“Are you going to marry Thomas?” Grace asked.
“I don’t know. He hasn’t asked me, yet,” Olga replied.
“You needn’t worry what others might think about the short time since your husband’s death,” she continued. “This is a very hard land and a woman has little means to support herself alone. The land in Oregon is only available to men. You would be a fool to let such a fine man as Mr. Meyer go.”
“Yes,” Beth added, with a wink. “You should do what is necessary to make him happy.”
The four women sipped their whiskey and chuckled. Olga knew exactly what Beth meant.
“We three widows should all find new husbands as quickly as possible. It is the only way for us to survive,” Grace concluded.
Looking around the room, Olga recognized two of the men at the bar as wranglers with Major Jamison’s wagon train. Of course, none of the Mormons were there. Olga studied the men as they interacted with the women. She noticed how men would occasionally drift through the doorway beside the bar. A woman, taking one or two men by the hand, would lead them to the space behind the bar’s back wall. Later, they would reappear. However, when the men returned, they came back alone with the women following after a few minutes.
“What’s back there?” Olga’s curiosity got the best of her.
“Must be the latrines,” Beth said.
Grace giggled and slurred something unintelligible.
“I could use a trip to the facilities.” Beth stood.
“Me too.” Rosalie joined her.
The young women walked across the room, followed by the stares of most everyone there, and passed through the opening in the canvas wall. They walked along the canvas lined hallway for half a dozen yards, and then made a right turn. This revealed another hallway. However, the walls were not taut sheets of canvas; they were more like tent flaps. Opening one of the flaps, Olga did not find a privy. The tiny room contained only a narrow cot.
Olga turned to her friends. “What is this place?”
A sudden lull in the noise from the bar allowed them to hear sounds from one of the closed spaces. They heard the distinctive sounds of flesh upon flesh and a mixture of male and female moans that could only have originated from two people making love.
“We are in the wrong place!” Beth turned to leave.
Olga was drawn to a different, softer sound from the room behind the second closed flap. She stepped closer and positioned her eye to peer through the crack. Inside the tiny room, she saw a man lying on the cot. His trousers were bunched at his knees. One of the scantily clad women was kneeling on the floor, bent over him. She had his cock in her mouth.
“Oh, my word! We are definitely in the wrong place.”
Olga heard a quick whoosh as Rosalie peered over her shoulder and sucked in a breath.
“Are you here to earn some money?” Both young women turned to see one of the saloon girls standing behind them.
“No, no. We are looking for the latrine,” Rosalie stammered. Beth was nowhere in sight.
The woman, slightly older than Olga with coal black hair, chuckled. “This is certainly the wrong place for that.” She eyed them up and down. “Could you be the kind of girl that likes girls? Is that why yer here?”
“No.” Olga had no idea what she meant. All women had other women as friends. But the sneering way that she had asked the question had convinced Olga that the answer should be ‘no’.
“Well, if you’re not here to make some money, or to sample the wares yourself, then ya had best be on yer way.” She stood aside and Olga would have bolted except that Rosalie remained rooted in her path.
“What do you mean—make some money?” Rosalie asked.
“With the men.” The saloon girl jerked her head toward the couple behind the canvas wall. Then, seeing the blank look still on Rosalie’s face, she added, “As ladies of the night. Ya know—prostitutes.”
Prostitutes!
Olga had read several passages in the Bible about prostitutes, but she had never known what the word meant. Now, she understood. “Women who have sex for money?” she asked before realizing that she was speaking aloud.
“Yes, lassie,” the prostitute chuckled. “You do know what it is that men want from women, don’t ya?”
“Of course,” Rosalie held up her left hand. “I’m married.”
“Ah, so your husband sent ya here to make some extra money. Yer not the first.”
“No,” Olga stated, perhaps a bit too loudly. “We’ll be leaving now.” She pushed on Rosalie, but the woman stood fast.
“Like that?” Rosalie once again peered around the canvas flap into the small room where the prostitute’s ruby lips were wrapped tightly around her customer’s tool, massaging it with her mouth and tongue. He groaned with gratification. “Do women really do that?”
The answer to her question appeared obvious. The prostitute looked past Rosalie to see what it was that had intrigued her. “As it is, that is the best way to satisfy a man,” she answered.
“My husband wanted me to do that, but I thought it was ridiculous.”
The prostitute chuckled. “Come on, let me show ya how.” She pulled Rosalie into an empty crib room.
With the hallway now clear, Olga took a step toward the exit. And then curiosity got the better of her. She remembered Beth’s conversation about pleasing a man with her mouth. She knew that this is what the other couple was doing, and she recognized the opportunity to find out exactly how it was done. She followed the other two women and closed the canvas flap behind her.
The prostitute sat on the cot. She held up two rigid fingers. Using the lacy fabric of her red underskirt, she covered the fingers to create a mock penis.
“It’s easy,” she said. “I tell you truly that all women do it. Well, I suppose most all of them do it. Ya start by gently blowing on ‘em.” She demonstrated by puckering her lips and slowly blowing out a breath across her fingers. “And then ya lick them.” Again she demonstrated. “A spot on the underside, close to the tip, is where they like it best.” She stuck her tongue out and probed into her cloth covered fingers. “Once they are all excited, ya suck on them like a lollypop.” She pushed her fingers into her mouth so deep that Olga though she might choke herself.
“I see,” Rosalie said. She held up her fingers and examined them as though she were studying her husband’s member. “But what about the two egg things in his sack?”
The canvas flap flew open and Thomas materialized, filling the doorway.
“What is this?” he exclaimed. “Just what is going on here?”
Olga and Rosalie stared at him, slack jawed. Olga was perturbed by the interruption, she had wanted to hear the prostitute’s answer—what about the man’s sack?
“No harm, sir,” the prostitute calmly said to fill the silence. “We were just talking.”
“Talking?” Thomas spat the word out as though it was a criminal act. He looked into Olga’s eyes. “Talking,” he said again, softer.
Olga and Rosalie nodded in unison.
“This is no place for you, Olga.” He gripped her wrist and pulled her out of the crib. Turning, he fastened his other hand upon Rosalie’s wrist. “You too. I’ll take you back to your wagon.”
Like two errant school children captured by the truant officer, the women were led back to the saloon. Olga saw that the table where Grace and Beth should have been waiting was empty.
“I sent them on ahead,” Thomas stated. All eyes were on the young women as he paraded them to the door and out onto the street. “Do you two have any idea how dangerous that was?”
Olga imagined that there were lots of dangerous parts surrounding their evening, but she did not choose to focus upon any specific one. However, she was sure that he would narrate a litany of the hazards as he spanked her.
Rosalie’s husband, Charlie, met them as they entered the camp. Olga heard Rosalie’s gasp when she saw the paddle in her spouse’s hand. For emphasis, he smacked his left palm with
the punishment instrument.
Thomas released Rosalie as Charlie scooped her up and tossed her over his shoulder. She did not struggle or scream as he carried her to their wagon and to her fate—the spanking that awaited her.
“Oh, no,” Olga exclaimed as Thomas bent to press his shoulder against her belly. “No—no!” But it was too late. He hoisted her up like a sack of feed. She dangled down his back, staring at his firm butt, as he carried her to their wagon. She could not stop the swelling between her thighs, the aching throb in her pussy, the tingling in her clit or the tightness of her breaths.
He lifted her up, over the back edge of the wagon and set her feet down. Peering over his shoulder, she saw a half-dozen men and women watching; their faces pale in the moonlight.
Oh, no, not an audience!
With all her belongings piled inside the wagon, there was only a small empty place to stand at the back end. She moved to the side and Thomas hoisted himself over the edge. He closed and tied the canvas covering and lit a candle.
“You know that you deserve this, don’t you?”
“Yes… Sir.” She sucked in a deep breath. “I won’t ever do it again. No more saloons—ever. I promise.”
“It’s not just that. There is no way for me to list all the dangers to be found on this journey. You can’t risk testing each hazard and then promising to never do them again. You need to begin using your brain and think about situations as they arise. Use your common sense judgment and avoid the dangers.”
He’s right., I should have run from that place as soon as I realized that it was not the loo.
Silently, she nodded, and then added in a whisper, “Yes, Sir. I promise, I will.”
Suddenly, the dark, mahogany paddle was in his hand. She had not seen him pick it out of the pile of trade goods. With wide eyes, she watched as he slowly, deliberately rolled up his right sleeve. Clearly, her promise alone was not going to be sufficient.
“Take your dress off,” Thomas commanded.
Olga reached behind her back and fumbled with the buttons until the material slid down her legs.
“The underskirt too.”
She pulled the free end of the ribbon that held the waistband tight. As the knot slipped loose, this fabric also pooled around her ankles.
“Turn around and bend over your trunk.”
Wearing only her chemise, she complied. The cool night air chilled her bottom, but she knew it would be blazing hot very soon. Despite her fear of the looming pain, her arousal sent moisture oozing into the damp folds of her womanly flesh and along the insides of her thighs.
Thomas’s hand pressed down on the small of her back. Without warning or any warm-up swats, he brought the paddle down hard on the under curve of her bottom.
“Yow!” she squealed.
He smacked her nine more times in exactly the same spot. The rapid whacks of the paddle set a continually building fire on her flesh.
“Please,” she wailed, “not the same spot! It hurts too much!”
He grunted and shifted his target to her other sit spot. Ten more whacks landed in rapid succession sending her into a sobbing, screaming fit. There was no hiding her punishment from everyone in camp.
Then, he stopped. She gasped and struggled to silence her cries. She heard the paddle drop to the floor. In the sudden silence, she heard the succession of loud smack and yelps emanating from Charlie and Rosalie’s wagon. She imagined the crowd’s enjoyment of the entertainment provided by the two women.
At least it is long past the time for all the children to be in bed.
While her own punishment appeared to have ended, Rosalie was getting it worse.
“I’m sorry,” Olga whispered between sobs. “I will always pay close attention to my surroundings and stay away from dangerous situations.” She pleaded for forgiveness.
In reply, Thomas pushed her legs apart and entered her hot, wet channel with two fingers.
Olga moaned and pressed into his intrusion. He slowly pumped his fingers into her.
“Oh… I promise to be good. Please…” she begged.
“You want to be a good girl, eh? Do you know what that means?”
“Yes, yes, I want you to… to have your way with me.”
His thumb slid down, over her clit, as his fingers continued to caress her pussy.
“Like this?” he asked.
“Ah,” she groaned. “No, Sir, I want to feel your…”
“Say it,” he commanded when she could not form the word.
“Your cock. I want to feel the pleasure that comes when you take me with your cock.”
He kissed the back of her neck.
“Roll over,” he whispered, as he released her.
She rolled onto her back atop the trunk, her knees bent, her calves dangling down the side. Her hot, sore bottom pressed against the hard surface. He opened her thighs and the scent of her arousal filled the tiny space.
“Please, the candle,” she whispered.
Thomas blew out the flame.
She closed her eyes as his fingers teased her clit and reentered her pussy.
“You’ve been naughty, and naughty girls don’t get to experience cocks in their pussy.”
“What! What? Oh, please—”
“Don’t fret, my dear. I have something else in mind. I’m sure that you will like it.”
Thomas pushed her chemise up higher and kissed her belly button. Moaning, she worked her fingers into his hair. Her tugs on his hair became more urgent as this kisses trailed lower. With his mouth hovering above her pussy, he paused to inhale her scent.
He took her clit into his mouth and swirled his tongue around it.
“Oh, my God!” she cried, and then thought to silence herself. She would be doubly embarrassed by entertaining the crowd more than she already had.
His tongue traced along her slit and entered her. He darted his tongue in and out, driving her into near madness.
“Please…” She writhed against his mouth.
Pushing her legs wider apart, he ran his tongue along each of her folds before tasting her channel once again.
“Don’t stop,” she whispered.
Gently pinching her clit between two fingers, he plunged his tongue deeper—over and over again. Savoring her. Consuming her. Thrilling her.
Olga felt her orgasm building, the pleasure straining to be released.
“Come for me,” he said, and dove his tongue deep inside her.
Instantly, her body convulsed and the waves of pleasure burst free. The seemingly endless spasms rocked back and forth through her body.
Slowly, her body relaxed and Thomas stood up.
Still breathing heavily, she lifted her body up and stood beside him in the cramped space. Their bodies touched. He lifted her chin and tenderly kissed her. She pulled his suspenders down and opened his trousers. She pushed them down and felt the firmness of his manhood pressing against her pubis. Squatting down, she opened the tails of his shirt and stared at his cock. Holding his firm shaft, she kissed its tip.
Thomas released a long low groan. Like a dance maneuver, they rotated to exchange places in the cramped space and he sat down on the trunk. His trousers fell to the tops of his boots.
Olga caressed the insides of his thighs. She cupped his balls.
They are so heavy.
“Be careful,” he cautioned. “They are very sensitive.”
She had never held a man’s balls before. With her other hand, she slowly stroked his shaft while gently blowing on the tip of his erection. Grasping it firmly, she looked up into his eyes, and then slipped his tip between her lips. She swirled her tongue around it and sucked in deeper.
Thomas groaned and thrust his hips forward to drive himself deeper into her mouth. “You learned this tonight?” he said with a low growl.
“Mmm,” she moaned, unable to speak with her mouth occupied. She nodded as she worked his cock over her tongue. She drew as much of his stiffness into her mouth as she could, savoring every
inch, sucking harder, making him harder the longer she sucked.
Olga established a pattern of stroking his shaft with her hand while her head bobbed up and down. With each cycle, her tongue caressed the underside of his tip. She tried to take him deeper, but the gagging stopped her.
“Do you know what’s going to happen?” he asked in a long sigh.
“Uh huh.”
He reached his hands around her head and grabbed her braids. He began to control the rhythm of her in and out motions. He pressed himself deeper and she was forced to push back her gag reflex.
What will it taste like?
She felt the pressure in his balls as they pulled themselves tightly together. His shaft pulsated and pumped his seed into her mouth. She tried to swallow the thick, salty come, but there was too much of it. It overflowed her mouth and ran down her chin.
“Ah… thank you, baby,” he groaned in ecstasy.
She opened her eyes and watched has his head rolled back. He released her hair and she continued to gently suck until his member softened.
Chapter 12
July 4, 1848
The desert
Olga was happy the following morning. She understood some of what Thomas had been talking about. Out from under the critical eyes of the Mormons, she drank coffee and openly kissed Thomas. Although her bottom was too sore to comfortably endure the hard, jarring seat of the bouncing wagon, she still rode in the wagon box instead of walking. Her new shoes would not be ready for another day, and her moccasins were mere scraps of leather, leaving her effectively barefoot. She sat and watched while Thomas drove their oxen to pull their wagon westward.
Our wagon. Yes, I am very happy.
For the first time since marrying Peter, she felt in control of her life’s direction. She chuckled to herself, acknowledging that she really had no control at all. There was no choice but to plod onward. There was no possibility of stopping or turning around, but this was where she wanted to be and what she wanted to do—to plod onward with Thomas.
South Pass Brides Page 13