of both panels was enough to unhitch the garment from its hook on the nipple. The upper half of the slip descended to her waist. Her breasts, now viewable at length, were high and prominent, underlain by a tracery of blue veins.
One of the watching women issued a cluck of disapproval, but the haberdasher licked his lips and asked, “Missing what?”
She chuckled. “I bet you don’t know what ‘round the world’ means?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Did Angela ever take you round the world?”
“Why, I don’t … think I ever asked her.”
“I love to take a man round the world. Or do a sandwich. You know about a sandwich?”
The haberdasher nodded. “Two at once.”
“Yeah. But a topover is the best.”
“A ‘topover?’ What’s that?”
“Three at once.”
He repeated skeptically. “Three at once!”
She sniffed. “Or more. I can do even more.”
The sign painter leaned closer. “How would you do three?”
She grinned. “I bet you can’t think of but one way.”
The haberdasher countered, “How many ways can you think of?”
She replied immediately, “Seven.”
“Seven! That’s ridic— Oh. Using your hands or some such?”
“No hands, just the three places.”
“One in each. That’s only one way, even if you swap ’em around.”
She glanced at the madam and lowered her voice. “Two in the same hole. The third gets his choice of the other two. Count ’em up, boys. That’s six ways. One hole each makes seven.”
The haberdasher shook his head. “Maybe some of that would work, two at the top, for instance, but you don’t have room for three men on your bottom at once.”
“Yes, I do, if the men will go where I tell them. That’s always the trouble. The men can’t get along.”
He shook his head again. “I’d sure like to see how you do it.”
“Would you? How ’bout you two?”
“Yeah, sure,” admitted the sign painter. The dog catcher shrugged.
She looked searchingly from one to the other. Suddenly with a flurry of white limbs she came down from the chair and stood erect, hands on hips, skirt settling gauzily around her, bobbing breasts riveting male attention. “It’s a slack night. I’ll show you how. All three at once.”
The two hangers-on straightened up. All three men looked at each other. The sign painter asked, “How much?”
The woman shrugged, inclining her head across the room and raising her voice. “Ask Madam Rosa.”
The men turned to regard the attentive madam, who straightened up from the sailor’s lap. Her eyes narrowed. She studied the men. “Three at once?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Helena replied.
The older woman regarded the haberdasher peculiarly. “Think you can do it?”
He took a breath. “I don’t think she can do it!”
The madam’s voice softened. “How’s your heart, Bob?”
He nodded appreciatively. “Thanks for wondering. But fun is no strain!”
The woman grunted. “Isn’t it? You don’t get much exercise, do you?”
“Huh! You think walking up and down store aisles ten hours a day, six days a week, is no exercise?”
Her expression grew solemn. “Ten dollars,” she announced.
“That’s a week’s pay!” the dog catcher declared, aghast.
“Now, Rosa!” complained the haberdasher. “We won’t use her much longer than one man would. Even six dollars is too much.”
The dog catcher nodded in agreement.
“But three at once is hard on the girl,” the madam countered crisply. “Nine, and that’s low as I’ll go!”
The dog catcher turned away.
“Hey, it’s a slack night!” protested Helena, wide eyes on the madam.
But the madam was watching the haberdasher. “Take it or leave it.”
The dog catcher spread his hands. “Count me out. Besides, I’m just waiting for Miss Belinda.”
The haberdasher studied him, frowning both at his beard and lack of necktie, until recognition came. “You’re John Barker, right?”
“What if I am?”
“Reckon you’re clean. I’ll cover your share.” He turned again to the madam. “Nine it is!”
The sign painter asked, “Barker, the dog catcher?”
“Yeah. You ain’t a dog lover, are you?”
“What’s an elected official doing under the Hill?”
The haberdasher had to chuckle. The inappropriately named dog catcher retorted, “Even a ’lected officer needs to fuck.”
“What’s so funny?” the sign painter asked the eldest, who was still chuckling.
“Did you think our public servants spend their nights in city hall?”
“Hell,” interjected Barker with a matching grin, “the sheriff owns this place!”
Both of them studied the sign painter, dressed tonight in waistcoat and tie, though the coat failed to match the britches. His upper lip exhibited a faint mustache.
“You’re just a kid!” Barker decided.
“I’ll show you who’s —” the sign painter began, his chest swelling, but the haberdasher raised a hand, glancing meaningfully at the dog catcher.
“That’s no hindrance to our business.”
Barker frowned but asked the amused Helena, “You don’t care if he’s a kid?”
She grunted. “Not if the bill gets paid.” She turned away. “Come on.”
“One moment.” The youthful sign painter stuck out his chin. “Three dollars is half ag’in the going rate.”
“It’s a bargain!” the woman retorted over her shoulder, then lowered her voice. “Don’t worry. You can shoot your gun twice.”
“Ah, uh …” His face fell. He admitted sheepishly, “I only got the regular amount.”
The haberdasher shrugged. “So you can owe me a dollar.”
“I don’t … go in debt for cunt.”
“Shows he’s never married,” the dog catcher observed with a snort.
“Very wise,” the haberdasher noted dryly. “What’s your name?”
“I’m Bob Toliver. All right, Joe, give me your two dollars. I’ll supply the rest.”
When he had paid the madam, the haberdasher and his two accomplices followed Helena up the broad stairs. Watching them go, Sheriff’s Deputy Bertram Inguer with Red Molly hanging on his arm sidled over to Madam Rosa, who at that moment succeeded with the last of the young sailor’s buttons and brought the fledgling erection out into the light.
“What are you doing?” the sailor asked, eyes large, hand over hers.
“Dickering with you,” she answered gaily. “Isn’t that an interesting expression, Bertram?”
“What is?” the man asked, bending his head near hers.
“‘Dickering.’ It’s what I’m doing with my young friend.”
“Dickering? I’d say more like working the pump.” He lowered his voice. “What’s got into Helena?”
The sailor added his other hand to cover himself but the woman refused to relinquish her grasp. Man and madam ignored the youth’s discomfiture, but a grinning Red Molly increased it by leaning down and licking his ear. He jumped and turned to face her, whereupon she kissed his nose and said admiringly, “That’s gonna be a nice ’un!”
Madam Rosa responded to the deputy, “Are you trying to be funny?”
“Huh? No, I’m just curious. Her sharp tongue is known for running off more than it sucks off.”
“How crude, Bertram!”
He grunted, glancing meaningfully down at her busy hand. “You should know.”
She smiled tenderly. “This is a growing boy.”
“I can see what’s growing!”
“Some women raise flowers.”
“While you raise dicks? That’s a blast!”
“Thank you. I’ve still got the pink thumb.”
The deputy laughed at that. Red Molly licked her lips and swallowed. She craned her neck to look past the hands. “That really is a nice ’un!” Leaning over the back of the couch, she slipped her hand among the others.
The madam explained to the deputy, “Helena is a real go-getter. You saw how she hooked old Bob.”
“That was Bob Toliver?”
“Yes. Of Toliver’s Haberdashery. Surprised you don’t know him.”
“Huh! My cut on this place won’t pay to outfit me there.”
“It might if Helena keeps up the pace.”
He wondered, “What do you mean, hooked Bob?”
“He’s been faithful to Angela for years, ever since she started. Helena guessed he’d go for a sandwich. As you saw, she guessed right.”
“He even paid for the other two, didn’t he?”
“I think so. She hooked him good! The three of them could’ve got her for two bucks each. Bob paid three apiece for an excuse to rub his member on two others.”
“You figured that, did you?”
“Sure. I know men.”
The sailor had released his equipment to the two female hands, but he had been listening. He asked, “This place sells eats, too?”
“Yes, indeed,” the madam replied. “The kitchen is open all night. Are you hungry?”
The deputy grinned. “He wants a sandwich.”
The young man peered up to the deputy suspiciously. “They went upstairs with the blonde for a sandwich?”
The deputy sniffed. “To make one.”
“But the dining room is downstairs,” said the woman. Her hand slid under the distended organ to cup testicles, leaving the shaft to Red Molly. “Are you sure it’s food you want?”
“Well, I — Will you quit showing me to him?”
“Oh, he doesn’t mind. And you have nothing to be ashamed of. Look, Bertram. Red Molly is right. Isn’t it fine? Must be well over seven inches.”
“Eight and a quarter!” the young man declared.
The deputy shrugged. “If you appreciate such things.”
The women exclaimed in contralto harmony, “I do, I do!”
“Come on! It’s not extraordinary to you two!”
“It’s certainly not common!” retorted the madam.
The deputy grinned tolerantly. “I’ve always thought one like that was just average.”
“Bertram, are you saying yours is larger?”
“Hmm… Rosa, I’m trying to recall if you ought to know. Red Molly knows.”
The madam frowned in thought. “Should I? Let’s see, we changed sheriffs in aught-six. My god, that’s been five years! Did you work for the last sheriff, too?”
“Probably not, then. I pretty much retired from the gallery before your boss was elected. What about it, Molly?”
The madam chuckled, watching Red Molly apply measuring strokes to the entire organ. “Hard to tell?”
Red Molly snorted. “Has to be!”
The deputy declaimed impatiently, “Cut the crap! You know mine’s larger!”
Madam Rosa leered at him, cocking an eyebrow. “This one’s a lot better than average. Are you sure?”
“Sure I’m sure!”
“Just how sure are you?” Her eyes narrowed. “I’ll bet this one’s larger.”
“Oh, you want to bet, do you? What stakes?”
She regarded him calculatingly. “Not too much. I’d not want our sailor boy to win by default.”
“If the bet’s too big, you might not get it up.”
“Don’t worry about that. If it’s fair that concerns you, Rosa, the fact I’m willing to bet after seeing what the sailor’s got should tell you something.”
“Wait just a minute!” the sailor protested, trying to rise off the couch. He froze, held aloft on an elbow, when the madam’s grip tightened.
Her eyes were locked on the deputy. “The loser pays for the sailor’s fun.”
The sailor sagged back into his seat.
“Huh!” sneered the deputy. “That’d cost you nothing either way.”
“Just my stock in trade.”
Red Molly snorted. Deputy and madam frowned at her, but the sailor glanced approvingly at the satin-clad breasts jiggling in his ear. “What’s so funny?” demanded the madam.
“It’s a riddle,” the girl replied. “What is it, if you sell it or give it away, you still got it?”
“Hmph! You don’t have to pay the food bill around here.”
The deputy eyed Madam Rosa thoughtfully and noted, “Red’s right. Let’s make it a real bet.”
“Well, how about fifty bucks?”
“Huh! You don’t have fifty bucks!”
“Yes, I do. But I can see one problem. Who’s to do the measuring?”
She shrugged. “I’m sure we can find a ruler.”
“I don’t know about that.” The deputy frowned. “To be fair it ought to be measured in a woman somehow.”
“Well, now that you mention it … I’d almost forgotten …” Slowly the madam grinned. “I know just what to do.”
“I’ll measure them. I’ve got a built-in ruler.”
She smirked. “I am very well equipped to judge the size of male members, especially considering in this case it’s only a relative measurement.”
“Well equipped how? I don’t see any inch marks on your arm.”
“Not my arm, Bertram.”
“You sure don’t mean your cunt! I’ve heard about your fisting parties.”
“Nor the vagina.”
“Huh! You can’t even swallow all of his!”
“Yes, I can. But I don’t refer to my mouth, either.”
“Well, what’s left? What? You can’t mean …”
“Can’t I? In any of us, man, woman or child, what is more sensitive to size than the anus?”
“Hmm. Well, yes, I suppose that the width — But what about length?”
She shook her head pityingly. “You’ve not had the experience, Bertram. I assure you that relative length can be clearly determined.”
“Do I understand you, Rosa, to mean that you’re asking both me and this sailor to jam our dicks up your ass?”
“Jam it where?” wondered the sailor faintly.
“Crudely put, Bertram! But essentially correct, except for a slight detail.”
“I wish to give both his best chance. Everyone knows a member is largest during ejaculation. I’ll note the measurement then.”
The deputy gaped at her. Suddenly he began to laugh. “Rosa, Rosa, you really had me going!”
The woman frowned. “Going where?”
“Thinking you was serious.”
“I am serious!”
His laughter ceased. He turned to the wide eyed Red Molly, who had relinquished the sailor to stare at the madam. “What was that you said awhile ago?”
“Said about what?”
“About the backdoor.”
“Madam Rosa don’t ’low using the backdoor.” Her large eyes swung down to the older woman. “You told us —”
The madam sniffed. “I know. I said it makes you incontinent, which too much of it does. Generally I don’t allow it. It’s been many years since I … indulged it myself. But fifty dollars makes a big difference.”
The deputy grunted. “Even nine.”
“Are you referring to Helena?”
“She’s probably got a couple up her ass right now.”
“Must you continue to be so crude, Bertram?”
Red Molly sniffed. “She actually likes it!”
The deputy shook his head. “You’ve still got me going, Rosa. You, the judge!”
The madam’s chin rose. “I said I’d make the measurements, not the judgments.”
“It’s the same thing. You’ll say his is larger.”
“Only if it is. Oh. I understand your problem. But Bertram, I won’t be able to see which is which.”
“You won’t? Why not?”
“Because we’ll take the measurements in the blind girl’s room.”
“I only have to say if the larger was first or second.”
The sailor wondered, “You got a blind girl?”
“Yes, we do. She’s very enthusiastic, just right for, ah, special clients. Sometimes I wish all of them were blind!”
“I’ll bet!” snorted the deputy.
Red Molly suggested, “Even better if the men were.”
Madam Rosa continued her explanation to the sailor. “But the blind girl’s room doesn’t have a blind girl. It has a blind bed: one with a screen to hide the girl’s head and hold her hands out of the way. She can’t see who’s doing her and the man can only see her bottom. We use it to play Blind Girl’s Bluff.”
“Sounds interesting. You mean the girl has to guess …”
“Right. She gets a prize if she guesses which one belongs to whom. We also let the men guess the girl.”
Red Molly frowned. “They won’t let me play!”
“I guess not,” the deputy agreed, winking. “Who wouldn’t know that bright red beaver?”
“Wow!” The sailor’s eyes were wide. “I’d love to see the game.”
The deputy interrupted thoughtfully. “This might work, if the sailor and I are the same size otherwise. Stand up, fellow.”
The young man got to his feet beside the deputy, pulling up the flap of his trousers. At last the madam released him.
The deputy had the thicker body. “Hold still,” he admonished, reaching around the youthful hips.
“Hey!” cried the sailor as the deputy clutched his buttocks.
The deputy stepped back, nodding. “Okay. His ass is about the same size. I think it’ll work.” He cocked an eyebrow at the madam. “It’s your fifty bucks, Rosa, if you want to lose it.”
She raised a cautionary finger. “One thing: Ball-less will watch the clock. Either man must ejaculate within five minutes or the other wins by default.”
“Ball-less is here tonight? I ain’t seen him.”
“He’s always here. He’s keeping an ear on that drunk who’s in with Sadie.”
“Five minutes,” he repeated thoughtfully. “Okay, but no crap about your ass getting sore.”
“Of course not! Remember, I won’t know which of you is first or second.”
“And Red gets me ready.”
The madam frowned. “Not room enough on the bed.”
“She can suck. But no slurping.”
“I don’t slurp,” Red Molly protested. She cocked her head toward the sailor. “I’ll get him ready, too.”
“Of course,” the madam agreed. “That will keep it fair.” Her chin lifted toward the deputy. “Even if she should slurp!”
He took a deep breath. “It’s a bet.”
“Let’s see your fifty.”
“Oh, I’ve got it!”
“I want Ball-less to hold the money, if you don’t mind.”
He grinned. “Rosa, you don’t trust me!”
She snorted. “If I didn’t make men pay up front, I’d be out of business in no time.”
“I guess that’s right,” he admitted grudgingly. He bent to his shoe and stood again with a small wad of green between his fingers. It unfolded as a fifty-dollar bill. “See it?”
The woman’s eyes narrowed. “Do all deputies carry fifty dollars in their shoes?”
He grinned. “I’d like to know that answer, too.”
The madam smiled at the sailor, who had been listening with parted lips. “Are you ready to go, sweetness?”
“Oh, yes, ma’am!”
“Then follow me, gentlemen. And Molly.”
* * * *
John Barker had claimed indifference toward frenching. Apparently it was true. Helena soon abandoned hope of an early conclusion with him in her mouth. She had already obtained one with Bob, the haberdasher, who was now fingering her bottom along with Joe, the fascinated sign-painter, bent close while waiting his turn. All four were naked, except of course for the men’s stockings. She crouched on the bed between the dog-catcher’s splayed legs. The others knelt behind her.
Maybe a fingerwave … Her long nailed forefinger approached his anus. She had barely touched it, however, when he shifted his buttocks sideways. “Sore there!” he complained.
She raised up. “You won’t come this way. Want to lick me, too?”
“Lick a whore’s quim?”
“Huh!” she sneered. “Think you’d be the first?”
He took a deep breath. “This ain’t what I came up here for. Do the kid.”
“Yeah. Go ahead.”
She spun lithely around, legs scissoring away from the two behind her. One look at Joe made her grin. “You don’t need any help, do you, honey?”
“Help with what?” the young man asked. His question was followed by a gasp. She had bowed into his groin and suddenly swallowed most of his manhood. Both her hands shot forward. He shuddered, regaining a plaintive voice. “God, don’t squeeze ’em off!”
The dog catcher rose up behind her to finger the raised buttocks. He looked around at the hovering haberdasher and announced, “She’s pretty wet.”
The gray haired man nodded. “I noticed it downstairs. Some of that is Rosa’s paste.”
“Angela showed me years ago. Rosa makes up a bourbon-flavored paste for her girls.”
“Taste it. You’ll see.”
Barker’s eyes widened. “Lick a whore’s quim?”
“You’re repeating yourself.”
But the dog catcher answered his own question by leaning forward and running his tongue the length of the furrow. He paused, licking moisture from his beard.
“Bourbon, by god!” He stared at the haberdasher. “Don’t it burn her?”
Toliver smiled. “I’m sure pure bourbon would. According to Angela, this stuff is just bourbon-flavored.”
Barker slipped two fingers into the woman up to the knuckles. “She sure is wet!”
“Oh, god!” murmured the sign painter at the other end of the woman. He leaned back, supporting himself on arms extended behind him. The woman’s head, which had been bobbing wildly between his spread legs, suddenly froze. The young man’s head tilted back, face contorted. “Oh, god!” he repeated with more emphasis.
“He’s coming,” observed Barker unnecessarily. “Lucky him.”
But the haberdasher would not be distracted. He reached past Barker’s hand and with appropriate sideways pressure inserted a middle finger, then the adjacent forefinger, into the exhibited anus. “She slathers it here, too.”
“She does? I didn’t see her.”
“Well, she did. I added some more while she was sucking you.”
The haberdasher raised a small jar of brown paste in his free hand. Barker sniffed it, admitting, “That smells like bourbon.” He snorted. “But it looks like axle grease.”
Toliver chuckled. “Might be. Who knows? But Angela says it keeps this place in business.”
“Huh! Cunt keeps it in business!”
“Well, yes, but it keeps the cunt going. If they use it faithfully they don’t get caught with brats or disease.”
The dog catcher might have commented, but Helena raised up, demanding crossly, “Where’s that damned towel?”
She turned around, crushing a breast into Toliver’s shoulder as she reached past him to the bedside table. White strings dangled stickily from her lower lip and both corners of her mouth, and a large glistening blob filled her left eye socket. But as she dabbed her face clean, she smiled at the blushing youth. “Hey, honey, you was full of it! How far behind was you anyway?”
Taking a deep breath, the young man smiled beatifically. “I’m all caught up now.”
The three listeners chuckled. Helena promised, “I’ll fix that!”
* * * *
Both sailor and deputy sheriff examined the blind girl’s screen, though with different emphasis. It proved to be a shallow box that folded down on hinges from the headboard of the bed, clearly intended to cover the upper torso, with a cutout for hips, padded for a man to lie upon comfortably. The sailor was impressed at first, then turned to Madam Rosa in pique. “But you can’t feel her titties!”
The woman smiled. “We’ll just give you another pair, then.”
“What other pair?”
But the deputy, who had bent to stare into the cutout, interrupted. “How do I know you can’t see out from this thing? You going to be belly-down or belly-up?”
“Face down is too hard on the back. When I’m in there, you can put your head around here and satisfy yourself that those flaps seal it off. We had to install them when Li’l Bet cheated, just as you suppose.”
She turned to the other woman. “Molly, get these buttons for me, will you? You, too, gentlemen. Remove your clothing now so there’ll be no delay once we get started.”
The men grimaced at each other but proceeded deliberately. With Red Molly’s help Madam Rosa was nude quickly. The sailor’s eyes grew large. He could hardly tear them from the exposed flesh until the madam threatened with a twinkle to turn her back. Consequently he was the clear winner on first appearances, but Red Molly took the deputy in hand. She smiled possessively. “Just look at that!”
The madam chuckled while liberally applying her salve. “What an interesting contest this promises to be!”
Deputy and sailor eyed each other. The deputy asked, “What’s your name, kid?”
“Seaman Sec— Ah, Clifford Brown, sir.”
The deputy nodded. “I’m Bert Inguer and this is Red Molly.”
“Sweet Cliff!” Smiling beside him, the woman stroked the sailor’s hip and lightly pinched his buttock.
He grinned and nodded at the coppery hair coiled atop her head. “Guess I can see why they call you Red.”
“Huh!” snorted the deputy. “You ain’t seen nothing yet! Show him, Red.”
The madam opened her mouth to protest but Red Molly was too quick. She bent, took the hem of her gown in both hands and drew it in one motion over her head, throwing it inside-out over a chair back. It had been her only garment. She grinned widely at the sailor. “Well, what do you think?”
“Ah … uh …” Eyes bulging, he was clearly at a loss for words.
The deputy snorted. “She means the hair!”
Red Molly raised her arms, exposing large tufts of copper in her armpits that were nevertheless outclassed by the lush pubic thatch, also coppery red in the lamplight. Her belly was streaked thickly but faintly with vertical stretch marks and her chest adorned with the heavy breasts and huge nipples of motherhood. The latter had fixed the sailor’s gaze. Both areolas were bright pink.
Madam Rosa’s middle-aged body had never born babe. The breasts were pendulous but narrow, with small brown nipples. Before she could suffer from the inevitable comparison, she clambered into the center of the bed and rolled onto her back. “Ball-less,” she ordered, “unlatch the screen.”
The lumbering eunuch in formal clothing went to tiptoes and released the catch restraining the box above the truncated headboard.
“Hold it right there,” the madam continued. “Molly, when the screen is down, you flip the coin, get the first one ready, then come over here and sit on the bedside where he can play with your boobs if he wants. When he gets up, you give me the enema and the salve, get the second man ready and take your seat for him to play, too. And no talking. No cheating of any kind. I run an honest place here. You all understand me?”
When they agreed, she added, “You’ve got the stopwatch, Ball-less. Start it soon as one puts in and watch it closely. The first one who takes longer than five minutes is the loser regardless.”
“Yes’m, Miz Rosa. I’ll watch it.”
“See that you do. Stretch me good, gentlemen! Lower away, Ball-less.”
* * * *
“Dammit, you’ve got to scrunch closer! He ain’t gonna bite you, Joey, even if he is a dog catcher!”
The haberdasher had shrugged off her offers of the easy topovers, demanding a demonstration of three at the bottom, and Helena was having the expected difficulty with male cooperation. The three men sat in the middle of her bed, each sitting on his right neighbor’s extended left leg, each with his right leg elevated, knee bent behind the right neighbor, legs splayed wide, each leaning back on hands extended behind him. The sign painter was obviously loath to push his testicles against the other two, despite her demands of it. She suspected his reluctance stemmed from his youth and the dog catcher’s darker pigmented genitals, though she had carefully washed all three sets in separate basins.
“Hey, look,” offered the dog catcher impatiently, “I like assholes. Put him in your cunny with Bob, if he’s so finicky. Their dicks are alike as two bananas from the same bunch anyway.”
“You agree?” the woman asked, looking around.
The sign painter signaled his acquiescence by wiggling closer to the eldest. The woman reached between them and took oldest and youngest together in one hand, the dog catcher in the other. She nodded. “I think this’ll work.”
Releasing them, she braced herself on the dog catcher’s shoulder and with her back to him, stepped gingerly over the undeniably masculine junction, leading with one arched, red-nailed foot. Squatting with feet almost too wide apart, she lowered herself gently upon the upright organs, one hand guiding the front pair, another the rear one. After a few wriggles of the hips she settled even lower, grinning at the wide-eyed haberdasher. “How’s that, Bob?”
“I do believe it’s in! You, too, Joe?”
“Y-yes, sir. Wow, that’s tight!”
The haberdasher called, “What about you, John?”
Instead of answering, the dog catcher’s hands came forward and grasped the woman’s hips. They felt his beginning thrusts.
“Guess that’s clear enough,” admitted the haberdasher wryly.
“She owes me one,” muttered the dog catcher, breathing harder.
By flexing her knees she added to the general undulation. A slow smile appeared above the swaying breasts.
By the dog catcher’s example the sign painter realized that the other’s weight on his leg was sufficient anchor. He brought his own hands forward to grasp the blue veined breasts. The woman leaned into them and the nipples hardened immediately under his thumbs.
“By god,” breathed the haberdasher, “I wouldn’t have believed this!”
Between front and rear a synchronization developed, alternating deep and shallow. The woman matched the timing with contralto grunts, rising in intensity. After a minute of that, she froze suddenly, shivering and moaning, but shortly resumed the previous rhythm.
“God, I love an asshole!” breathed the dog catcher.
Her eyes flew open. She turned to peer at him over her shoulder. “You about to come?”
“What I owe you is a frenching!” While speaking she rose slightly and spun completely about, mouth descending to the straining dog catcher.
“Ah, god!” the man called, falling backward on the bed, Helena’s body inverted above him. Her buttocks hovered just before the sign painter’s face.
He stared into the crimson vulva. He’d always wondered … But the gaping angry anus gave him pause.
“Go ahead,” prompted the haberdasher, eyes twinkling. “She’ll love it.”
“What’s wrong with her asshole?”
“Nothing. Remember what’s been in it.”
“Oh! … Where … where do you …”
“Ah … yeah.”
The haberdasher inserted a finger, pressing down and outward. “Right on that little nub is where she likes it.”
“It’s called her ‘clit.’ Go to it.”
With the finger removed the younger obeyed, clasping the woman’s hips and forcing tongue and nose into her. She shivered violently and unmouthed a drooling organ. Her hips developed a rolling motion as her face sagged onto the dog catcher’s belly.
Her obvious responsiveness encouraged the sign painter to bear down and redouble his strokes. She endured that only briefly before crying, “Oh, god-damn!” and throwing herself full length upon the sprawled dog catcher. From him she rolled over onto her back and sat up, eyes wide and staring. One hand plunged between her legs.
She glared at the haberdasher and demanded angrily, “You trying to ruin me?”
The man’s eyebrows rose. “He didn’t bite you, did he?”
“Oh.” Her gaze swung upon the sign painter and immediately softened. “It was you!” She actually smiled. “Was that your first time, honey?”
The young man repeated apprehensively, “M-my first time?”
“To lick a woman?”
“I … Yes, ma’am.”
She nodded. “Well, you got the right idea. You just need to go easier.” Her eyes turned with less friendliness upon the haberdasher. “Why don’t you tell him to take it easy?”
“I will,” the elder replied, eyes twinkling.
She smiled again at the sign painter. “There you go, honey. Pay attention to your daddy.”
“Huh?” The young man stiffened. “He’s not my daddy.”
The woman grinned. “You sure? Allow for the wrinkles and the gray hair and you’re enough like him. When you sat down beside him in the salon, I thought, ‘Here’s daddy teaching sonny boy the ropes.’”
“And just look at them dicks. I never saw two so exactly alike.” Her hands skinned back both of the yet erect organs before their owners could react. “The same dimples!”
Indeed each glans exhibited a fold just before the corona that would have been called a dimple were it on a cheek.
“Wait a minute!” cried the haberdasher, bending closer to the aligned genitals. He took an organ in either hand despite the young man’s twitch of surprise.
“She’s right,” he added, looking up. “My father and my uncles all had dickheads like that.”
The woman’s eyes lit. “Ain’t that a blast!”
“But none other I ever saw. Until now. Stick out your right arm.”
“Straight out in front of us. I want to check for something.”
With a puzzled look the young man extended his arm. The elder’s hand clasped it just above the elbow. His thumb rubbed in a circular motion. The haberdasher caught his breath, stared into the young man’s face and suggested, “Feel right here where my thumb is.”
When the sign painter had dutifully rubbed it, he said, “A lump. So what?”
“It’s called a ‘condyle.’ Every upper arm bone has exactly two of them at the elbow. The men in my line have three on their right arm. What about your left?”
The sign painter’s eyes narrowed as he rubbed similarly behind his left elbow. “No lump.”
“Correct,” agreed the haberdasher. Old and young eyes stared curiously at each other.
“Oh, my god!” breathed the woman.
“What’s going on?” demanded the dog catcher, raising his head.
But no one answered him immediately.
* * * *
Returning from the outhouse, Madam Rosa encountered Pink Lil in the hall. The young woman, hardly more than a slip of a girl, was bearing a breakfast tray carefully before her.
“Who’s that for?” demanded the madam.
“How long has he been here?”
“I don’t know. He woke me up in the middle of the night. Please let me by, ma’am. He’s a-waiting. Damn! Big Julie filled that coffee cup too full.”
“Here. I’ll take the tray. Did you fetch him the slop jar already?”
Madam Rosa’s steady hands minimized coffee spillage during the transfer. “Then go in there and take care of him while I feed him. Did you get clean water for your basin?”
“Yes’m. Already swabbed him down.”
“Good. You’re learning… Open the door for me.”
The lanky sheriff was sitting up in the bed, wearing only a sleeveless undershirt, mustache ends touching his shoulders as he contemplated the erect organ in his hand. A bare heel, at the end of its very long leg, was hooked over each bedside. He glanced up aggrievedly at the two women.
“You’re a slow poke, Pinkie. Morning, Rosa.”
The madam sniffed. “Never knew you to order a fast one, Rodney.”
“Huh?” His puzzlement changed to a grin but the grin vanished. “I sent her for eats a half hour ago.”
“Big Julie was gone to bed —” the girl began to explain until the madam shook her head.
“A delay could only improve your appetite, Rodney. Both of them.”
The man snorted. “At least she’s here now. Come on down, girl!”
Pink Lil clambered onto the bed and bowed between the wide legs. Madam Rosa set the tray carefully on the bedside table and pulled up a chair. “Ready for some coffee?”
“Dying for it!”
She handed him cup and saucer. “See if it’s sweet enough.”
He took an appreciative sip and declared it satisfactory. The madam proceeded to help him eat, slicing his ham and exchanging plate for cup when requested. Both seemed to ignore the head bobbing slowly nearby.
“Got in late,” the man disclosed around a mouthful of egg and meat. “Gave Pinkie a little fuck and drifted right off.”
“Did you collar that gang on the Trace?”
“Part of it. That’s why I got in so late. What that man Hooks told you helped a lot.” He grinned. “I sometimes wonder how many other sheriffs have a whorehouse that’s such a gold mine for tips.”
“Probably every one whose county outlaws prostitution.”
He nodded. “I see what you mean. What’s the gossip here?”
“It was a slack night. Not much happened compared to running down a gang of counterfeiters on the Trace.”
“Yeah? Then what’s that sparkle in your eye?”
“Well, we did have just a little excitement last night.”
“Nobody hurt, I hope!”
“Not that kind. You know Bob Toliver, who runs the men’s store? He found a son he didn’t know he had.”
“He what? Here, in Rosa’s place?”
“Right here. He and the lad made part of a topover with Helena, who noticed how much alike their members were. They also turned out to have some arm bone in common that no other man has. They began talking. The boy admitted he never knew his father. But get this: I knew his mother. She was working here twenty years ago when Cissie Parks ran the place. She got pregnant and left.”
“Was Toliver coming here then?”
“Toliver was coming here even before Cissie owned it.”
Still chewing, the sheriff thought it over. “Well, I’ll be damned.”
“That’s about what Toliver said. But he and the boy went off together.”
“Cute story, Rosa. Too bad we can’t get Harrison to publish it.”
“Oh, he’d love that, wouldn’t he!”
The sheriff took another bite. After a while he concluded, “Pretty good for a slack night.”
“There’s more, Rodney.”
“Huh! Don’t tell me Clister had her baby!”
“No. Though if she gets any bigger Ball-less will have to move her in a wheelbarrow. You men are strange. She turns more tricks now than ever.”
The man grinned. “They think it makes her tighter.”
“What? That’s silly!”
“How do you know? … If it wa’n’t Clister then what was it?”
“A sailor with a larger organ than your Deputy Inguer.”
“A what? Huh! Nothing special about Inguer’s.”
“Well, that’s not quite true. He has a nice one, as Red Molly will be happy to testify. Just not eight inches like the sailor.”
“A sailor, eh? Wait a minute! Inguer let you haul out his dick beside some sailor’s?”
“Well, yes. We had a comparison. They were both visible at the same time. His looked smaller, but I thought he should have a chance. I don’t understand it, though. He said it himself: why would he bet against the sailor’s, having already seen it?”
“A bet, you say?”
“I’ll say! Fifty dollars, no less. I’ll give him this: he accepted my judgment without any argument.”
The sheriff frowned. “I remember you settling such a claim years ago. I even told him about it. Hey, just a minute!”
He sat up straighter, swallowing the remains of his current mouthful, and glared at the madam. “You didn’t take them up your ass again, did you?”
“Well, you know how they’re largest at ejaculation, and I wanted to give —”
“By god, you did!” Suddenly the sheriff levitated out of the bed, literally throwing the wide-mouthed Pink Lil to one side, and stomped past Madam Rosa to whirl and confront her, ignoring his ludicrously flopping erection. “That goddam, sneaking son of a bitch!”
“Why, Rodney!” breathed the madam, eyes wide, hand pressed to mouth. “Whatever has got into you?”
“Into me? Nothing, damn it! Nothing at all.”
“Then what in the world is the matter?”
“It’s what’s got into you! Did you forget your rule against ass-fucking?”
“Well, no, but with such a bet to be settled —”
“Yeah, a bet! Who knows about this?”
“Why … everybody, I guess.”
The sheriff fell into a chair. “Good god almighty! I’ll never live it down.”
The madam studied him sharply. “I know what frets you, Rodney Cairns. It’s almost as if you lost the money!”
“Amost!” He laughed harshly. “That son of a bitch bet me a hundred dollars before the week was out you’d ask him to poke his dick up your ass!”
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