So I had such a brainstorm today, was able to hammer out 3500 words in a very powerful scene, all inspired by the idea that Kate would encounter one particular historical character... going to post what I wrote today, just be warned, it's rather intense...
I won't reveal who the historical character is, let's see if you can figure it out... :)
Kate stayed late in the saloon that night, tucked away in a secluded corner, feet propped on the table before her and her hat tucked low over her brow. The bottle of whisky on the table before her had been her only company. It was empty now, yet Kate made no motion to replenish it. Her stomach rumbled at the abuse it had been given lately; she had not bothered to eat again.
Her thoughts kept tumbling in circles. The spies she had acquired in the jail cell had returned with yet more disappointing news. Her quarry was kept continuously occupied on Indian raids out of Fort Russell; to protect the locals, Kate mused wryly. In reality, the Indians were the locals, the white people the true invaders. The few visits NAME and NAME made to Cheyenne were in the company of a number of other soldiers, and try as she might, Kate could come up with no solid plan to lure them out by themselves. Frustrated, Kate rolled another cigarette and prepared to head home when it was finished.
Even Anne was poor company these days. She kept her mind and body busy helping Gabriel in his store so he could focus on his lawyer’s practice. He was preparing to make a bid for a sheriff’s appointment. The need for law enforcement in the Wyoming Territory was dire, and it was likely he would succeed.
In addition, there was a flavor of romance about Anne and Gabriel, and it was grating to Kate’s nerves to be near her. She wanted her sister to be happy, but coming so close on the heels of Kate’s own devastating losses, it was hard to bear. Kate had turned to the bottle and her plans for revenge instead. She had parted with a good amount of money already for spies and scouts to tell her more than what she could glean from the residents of Cheyenne.
She had contacts among the local Indians and the ruffian gangs, but had refrained from approaching any military personnel, wishing to keep her identity hidden from any possible reprisals for the killing of the soldiers in the village. She had heard there was a reward for information relating to that event. So she stayed in small saloons, gambling to recoup her losses as she paid out her spies.
The wooden doors of the saloon slammed open, turning heads, as a group of soldiers entered. Kate leaned farther back in the shadows. The soldiers were clearly intoxicated already, their loud and raucous voices irritating in the extreme. Suddenly, a female voice sounded in their midst. Kate raised the brim of her hat to identify its source.
A figure detached itself from the group, removing a hat to reveal long, dark brown hair. Kate was getting used to seeing frontierswomen dressed in men’s clothing as she preferred, it being sometimes necessary in the wild environment. However, to see one in the company of soldiers and being treated as one of their own was certainly unusual.
The woman was not un-pretty, but it was readily apparent that she had lived a hard life up until now; time and hardships had been unkind to her complexion and frame. She was rather thin and her hair straggled from riding hard. She was in desperate need of a bath, but it seemed unlikely she had stopped into the saloon in search of one.
“Come on, Martha Jane, give us all a kiss, we need it after a day like today,” one of the soldiers wheedled.
The woman sauntered away, hips swinging, and headed to the bar, where she requested a bottle of whisky. Taking this in hand, she removed the top and took a hearty swig. She smiled as she set the bottle back down and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
“What do I get out of that deal?” she said.
One of the soldiers moved close, bringing an arm around Martha Jane, cupping her rear intimately. She wiggled in his grasp and put her hand on his crotch cajolingly. Kate could see the signs of the man’s arousal from where she sat, and she frowned. Prostitution was rampant in these parts, but she tried to avoid having to see how the business was done. However, the soldiers were all blocking the doorway to the saloon, and she did not want to attract attention, so she merely looked away.
Martha Jane had turned back to the bar and sipped on her whisky some more while the other soldiers ordered their own beverages and took seats around the place. A few broke out cards and started to play. Martha Jane wandered over and took a seat.
“Mind if I join you fellas?” she asked.
“Sure don’t, Jane, what’s your stake?”
Jane unbuttoned her coat, hanging it over the back of her chair. She then proceeded to unbutton her shirt as well, allowing a glimpse of her breasts beneath. The men all paused to watch her display.
“Well, you all know how much the Army pays,” she began. The men laughed. “I don’t have much after carin’ for my family back East, so how ‘bout I let you all decide the ante.”
Hoots and hollers followed this declaration, and the men unanimously agreed that Jane would have to remove an article of clothing for each hand lost. This failing, should Jane end up completely nude, she would then offer sexual favors in exchange for the pot at the end.
Kate cringed. There was no easy escape from the situation. To draw attention to her person could likely endanger her hidden identity, and ruin any chance of vengeance, but to continue to sit and watch as Martha Jane offered herself for sale was nearly unbearable. Kate had seen a number of horrible things in her life, not the least of which had been what had happened to her sister, and to see any woman brought so low was despicable to her.
Kate noted a gleam of greed in Martha Jane’s eyes as she agreed to the stakes. It was clear to her that the money was more important to Jane than her own dignity and body. Jane would lose the game on purpose, exchanging her body for the soldier’s use, just to obtain the purse at the end. The idea sickened her.
She had to give Martha Jane credit, though, she was subtle. She lost without any evidence of throwing the game. She won a few hands here and there to throw the soldiers off, and to deepen the pot as they gambled more intensely in their desire to get Martha Jane naked. Whenever she lost a hand, she turned it into a taunting show as she slowly undid buttons, buckles and straps, The men cheered heartily as each piece hit the floor. After what felt like an eternity to Kate, Martha Jane was seated nude at the table.
“Oh no, boys, I think you’ve got me here at a disadvantage,” she said with a smile. The soldiers’ eyes gleamed as they took stock of her breasts and soft womanly parts, which Jane had spread temptingly as she lolled back in her seat for them to see. “I don’t know if I can make a comeback from this.”
The lust in the men’s demeanor was now palpable; the other patrons of the bar and the bartender as well were now engrossed in the actions of the group. There were more than a few wishing they had gotten in on this game as well.
Cards were dealt, and Martha Jane leaned forward to hide her hand from view, an intent expression on her face. She hid a coy smile as she glanced around the table. The men missed it as they played their cards and made their bets. The last card hit the table and Martha Jane cried out.
“Well, tarnation! I’ve lost! I don’t even know why I let you all talk me into playing, I have the worst luck!” she exclaimed.
The soldiers all laughed. It was clear to Kate that Martha Jane had played her particular game before, and it was equally obvious the men were unaware how they had been taken advantage of. For them, the chance to win the right to penetrate Martha Jane’s cleft was enough, they didn’t even see it for what it was.
Martha Jane laughed and stood up. “Alrighty boys, I guess we may as well get this over with. But winners first,” she said. She waggled a finger at the largest stakeholder at the table, who pushed himself away from the table. Martha Jane got on her knees before him and loosened his pants. When she had freed his manhood, she took it into her palm, then into her mouth. She moved her lips over it eagerly, taking it deeply into her throat, nearly to the point of gagging.
All of the men in the saloon were focused on what was happening at the card table now. The soldier that Martha Jane was pleasing with her mouth was near to bursting, and at long last, he did so. Martha Jane withdrew from him at the last minute, allowing his seed to spurt onto her breasts, which she then spread her fingers through, teasing her nipples. She stood and faced the rest of the men, then sat on the card table, tracing one finger down her abdomen and towards the patch of hair between her legs.
Kate could easily have gotten up and left the saloon at this point, but she was oddly transfixed by the scene. It was so grotesque, but she could not look away. Martha Jane was no beauty, her body had been well used before, and she was not in the best of shape physically, yet it did not seem to matter to the men who now circled her like a pack of dogs around a bitch in heat.
Martha Jane was now spread-eagled on the table, her legs flung wide, as she teased the men with her antics. She parted the lips of her womanhood, and thrust a finger between them. She took this then, still wet from her own juices, and put it in the mouth of one of the soldiers surrounding her. This one quickly dropped his pants and moved to stand between her thighs. Once he had pushed himself home inside of her, he moved vigorously to release his own fluids.
Finished, another soldier quickly followed, and another, and another. Martha Jane was moved about on the table as each soldier took his turn, into whatever position he desired to have her. She was on her belly as she was taken from behind, face pressed to the table one moment, then had another’s staff thrust into her mouth at the same time. The whole while, Martha Jane moved and moaned enticingly, exciting the men further.
The act was so convincing, even Kate had trouble distinguishing whether her cries of pleasure were genuine or not. Sometimes she heard real passion as one of the men attempted to give Martha Jane real enjoyment rather than slake his own lusts immediately. At other times, the sounds seemed forced and designed to hurry things along if a man was taking too long. This was how the prostitution game was played. Kate felt sick to her stomach.
At last, each man had taken his turn, and Martha Jane was quickly forgotten about as they patted themselves on the backs and started to leave the saloon. Martha Jane sat up, running her fingers through her rough hair. She scooped up the purse of cash she had won for her performance, tucking it securely into an inside pocket of her jacket before she even bothered to begin dressing.
There was quite a mess that smeared all over Jane’s thighs as she stood. Grimacing, she took her shirt and pressed it between her legs, then wiped their lengths, finally tossing it into a corner. She put her jacket over her naked breasts and pulled up her pants until everything was securely fastened and she was decent again.
Suddenly, Kate found herself addressed.
“Don’t think you’re no better than me,” Martha Jane said, looking into Kate’s shadowy corner. She moved closer until she stood before the table. Kate met Martha Jane’s brown eyes squarely with her own fierce green one, a denial ready on her lips. Jane held up a hand.
“You don’t even need to say it. You sit there in your judgment and think you’ll never do what you just saw.” Martha Jane pulled a chair closer and sat down to face Kate. “I knew you was a woman ‘cuz you was the only one in this place who didn’t try to have a go. I saw ya lookin’, eyes all hateful and you just brimmin’ over wantin’ to say sumthin’. I get that all the time.” She pulled out a rolled cigarette and lit it. “I’m bettin’ you’ve seen an eye or two of disapproval in your time too.”
Kate glared back furiously, but said nothing. There was something in Martha Jane’s words that echoed truthfully in Kate’s head. How many times had she seen that same look of disapproval in others’ eyes directed at her? She knew exactly what Jane was talking about. That look had never stopped her from continuing with whatever she had been doing, just as her own had not stopped Martha Jane. Disturbingly, she could just as easily picture herself in Jane’s earlier position. She lowered her gaze.
“This land here, it has a way of takin’ your soul,” Martha Jane said quietly. “Things happen. You lose people ya love. Ya get to where ya think all the time, ‘What’s the point of it all?’” She exhaled a long ribbon of smoke. “Then ya get to where ya don’t care anymore. It’s just about gettin’ from day to day and hopin’ you can sleep at night.” Kate knew the feeling she talked about. “So ya do things. Things ya might normally not do. Things other people say are wrong. But you live. It might not mean much, but you live.”
Martha Jane stood up. “You think on that. Ye’re still young, you gotta chance. Don’t let whatever it is eatin’ you up, makin’ you sit here drinkin’ yourself stupid, take your soul.” She turned to walk away, but Kate stopped her.
“What about you?”
Jane stopped, quiet for a moment, before she let out a soft chuckle. “Oh, honey, it’s far too late for me. I lost my soul a long, long time ago. Just remember what I said, you got time, I can see it.” With that, Martha Jane was gone. Kate pondered what Jane had said a long time.
The sun had nearly broached the horizon as dawn arrived over Cheyenne when Kate finally left the saloon. Her mind was clear, and she rode back to the boarding house full of purpose. She was determined not to let her life turn into the calamity that Martha Jane’s had become.
Another Blog Bites the Dust
11 years ago
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