On the other side, Mrs. Stapleton, a widow, was very unhappy. She felt her son had married well beneath his station. She had no use for Coramae and choked on the words Mrs. Coramae Stapleton. Reluctantly, she gave her son fifty acres of prime farm land, ideal for growing wheat, but the land needed a lot of work to be ready for the Spring planning. The one saving grace was that there was a small, sturdy cabin on the property.
The newlyweds headed to their new home, and once there couldn’t get out of their clothes fast enough. “Now Freddy, turn around, don’t look.” She slipped on a new cotton nightgown. It was, for the time, very risqué. It was low cut, exposing just a hint of her breasts. Her lovely, plump breasts, and just as revealing, the nightgown only came to mid-calf.
She slipped under the covers, and her husband soon joined her. This was a new experience for both. Neither knew exactly how it all worked. They’d seen farm animals do it, but had no idea what they were supposed to do. They fumbled around for a while, neither sure what went where. Coramae lifted her nightgown to her waist, giving Freddy access to something he’d never seen nor touched before.
It was over quickly, although neither the groom or the bride knew that. The next morning was a repeat, and then it was time to get to work. There was so much to do, and so little time, before planting season.
They worked hard, from dawn to dusk, Monday thru Friday, to get the farm ready. It was on Saturdays that they could relax. Freddy took the wagon into Dodge City, just a few miles away, for whatever supplies they needed. Meanwhile, Coramae hauled water to the big wooden tub, behind the cabin, heated the water and took a long hot bath. It was her only one of the week, and she wanted to be clean for husband. By the time Freddy came back, she had clean hot water in the tub for his bath.
Then they spent the rest of the day and night in bed. Freddy would get on top of her; still fumbling his way inside, pump a few times, grunt once or twice and roll over. An hour later, he was ready for more, and Coramae accommodated him. It lasted a little longer, and Coramae moved a little more, but it still didn’t last very long. Sometimes there was a third time, but sadly it was still over almost before it began. Neither of them knew there was more to it than that.
Sunday morning, they took the wagon into town and to church. The same church they were married in. The only one in Dodge.
One Saturday, just as Freddy finished his bath, they saw their dog, King, mounting one of the bitches. “Coramae, I’ll bet I could do you like that.”
“I don’t know, Freddy. We’re not animals.” She didn’t like the idea that he couldn’t help but see her bottom if he did her like that. In the end, he talked her into it, but just like when he was on top, he no sooner entered her from behind, than it was over. As I said, neither of them knew any better.
One Saturday when Coramae told him she was having her monthly, which what some 19th century women called their period, he was disappointed. “Freddy, don’t worry, when it’s over, you can have me.”
For three years they worked the farm, and were starting to see some progress, then disaster struck. One Saturday, just as Coramae finished dressing after her bath, the sheriff and two deputies rode up. The sheriff was driving Freddy’s wagon. “Is something wrong, sheriff?”
“Mrs. Stapleton, there was a shooting in town this morning, and a stray bullet hit Frederick. He’s in the back. I don’t know how to tell you this, ma’am, I’m sorry, he’s dead.”
Coramae cried and cried. She was twenty-years-old, a widow, with a small farm to run. While the sheriff consoled her, the two deputies dug a grave. An hour later, they left, leaving her to grieve alone.
By Monday, she realized that she’d have to work the farm herself. She wasn’t afraid of hard work, and got busy, but in less than a year she was well behind in her taxes and to the creditors that all farmers had. These creditors were usually paid off when the crop was harvested. There wasn’t much of a crop on the Stapleton farm this year. If she couldn’t come up with the money for her creditors and her taxes, the farm would be auctioned off.
One day, as she was weeding her vegetable garden, a beautiful carriage drove up. A servant helped a well-dressed, middle-age woman out. “You must be Mrs. Stapleton.”
“I am. And you are?”
“I’m Rose Flanigan, I own an establishment between town and Fort Dodge.”
“Miss Flanigan, I don’t have much, but won’t you come in? I can put on some coffee.”
Coramae didn’t know exactly what an establishment was.
“Thank you, that would be very nice. Do you mind if Joseph waters the horses?”
“Not at all.”
Miss Flanigan looked around. The cabin was small, but neatly kept, and Coramae
Stapleton, with a little grooming and a nice dress, was a very pretty girl. Just the kind of girl her establishment could use.
“Thank you for the coffee. Mrs. Stapleton, I’m here because I understand that you’re having some financial difficulties.”
“How would you know that?”
“Let’s just say that the bank president and a few of your creditors are very good friends of mine. We do a lot of business together.”
“I see.”
“I have a way for you to right yourself financially.”
“Miss Flanigan, I work hard. I’m not going to sell my farm.”
“Oh, I wasn’t thinking of that. Not at all. I’m not a farm girl. Saturday, why don’t you come into town, we’ll meet, and I’ll take you to my place of business and show you how much money you can make, and you can get out of debt.”
“Just a meeting?” Coramae could not have been more naïve.
“Just a meeting. How about in front of the bank at 10 o’clock?”
“Okay.” She was wary, but her farm was in trouble.
Coramae Stapleton wore her nicest dress, and bonnet. Miss Flanigan’s servant,
Joseph, helped her from her wagon. “Thank you.”
“Mrs. Stapleton, I’m glad you could come. When we go out to my place, why don’t you leave your wagon here? Joseph will take care of it. You and I will ride together in my carriage, and we can talk. Let’s go inside.”
“Ma’am, the bank’s closed on Saturdays.”
The older woman laughed, “My dear, every business in Dodge City is open for me on Saturday, even Sunday. You’ll learn.” She knocked on the door.
It was quickly opened. Coramae was in awe; the door was opened by the bank president himself, Mr. Sharpe. “Rose, Mrs. Stapleton come in.”
“Jasper, you know why we’re here. Let’s get down to business.”
“Of course. Ladies, please sit down.” He held the chair for Coramae. Then went behind his desk, and shuffled a few sheets of paper. “Now, Mrs. Stapleton, take a look at these. This is your debt, and this is the income from the farm for the last four years.”
“I see. What’s your point?”
“Mrs. Stapleton even if your farm has a banner year, a year better than any year you’ve ever had, you’ll still be in arrears, and the bank would have no choice but to foreclose, and that doesn’t even account for what you might owe in taxes.”
Coramae knew she was in financial trouble, but seeing it on paper opened her eyes.
There was no denying it. “Mrs. Stapleton, that’s where I can help. Let’s go out to my place and I’ll show you around. Thank you, Jasper. Will I see you tonight?”
“Of course.”
Rose Flanigan was just 16 when her parents died, and she was alone. The only child of Irish immigrants; alone in the Irish slums of Boston. It didn’t take her long to realize that the only way she could survive was to give men and boys what they wanted. She had red hair, was petit, not even 5 feet tall, with small breasts, and the tightest, red bush pussy, you can imagine on an adult woman. And she was beautiful. If men were not enthused by her, almost boyish body, her energy when they were fucking her, was unsurpassed. Using her legs, hips and ass, she could lift even the biggest man off a bed when he was on top of her. And she had, numerous times.
Like 99% of women in the Victorian period, the one thing Rose wouldn’t do was suck cock. In that time period, no self-respecting whore would consider such an act; brothels that found such a woman, never lacked for business. Women may not have liked cock sucking, but men loved their cocks sucked. That’s why in any brothel, the fellatio artist was queen.
She soon discovered that men not only loved fucking her, but went crazy when she used the language of the streets. The language she picked up in those same Boston slums. “Fuck me good, baby. Fuck my pussy with your big cock,” was the kind of language she commonly used in bed. She found that men paid her well for her enthusiasm and foul mouth.
She had no desire to stay in Boston, and shortly after her eighteenth birthday, read that Dodge City was on the verge of becoming a cattle boom town. She thought, “I’ll bet there’s only one thing those cowboys would rather ride than their horses.” She bought a one-way train ticket to Dodge City, Kansas.
In Boston, you couldn’t walk more than a few blocks without finding a whore house.
Dodge City was much, much smaller. It took Rose only a few hours to find one; the only one, and to find employment. It was called simply “The Boarding House.” Her skills brought her a steady clientele, and she earned a reputation of being worth every dollar those cowboys spent.
It was two years later, that an itinerant salesman, James Canaday, perhaps in his mid- 50’s, walked in and selected her. In her room, something happened that Rose had never seen before. He couldn’t get hard. Of course, most of her clients were in their late teens and early twenties. They were hard even before they got off their horses. Rose tried all her tricks, excluding sucking his cock, nothing worked. “I have an idea,” he suggested.
He went down on her. Like with cock sucking and Victorian-age women, Victorian-era men did not eat pussy, especially in what was often called at the time, a sporting house.
Even men who loved pussy-eating, had no desire to eat the pussy of some whore who might have been fucked three or four times over the last few hours. With James Canaday, Rose experienced feelings she’d never felt before.
He spent twenty minutes with his tongue in her pussy, then showed her a cock as hard as any of those twenty-year-old cowboys she’d been fucking. While he was fucking her, he whispered in her ear, “You know, Rose, it’s your sweet pussy that made me so hard.”
Rose never saw James Canaday again, but never forgot the feeling of what his tongue did to her pussy. Less than a year later an 18-year-old boy, new to Dodge City walked into The Boarding House. He picked her out because of her red hair. When she got his pants off, she saw the biggest, longest, fattest cock she’d ever seen, and by this time Rose Flanigan had seen a lot of cocks. “I’m sorry, I just can’t. That thing will hurt me.
You’ll have to find yourself a bigger girl.” Even with all the men who had been in and out of her pussy, it was still the tightest pussy in The Boarding House. She made sure he got his money back, and thought that was the end of it.
He was back the next night and paid in advance for the entire night. “I just can’t. The pain will be unbearable, and who knows when I’ll be able to work or maybe even walk again?”
“Rose, you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. I’d do anything to be with you.”
It was then that she thought of James Canaday. She got undressed, laid on the bed with her legs spread, opened her pussy lips, “if you want to be with me, you have to lick it.”
Still dressed, he only hesitated for a moment. “That’s it, cowboy, just like that. Oh yeah, oh yeah, just a little higher.” When he wanted to quit, she pushed his head back into her bright red bush. “You paid for the whole night; you might as well get your money’s worth.”
He never did get his clothes off, and came back the following week, asking for Rose. For two years every weekend, he would come to see her. Rose taught him how she liked her pussy eaten. She never let him fuck her, and of course, she didn’t suck him either.
Rose Flanigan was ambitious. Before she was thirty, with a few partners, she bought “The Boarding House.” That should give you an idea about how many of those cowboys preferred to ride her instead of their horses. She made a lot of money and never had to let those cowboys ride her again.
After leaving the bank, Miss Flanigan started the conversation, “Now, Mrs. Stapleton, I provide a service for the cowboys who come into town on Friday and Saturday night. The soldiers at Fort Dodge are regular customers, too.”
“What kind of service?”
The older woman couldn’t believe this widow still didn’t understand. “Each man pays ten dollars at the door, and for that they get one ride. You and I split the money. If they want a second ride, it’s another six dollars, and we split that four for you, and two for me.”
Coramae’s eyes bugged out. It finally dawned on her. “Miss Flanigan, the ride you’re talking about. Those men are going to ride me, right?” She’d never heard it called a ride before. She’d heard foul mouthed men call it fucking, and Freddy just said, let’s do it. Ride, no.
“That’s right. You can probably give four or five rides a night on Friday and Saturday. That’s ten rides a weekend, that’s at least fifty dollars, and all the men, especially the cowboys are very generous, if they get a good ride.”
Shocked was an understatement. “Miss Flanigan, I’m a good Christian woman. I couldn’t. I don’t need to see your establishment. Take me back to town.”
The woman kept driving. “Mrs. Stapleton, yes, you’re a good Christian woman. I’ve seen you in church, but according to Mr. Sharpe’s numbers, you’ll be a destitute Christian woman in a few months. You won’t have a roof over your head, and you’ll be begging in the streets.”
Coramae knew she was right, but just couldn’t resign herself to Mrs. Flanigan’s proposal. She didn’t have much schooling, but she could read and write, and understood the banker’s numbers, but she didn’t have any skills that anyone might pay her for. “Here we are. Come on in.” Servants helped the ladies from the carriage.
It looked like any three-story boarding house, perhaps bigger. “Here’s the parlor. The girls gather in here, and when the men come in, they choose one and go upstairs.”
The parlor looked very lavish to the farm girl. Her father’s farm had a dirt floor. The parlor floor here was covered with a thick, lush carpet. Behind the parlor, there was a room every bit as big as the parlor, and it had three large bath tubs. Two women were using them, and Coramae was shocked. They were naked. Of course, they were naked in the tub, but in front of people, she just couldn’t imagine. Coramae could see their breasts. “I want my girls to look and smell clean. The boys like them like that. “Hi ladies, this is Coramae, I’m trying to convince her to come to work for me.”
“Hello, I’m Cassandra. You’ll have a lot of fun, and those boys can be very generous.”
Coramae was shocked for about the third time this morning. The girl, not much older than herself, stood up, completely naked and shook her hand. She could see water dripping from the hair between her legs. “Let’s go upstairs,” Miss Flanigan said.
“There are eight bedrooms. During the week, there are four girls working, and that’s about all I need, but on the weekend, I could use at least three more. That’s where you come in.”
“Miss Flanigan, I don’t think this is . . .”
The older woman acted as if she didn’t hear her. “I’d expect that with how much those men pay, and they’re generosity, you might leave here on a Sunday morning with one hundred dollars in your purse.”
“A hundred dollars?”
“Mrs. Stapleton, where else can you make that kind of money? It won’t take too long before you’re even with the bank, and you’ll have plenty of money for your taxes. Here’s one of the bedrooms. They’re all pretty much the same.”
The room was small, with a gas lantern on a dresser, and a mirror just large enough for her face. The bed was just wide enough for one person. Miss Flanigan explained, “how big does it need to be? One person on top, one on the bottom. Or one in front, one behind.” Coramae blushed.
Before she married, Coramae shared the one-room sod house with her father, and her two younger brother and sister. “It’ll be all yours, giving you privacy to entertain your clients.”
Entertain? Coramae thought. I’d have to take off my clothes, lay on my back, spread my legs and let them do what they wanted with me.
Just then a young woman and a man walked out of a room across the hall. They were laughing. It was clear, that the woman had just finished, what Miss Flanigan called entertaining. It was what the woman was wearing that stunned Coramae. Her breasts were almost totally exposed, and below her waist there was little left to the imagination. In three years of marriage, Freddy had rarely seen her like that.
“What’s on the third floor?”
“Those are my private quarters. I live up there.”
Coramae was silent for a moment, “Miss Flanigan, thank you. I know my farm is in trouble, but I just couldn’t.”
“I understand. My offer stands. I’ll take you back to town.”
They were silent on the way to Dodge City. Coramae thanked the woman again. Joseph brought her wagon around, and soon she was on her way back to the farm. Two things were spinning around in her head. One was the realization that she could in fact lose the farm, and secondly, she just couldn’t picture herself lying naked on that bed, in that room, while a man did, well she knew what he would be doing.
It was mid-afternoon before she got home. There were still some chores to do, then it would be time for a bath. Tomorrow was church day, and she was determined to go, and pray away what she had just witnessed.
At church, she was shocked once again. Miss Flanigan was there, and it took Coramae a few seconds to recognize the woman standing next to her. It was Cassandra. Coramae laughed, ‘of course I didn’t recognize her, she has her clothes on.’
For the next two weeks, Coramae worked the farm. It didn’t look like it was going to be a bumper crop, and then the bank would foreclose. She knew it. She also knew that Mrs. Flanigan’s offer was her only choice.
The following Wednesday, early in the morning, she bathed, and put on her best dress. The farm was on the north side of Dodge City, and Miss Flanigan’s was to the south, across the railroad tracks, not far from the Fort. It took her less than a half hour to drive there. A servant was outside. “Hello, my name is Mrs. Stapleton, I’d like to see Miss Flanigan if possible.”
“It’s a little early for her, but I’ll see if she’s available. You can wait in the parlor. I’ll see to your horse and wagon.”
“Thank you.” The servant at the door escorted her to the parlor. While she waited, a few girls came in and out. One fully dressed, the two others wearing what appeared to Coramae as undergarments. ‘How can they just walk around like that? I could never get used to that.’
“Mrs. Stapleton, it’s good to see you again. One of my servants will bring us coffee momentarily. What can I do for you?”
Coramae thought, ‘she knows exactly why I’m here, but she’s going to make me say it out loud.’ It was all she could do to get the words out, “Miss Flanigan, I-I’d like to take you up on your offer. I can’t lose the farm. I just can’t.”
“I see. Mrs. Stapleton, I’m sure this was a difficult decision. For the most part, the boys don’t get too wild, and you might even have a good time. When anyone gets out of line, my servants are also bodyguards and are here for all the girls’ safety.”
Coramae nodded, and the woman continued. “How about you start this Friday? I’m expecting a good crowd. If you leave your farm by noon, you’ll have plenty of time to take a nice long, hot bath. Then we’ll find you some clothes, and by sundown you’ll be entertaining your first client, and by Sunday morning, I’d expect you’ll have almost one hundred dollars in your purse.”
“What happens during the day on Saturday?”
“Oh. Well, there’s not much activity, and the girls like to catch up on their sleep. They need it. Those boys do some pretty hard riding. No sense in you going all the way home. On Saturdays, they start coming in early,” she smiled. “By the way, no one, not even me uses our real name. When you’re here, we’ll just call you Cory.” Coramae, now Cory, nodded.
Back home, her mind was racing, and she didn’t sleep much. She did the necessary chores around the farm. Before she knew it, it was Friday. She needed to feed her chickens, gather eggs and then she’d be on her way to a new life. She rarely used cuss words, but this morning she screamed at the sky, “damn you, Freddy, why’d you have to go and die?”
One of the servants tended to her horse and wagon, and another held the door for her.
Miss Flanigan was waiting in the parlor. “Come this way, Cory. My girls are just filling one of the tubs with fresh, hot water just for you.”
The other two tubs were occupied by girls who were chatting and laughing. “You can hang your clothes over there. They’ll be washed and dried for you by Sunday morning.
While you’re taking your bath, I’ll pick out some clothes for you. This is Martha, and I think you’ve met Cassandra. Girls, this is our new girl, Cory.”
“Hello.” Miss Flanigan, Martha and Cassandra watched as Cory undressed. She tried to hide, but there was nowhere to hide. “Martha, we’re in trouble. She’s a beauty. The men will be all over her.”
“Now, girls,” Miss Flanigan admonished them, “you know there’s enough cocks for everyone.”
Martha added, “yeah, what do you think, Cory, cocks for everyone tonight?”
Cory was trying to cover up and get in the tub at the same time. She’d never called the thing that Freddy put inside her anything, and the only cocks she knew were her roosters. “I hope so.”
“Cory,” Miss Flanigan said, “with a lovely body like yours, I’m going to have to pick out something extra special for you. I want those men to be salivating over you, and their dicks as hard as their pistols.”
“Only bigger,” laughed Martha.
When they were finished bathing, just wrapped in towels the three girls went upstairs. A servant girl directed Cory to her room. ‘Oh my, the clothes that Mrs. Flanigan laid out for her barely covered what they were supposed to,’ she thought. Her full breasts were hanging out. And below the waist, those clothes covered far less. She couldn’t, she just couldn’t, and then she thought of losing the farm.
At sunset, all eight girls were seated in the parlor. Men started coming in, selecting various girls. Cory, Martha and two other girls were left. Miss Flanigan had warned her that some of her regular clients had girls they preferred. They knew what they were getting, and were happy. “Don’t worry, you’ll get yours.” That’s what Cory was afraid of.
Then a young cowboy walked in. “Hello ladies, how’s everyone tonight?”
“Hello, Art, we’re good.” They all seemed to know him.
“Any new girls, I might like to try?”
Martha pointed, “this is Cory, she’s new.”
“Cory, Art will ride you good.”
“Well, hello Cory. Aren’t you the pretty one? Are you ready to show me a good time?”
Nervously, Cory took his hand, and led him upstairs to her room. She didn’t say much.
The servants had lit the gas lantern on the dresser. She would have preferred the darkness. Art stepped into the room, sat on the bed and began taking his boots off.
“Show me what I bought tonight.”
At first, she was confused by what he meant. When she realized what he was saying, she took a deep breath, and untied the bodice holding her breasts in. “My, oh, my those are the most beautiful tits I’ve ever seen.” They were big enough, not huge, but they were perfect orbs, topped with large pink nipples. He stood up, and his hands were all over them. “They’re the most perfect tits.” In town, on occasion, she’d overheard cowboys and farmhands use words like that. She’d always pretended not to hear.
Cory closed her eyes, and took another deep breath. Freddy had never said anything like that to her. Of course, he had felt them, but rarely saw them under her nightgown.
“I’m, I’m glad you like them,” she stuttered.
“Damn, they sure are fine. Look what they do to me.” He took her hand and put it on his crotch. Art started kissing her nipples, she tingled. “Why don’t you take it out of my pants before I bust a couple of buttons?”
It wasn’t too long, before they were both naked, and he was on top of her. She was surprised that he kept going in and out, in and out. Freddy would have already been finished. She moved a little, and moaned softly. She wasn’t exactly sure what to do. It had never taken this long. She said whatever came to mind, “Art, you ride me so good. I’ve never been ridden like this before.” That was true.
He kept on riding her. “Oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah,” he said loudly and then finished. A few minutes later, he got dressed, left some money on her dresser, and walked out.
Cory just lay there for a few minutes. ‘What just happened?’ she thought. A few minutes later there was a knock on her door. “Miss Cory, there’s more men waiting downstairs.
She hid the money he’d left her, quickly got dressed, and calmly walked downstairs.
Before the night was over, as Miss Flanigan had predicted, she’d given six rides. The men left a total of twenty-five dollars on her dresser; that plus the five dollars each man had paid at the door, was over fifty dollars. It shouldn’t take more than a few months, maybe six, to secure the farm, she thought.
Saturday night, and the weekends that followed were more of the same. Cory had to admit that she liked the way the men rode her. The way they made her feel; even what their rough hands and fingers did to her, but her mind was always elsewhere. “How many more times do I have to do this to get out of debt?”
Three weeks later, her monthly arrived. She didn’t drive to The Boarding House that weekend, nor did she go to church Sunday. There was too much farm work to do.
Monday, late morning, Miss Flanigan’s carriage pulled up in front of Coramae’s cabin. She had driven herself. “Coramae, where are you?”
“I’m out back in the vegetable garden. I’ll be right there.”
Miss Flanigan stepped down from her carriage. “You didn’t work this weekend. I was counting on you. And you didn’t go to church. Are you sick?” “No, ma’am. I’m having my monthly and I didn’t think it proper.”
“I understand, but you could still work, and that’s something I want to talk to you about.
Now, is as good a time as any.”
“Won’t you come in?”
“Not yet. Cory, have you noticed that each weekend you have a few less customers?”
“I did. I just figured, I’m not the new girl anymore.”
“That’s part of it, but the men you do have, don’t leave you as much extra money, do they?”
“No, ma’am.”
“My regular customers tell me you don’t seem energetic or enthusiastic. They don’t get a great ride. That’s why you’re not getting as many customers or making as much extra money.”
“Ma’am, that’s probably right. I just want to make enough money to save the farm. They all ride me good, but my mind is always back here.”
“That’s what I thought, but if you don’t have any customers, you don’t make any money and you can’t save the farm.”
“I understand. I’ll try to do better.”
“I have another idea, and if it works out, you won’t have to take days off every month.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“Come, walk with me.” They walked together to the vegetable garden. Mrs. Flanigan looked around, then found what she was looking for. She pulled a carrot from the ground, then another, walked over to the well, pumped it a few times. Then washed both carrots.
“Carrots? I don’t understand.”
“You will. Let’s go inside.”
Miss Flanigan found her way to the kitchen, and asked Coramae for a knife, cut the tops off the carrots and the thinnest parts at the bottom. She sat at the kitchen table; Cory opposite her. “Some men prefer something other than riding my girls.” She put one carrot in her mouth and sucked it. At first, just an inch or two, then a little more. Took it out, and used her tongue on the top.
“I’m not sure I follow.”
“I’m sure you’ve never entertained a man with your mouth.”
For a moment Cory thought Miss Flanigan wanted her to sing for her clients. Then it occurred to her. “Miss Flanigan, I think I know what you’re suggesting. I couldn’t. No! Do women actually do that?”
“Cory, a number of my customers always ask for it, but I don’t have any girls right now that are any good at it,” Miss Flanigan lied. “I thought you might want to try it, since you don’t seem to be all that enthusiastic about being ridden.”
“I don’t know. It sounds sinful and disgusting.”
“Cory, everything we do is sinful. Between now and Friday, why don’t you find a couple of different size carrots and practice on them? I’ll let my good customers who have an affinity for such practices know that my flute player is here. Here try this one.”
“Flute player?”
“We don’t want to be crass. After all, we are ladies. You’ll be playing their flute.”
She handed her the other carrot. “Now you try it.” Coramae, hesitantly, put just an inch in her mouth. “That’s it, now lick just the top, just like that.” She followed the older woman’s instructions. “Now, put it in your mouth again. A little more, that’s it. A little more. You’re doing great. I think the men will love you, and you might enjoy it, too.”
“I don’t know if enjoy is the right word.”
“Listen to me, when those men are finishing, you need to swallow it all. Don’t spit it out, and don’t show any sign that you’re repulsed. Men want us to love their cocks. That’s what they pay us for. That reminds me, I pay better for flute players. We’ll split it six dollars for you, and four for me. That seems fair.”
To herself, Cory thought, ‘six dollars.’ That might help save the farm, but she was apprehensive until Miss Flanigan made it clear, “I have to be honest with you, your lack of energy and enthusiasm is bad for business. I don’t have any other work for you.”
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