Mart 24, 2021

Clara: Summer Rose Conquers All

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Creampie

[This is a work of fiction. The story is an unadulterated and unabashed attempt to tickle male fantasies and perhaps some female fantasies as well. As such, the story may or may not totally conform to reality. With some occasional historical exceptions, all other locations, events, and characters are entirely fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.]

NOTE: This is a continuation of CLARA: SUMMER ROSE. It can be read as a stand alone story, but fuller enjoyment may be achieved by reading the other story first.

******

The midnight chiming, actually near booming, of the grandfather clock at the top landing of the stairway, in concert with the one in the fancy parlor downstairs, awakened me. I was very groggy and, at first, completely lost as to my whereabouts.

Then it all came back in a flash. I was in “my” room in Suzzette’s Gentleman’s Palace, otherwise known as a whorehouse. Actually, bordello would be a better term for that period of time. I would learn the difference before the night was through. I was sprawled on my back, bare ass naked, across a bed of white satin.

I sat up, turned up the low burning lamp on the bedside table, and took stock of my surroundings. My carpetbag, my only piece of luggage, sat on the floor beside the vanity. Igor had followed his mistress’ bidding and brought it to my room while I slept. He must of gotten a real eyeful of me, out cold and stretched out the way I had been.

The room was a mirror image of Suzzette’s, but opposite in colors. Where hers was all white trimmed in red and gold, my room was all red, trimmed in white and gold. The difference in the decor and level of luxury between this room and the tiny, dingy three rooms back home in Peoria was like the difference between night and day.

I wasn’t sleepy anymore, so I found the back stairway Suzzette had mentioned and descended to the kitchen. A giant of a man, who had to be Igor, sat at the big table, drinking coffee. With a slight smile, he looked up as I entered.

“Would you like some coffee?”

“Yes, that would be great, ah, Igor?”

“Yes, I’m Igor and you are the new girl, Clara.”

“Yes, glad to meet you, Igor. Suzzette said you’re our bouncer?”

“That’s right, bouncer to keep the ruffians in line and general gofer for the house. Not that we get many ruffians in this house, but some of the clients can get drunk and then unruly.”

“I didn’t hear too much going on tonight.”

“No, Clara, it’s Wednesday night and business is slow tonight. Not many appointments. The girls on duty are required to be in the front parlor anyway during business hours. They may drift back here from time to time for a cup of coffee or just to break the boredom of a slow night. If any do, I’ll introduce you.”

“Suzzette said you might have time to tell me some about a whore house and what goes on behind the scenes. I mean I do know that the main thing is fucking customers, but that’s about all I know about the business.”

“Yes, I can do that. And, I see you need to know a few things. For one, this is a bordello, not a common whore house.”

“I didn’t know there was a difference.”

“Yes, indeed there is. You see…”

Igor went on to tell me quite a story over the course of the next six hours or so. There were some interruptions for one reason or another, but with the slow night, we had a long time to talk.

Igor had been around a long time and worked in one type of whore house or another since the age of six or seven. He lived with his mother who was, “one of the girls.” He was also an astute observer of human behavior. Despite his looks, his demeanor, and his job, he was an extremely intelligent man. I liked him from first sight.

From Igor that night and from my own long working experience that would follow, I learned a number of “truisms” about society and the relationship between men and women. All of them contributed to my understanding and thus to improving my work performance. In other words, it all made me a better whore.

I could write a book or two about what I learned, but in short version, this is some of what enlightened me. One of the things I learned was, in this age of Victoria, there were only two kinds of women–so called “good women,” and so called “bad women.” There were, however, several kinds of “bad women.”

There was, for example, the “Painted Lady.” Every Midwestern town of the day had one or two of these ladies. who were the source of much gossip and apparently an available source of sex for men who dared risk being seen entering or leaving her premises. Sometimes she was a lusty, somewhat slatternly widow who ostensibly supported herself by taking in laundry. Then again, she might be the daughter of a third-class hotel keeper.

Railroad towns, mining towns, cattle towns, and towns near military installations–all were notable for the presence of plenty of loose cash and a floating male population. Invariably such towns also had a sufficient bahis firmaları number of girls to warrant a “line,” a “maiden lane,” a “boarding house” or two, or a local hotel in a declining section of the business district that was known all around as the local whorehouse. Frequently, such a building might contain some combination thereof.

What made the Western towns like Cheyenne different from their Eastern counterparts was the presence of girls in the saloons. That was a phenomena unknown east of the Mississippi River except in German beer halls.

About an hour into our little “talk,” a commotion arose in the front parlor that got quickly louder. For a really big man, Igor moved very fast and silently as he excused himself and stepped into the hall. At that point, a loud crash echoed from the parlor. The sound of a short scuffle ended quickly and in the silence that ensued, only a quiet sobbing could be heard.

The sobbing drew nearer. I looked expectantly at the door as Texas Jane brought Squirrel Alice into the kitchen, blood dripping from the side of her face. I didn’t hesitate.

“Sit her down here at the table and get me hot water, rags, needle, and thread, silk thread if possible.”

A moment later, Suzzette came in as I was using the water and a rag to wash Squirrel Alice’s face. She had a long, but shallow cut from her ear on down the side of her cheek. I got it clean and held a compress on it while I waited for the needle and thread.

“What happened?” I asked while I waited.

Suzzette answered, “A young regular here came in already heavily drunk. When the girls tried to politely dissuade him from drinking more, he grew belligerent and pushed Alice here. When she stepped back in his face, he flashed a small stiletto. She almost got clear, that’s why the cut’s so shallow. He all but missed her.”

By that time, needle and thread appeared on the table. I motioned to the girl who brought Alice into the kitchen, “You, help me.”

“The name’s Texas Jane, Clara. What can I do to help?”

“Keep the wound cleaned as I stitch it up, please.”

I deftly threaded the needle with the fine silk thread and just as deftly, sewed in fifteen stitches without blinking an eye. As I was carrying out the stitching, I asked, “What happened to the young man?”

Suzzette again, answered, “He was given enough laudanum to keep him sleeping the rest of the night. I’ve several rooms in the basement for just that purpose. He meant no real harm and we don’t want to embarrass him or his family any more than is necessary. He’ll be sent home to his wife in the morning when he wakes up. We don’t involve the police unless absolutely necessary.”

I finished the stitching and sat back to examine my work. I didn’t think there would be more than the finest hairline of a scar.

Hi Tan Szu, known as “Tan Sue” for obvious reasons, introduced herself and asked in her cute, accented voice, “Where ever did you learn to do that?”

“I had lots of practice stitching up my father after he’d come home from a bar fight after work. He’d get cut up pretty bad sometimes and we’d no money for doctors.”

“Well,” said Suzzette, “Alice can see a doctor tomorrow, though I doubt she’ll need much attention from him, other than pain relief and we have plenty of things for pain right here.”

Igor returned from putting the young man to bed. He smiled at me as Suzzette showed him what I’d just done for Squirrel Alice.

“I do believe,” Suzzette continued, “that we’ll find Clara a welcome addition to our family.”

“If I might interrupt, my working name is Summer Rose. Please call me by that name. Clara no longer really exists.”

None of the girls was productively engaged during this little interlude and most had gathered in the Kitchen before all was said and done. Suzzette introduced me to the rest of them. Besides Squirrel Alice and Texas Jane, I met Fat Ass Phyllis, French Sally, Queenie, Short Sue, Dusty Jemimma, and Gundred. I was officially christened Summer Rose in these introductions.

“Alright, girls, fun’s over, back to the parlor and to work. That’s provided all your appointments show up tonight.”

Igor and I remained in the kitchen to continue our talk. As I said before, some of my knowledge came from such discussions with Igor and the rest from my long experience “in the life.”

Back to the kinds of “bad girls.” “Basically, Miss Cl–ah, Rose, there are two kinds–those women who made their living primarily by offering paid sex and those who don’t. As a rule, the saloon or dance hall girl is member of the second class.”

“Why is that, Igor?”

“Because their job is to brighten the evenings of lonely men starved for female companionship. Such women dance with the men, entertain them, sing to them, talk to them, flirt with them, dance with them.”

“But they don’t fuck them, right?”

“Yes, Miss Rose. Above all, such bargirls or dance-hall girls attempt to keep the men at the bar or otherwise buying liquor from the establishment, kaçak iddaa for the both of them. The girls, of course, actually drink cold tea, pink lemonade, or colored sugar water kept in a prominently labeled bottle and served in a shot glass.”

“The drinks are purchased by the ‘gentleman’ at the full price of whiskey. The gents got the cheap, rot got whiskey. The full price for whiskey ranges from ten to seventy-five cents a shot or two to eight dollars per quart bottle. The quality of the whiskey determines the price. Champagne goes for five dollars a magnum.”

“Nice profit for the owner, eh, Igor?”

“Quite right, Miss Rose.”

“What about those of us who sell our sex for money, Igor.”

“Well, Miss Rose, proper ladies pretend to ignore the existence of prostitution. But those same ladies secretly talk and gossip about it in private with one another. The rest of society, however, doesn’t ignore prostitution.”

“Why not, Igor?”

“Because, Miss Rose, inevitably, in a country where men routinely outnumber women by two or three to one–sometimes more, and in a culture that tends to consider sexual urges shameful, a need arises.”

“And that need is for someplace for all those men to vent their sexual urges somewhere other than on the proper ladies of society.”

“Yes, Miss Rose.”

“And, Igor, are there not enterprising persons ready, willing, and able to satisfy that need?”

“Exactly so, Miss Rose.”

“Interesting world, Igor. So now, what of the ‘ladies of the night’.”

“Well, Miss Rose, as in all occupations, there is a pecking order. The women who live in “good houses,” the fancy bordellos such as this one, consider themselves the cream of the crop. These women scorn those who work in (or out) of saloons, dance halls, and theaters.”

“At the bottom of the scale are the girls who operate independently, without the backing of madams or the luxury of parlor houses.”

“Who are those girls, Igor?”

“Such bottom of the barrel working girls, Miss Rose, are in the towns and mining camps. These girls tend to live in segregated districts where their little cabins or “cribs” line the back alleys of saloon row or very close by. Each tiny, poorly constructed shack usually consists of a front bedroom and a little back kitchen and are illuminated by red lamps and curtains. In place of street numbers, the names of the girls are posted in the window or or glass door fronts.”

“Sounds like and awfully grubby and dangerous way to live, Igor.”

“Yes.”

“However, Miss Rose, the vast majority of prostitutes work out of bordellos. The polite term for such is, ‘parlor house’. In the upscale kind, like Suzzette’s, only wine and champagne are served. The ladies of the house wear evening gowns and can only be seen by appointment. Between assignations, the ladies and their callers are quite frequently entertained by musicians, dancers, singers, jugglers, and the like.”

“And the Madam of the house provides the support and protection of the girls.”

“Again, correct, Miss Rose.”

“Each girl pays Suzzette fifty dollars a week for board and room and up to that much again each week for laundry and incidentals. The less ‘fancy’ the establishment, the lower the fees the girls pay to the Madam and the lower the fees they can charge patrons.”

“On the other hand, here at Suzzette’s, you could earn twenty dollars for a quickie and fifty or more dollars for an all nighter. Costs and fees depended upon age, popularity, and overall earning ability, and just how fancy the parlor house pretends to be.”

“In other words, Rose, if you’re good, you can expect to earn $120 to $350 or more a week and expect to keep from $60 to $250 or more a week for yourself. Of course, any tips are all yours. Suzzette will take a percentage of your total income above the stated fees, as her profit.”

“How much?”

“At the moment, I don’t know. Depends on too many things. But It will be a minimum of five per cent.”

“Tell me about the ‘other’ parlor houses, Igor.”

“Well, by contrast, the less pretentious bordellos are called a “honky-tonks” or just plain whorehouse, or worse. In those places, there is little subtlety about the whores, their patrons, or what the purpose of the visit is.”

“Interesting, Igor. Tell me more.”

“The straight on approach in such houses is pretty much standard–‘Hello, Toots’, or whatever, a five minute dalliance at the bar, hearty laughter, and then an arm-in-arm promenade to her upstairs personal room or crib out back.”

But, one thing I found out quickly and was indelible in my mind. From the classiest whore to the lowliest crib girl, one fact stood paramount. Though they might be scorned by the “proper ladies” of society, such bad girls could still count on the respect of males.

The age of chivalry still existed. At least in the West, if a man failed to treat a woman of any kind with deference, he was likely to find himself flat on his back with a bloody kaçak bahis nose, while a pale, furious avenger stood over him, reading him a brief but potent lecture on how to treat a lady.

Any man who mistreated a woman became a social outcast. A man who insulted a lady was, sooner or later, was set upon by a group and badly beaten, or worse. There were few things considered as bad as a woman-killer no matter under what circumstances he killed. Such men were often hunted down and themselves viciously killed.

******

Sometime in the late wee hours, Suzzette came into the kitchen and declared, “We’re closing up. Time to turn in. Rose, come with me, please.”

I followed Suzzette to her room. It was obvious to me and everyone else, for that matter, that from the first contact the afternoon before, I had become Suzzette’s pet fancy. I didn’t know if this would be a good thing or a bad thing, but I knew it would likely cause trouble with at least some of the other girls. No one really like the new kid on the block floating to the top right off the bat.

“I fancy you more than than I should, Rose. I’ve a few, very select men customers, but you do something else for me. A lot else as a matter of fact.”

Suzzette pulled me into a tight embrace as she spoke. “Does my nibbling on your ear excite you, Rose? How ’bout kissing your jaw and your neck, like this?”

Her caresses were beguiling. Our lips touched, opened. Tongues entwined. “Mmmm,” was all either of us could say.

My clothes seemed to melt away as Suzzette caressed her way down my body, down, down…

“Oh my God, Suzzette, your tongue does wonders on my clit. Don’t stop.”

She didn’t. My arousal was jumping up the scale faster than a galloping horse. She added first one, then two, then three fingers into my cunt hole as she continued to work my clit with her tongue.

Then, BANG! I more than climaxed with heaving shudders, pants, and groans as Suzzette kept her face buried in my bush. I lay still, gasping for breath.

Suzzette rose from her knees. “Now, undress me, Rose.”

I did. Now it was I who kissed my way down from neck to boobs.

“Do you like my tongue on your neck? How ’bout here on your nipple. My, Suzzette, what long firm nipples you have.”

“The better for you to kiss, my little dove.”

“You mean your ‘soiled’ little dove, yes?”

“Doesn’t matter, Rose, just suck them.”

I spent a long time licking, kissing and sucking on those nipples and mouthing her boobs along with the valley between them. Her nipples erected more than I’d ever seen on a woman before, not that I’d really seen that many erect nipples yet.

Once side-by-side on the bed, our fingers delved into the pussy of the other. We were both humping against those fingers in record time. Both of us were releasing sufficient pussy fluid to coat our crotches.

“I’ve a little surprise for you, Rose.”

That’s when Suzzette leaned away from me for a second and brought out her little toy–a dildo.

“It’s imported from France, Rose. If you like it, I can get one for you as well.”

I liked it.

That damned dildo felt so real, so lifelike as its bulbous head split my pussy folds and entered my love gate. Then, to my utter pleasure, the rest of that pseudo, very long and thick fuck stick disappeared from sight to my ecstatic moans of pleasure. That time, my climaxed was even stronger than the first one. The orgasm just kept rolling over me as I curled into a fetal ball.

After I calmed some and was once again able to fully stretch out, Suzzette’s face returned to my love nest to lovingly lick me clean.

Then it was my turn to reciprocate. As I slowly pushed the dildo in and out of her pussy, Suzzette pushed back into my hand.

“You like that, do you, Suzzette?”

She emitted a continuous low growl of pleasure from her throat as my answer. I could feel her climax building just before it burst over her and my hand. She went rigid with release and then collapsed with a contented sigh.

“Stay with me tonight, Rose. Sleep with me.”

How could I refuse the lady’s request, especially as she was my boss on top of it all?

In the morning, the very late morning, Suzzette sat up in bed and told me her plans for the day.

“You and I will go shopping today to get you some proper gowns. After all, we’re not a honky-tonk. Then we are going to advertise you as a sixteen year old virgin. You look young enough. We can easily disguise the fact that you’re not really a virgin.”

“Really?”

“Yes. And decked out in the gown I’ve got in mind from Lou’s Millenary, you’ll look like the Queen of Hearts and more. Then we’ll charge a tidy little sum for the privilege of ‘taking your cherry’. I’ll pay for the clothes and accessories for now, but I’ll put it on your house tab.”

“And afterwards?”

“Afterwards, Rose, you won’t be able to charge that one time fee again, but I think you’re special enough to charge above average because of your age and looks. Get it while you can. Girls age fast in this business. And, unless they’re very very lucky, they end up in the cribs when their looks are gone.”

“I’ll never end up there. I’d die first, Suzzette.”

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