tagFirst TimeDavy Knew a Tainted Dove

Davy Knew a Tainted Dove

bydannychellette©

Davy Stoddard walked into Hoss Harry's Saloon in Cheyenne, Wyoming, pausing at the swinging doors to swallow his fear as subtly as he could muster before he fixed his eyes on the first open bar stool. Trying to affix a swagger in his stride, he made his way through a bevy of tables loaded with various folks whose faces reported their lives like old newsprint. Most of their eyes looked as if they were wanted somewhere for something and glared at him as if he was the instrument of their calling to a docket. Slinging his possessions, trundled into a gunny sack, over his shoulder, His eyes fell to the women sitting with men at tables, fanning themselves and smiling at him automatically.

He was eighteen, slightly built and without a gun. He wore no star on his new gingham shirt and could barely muster a few chin whiskers to make him look any older.

The other men on the trail up from Abilene had given him the nickname, Milquetoast as a result of his youth and his naivety about the ardors of the long ride driving 70 head of cattle north to the slaughterhouses that would process them into dried jerkstrip and saddle leather, destined for the 7th Cavalry units up in Oregon chasing the elusive Chief Joseph into Canada. It was his first cattle drive, his first time of note away from home and, he had decided after getting paid, his last time.

The route up from Kansas was rough, his cohorts merciless in their chiding and joking at his expense, despite his holding up his end of the job. He was tired, twenty pounds lighter than when he started. But $125 richer. It was the most money he had ever held in his hand in his young life.

The men had particularly ribbed him for not knowing a woman in the Biblical sense. Early on the trail, he got caught trying to diddle with himself under his bedroll and never heard the end of it. Every time he would shy away from the men to water the chaparral, inevitably one of them would catcall to the others about ole Milquetoast firing his gun off and hitting nothing again. Cognizant of the old hands watching him for another such session, he had relented from doing that again. It was a thing he had liked to do very much at home, in the privacy of his room, which he was luckier than many in that he did not share it with a sibling. Now after twenty days of being saddle-sore, poked fun at, worked like a slave, and finally paid in full, he bellied up to the bar and sat there waiting for someone to prod him into what he should do next.

He had never been in a saloon before.

"Boy, I hope your mama sent you with enough of her egg money to pay." A gruff, heavily bearded man, a behemoth whose face and slight accent gave him away as a Russian from up Alaska way. A couple of mangy drunks next to Davy snickered. He drew in a deep breath and tried his best grown-man's glare.

"I got at least two pennies from her satchel. That's more than enough to buy this crumby place and two just like it, ain't it?" He smiled and tossed a silver dollar on the bar. The barkeep smiled and pointed at him to a fellow to whom he had been talking.

"Ain't old enough to piss a hole in the ground yet. But he gonna sass me in my own joint." He chuckled. His name was Peodor but everyone for a hundred miles knew him as Hoss Harry. Wiping his hands on a towel that Davy looked at and reckoned did more harm than good cleaning off those big Russian hands, Hoss sauntered over to him and propped up a giant boot on crate. "We ain't got no milk and biscuits in here, sonny."

"That's great to hear. I was hoping for a rye and some company." Davy smiled like a man, but inside his boy's heart pounded. He never had felt so young and out of place. He felt both the casual and the focused gazes of a few dozen patrons prickling on his back. His neck sweated.

"Whiskey and cunny, eh?" Hoss roared. "You sure your mama would allow her baby's meat to be wiped by another woman? You don't look much like you're more than five months out of your nappies, Babyface."

"I got cash money and a raging case of the needins, barkeep. I done rode up with seventy head from Kansas. I'm tired, I'm hungry, I'm thirsty and if you got any tainted doves around here, I'm needing a bath with a friend. I like mine with a bosom if you got any. But if you ain't, just make sure they're fresh." Davy glowered, trying to lie to rest any fresh insults upon his manhood. "I don't need some old roan old enough to be my mama."

Hoss smiled at the boy's nuts and pulled up a bottle of Moseby's. "So be it, young man. You got money, you man enough for me." He laid a shot glass on the bar.

"Leave that bottle, if you please." Davy said.

"That's two more dollars than your one, sonny." Davy pocketed the dollar and slapped a ten-dollar gold piece on the bar.

"I'll be taking my bottle to a room, sir."

"Suit yourself." Hoss stacked another shot glass in the first one and pushed the bottle and the glasses toward the young man, chuckling along with a few of the other drinkers sitting and watching. "For the night, it's a fiver."

Davy slid the gold coin toward Hoss. "Keep the change. Where's my bunk?"

Hoss pulled a key from a row of keys nailed to the wall behind him. "Number Eight. I'm sending Evie to take care of that bathing for you. You a lucky man she's free."

"I thank you." He snatched up the bottle, key and glasses. "What's the best place to eat around Cheyenne?"

"Rooming house four streets over. Name of Regina's. But don't you be bringing Evie over there. They don't take kindly to fallen women eating over at Regina's. Regina likely shoot you for that."

"Thanks for the warning." Davy tipped his new Stetson and walked up the stairs. When he was on the other side of the door, he flattened against it, exhaling nervously. For all his bluster, he had never been so scared in his life. Until he realized he had just ordered up a girl for his pleasure. His first time for pleasure. Then, his apprehension turned to sheer giddy panic.

Not knowing what to do, his first thought was to hit the privy. It had been weeks since he saw a proper WC.

When he was finished, he paced around the room, wondering what protocols one took when a woman of leisure was on her way. There was a tub in a parlor room with a wood-burning stove still smoldering from whoever left the room prior. A hand pump was fixed to pour fresh water from a cistern into a giant pail left full on the stove. A sort of pipe-funnel contraption was fixed to the lip of the pail so someone could sit in the tub, push a lever, and let in some hot water by gravity at his want. He put some kindling in the stove and got a flame blown up. Truth be told, he would just as easily been satisfied to sit in a cold bath. The sun was a never-ending menace to him on the trail. Cool was better than hot but he figured hot baths were the norm. Besides, his nerves were wired with all kinds of thoughts about his prick's appearance to a woman for the first time. More than one, he had come out of a river and found all his manhood shriveled and soaked up in his crotch. It was a curiosity of the loins that he did not understand, but it made him laugh to see. If it were funny for him to see, a woman would definitely laugh. Just as the hands he rode up with had laughed.

When he had the water in the tub near about where he thought was warm enough and deep enough to use, he pored himself a shot of the rye. It burned like hell. But he figured it was normal and poured himself another. Just as the second wave of fiery steadiness hit his craw, a polite knock at the door startled him. He stood still, trying to gauge something of the woman just be replaying the sound of the demure knock. His heart pounded and he felt his loins respond in kind to the rush of blood. Evie, the barkeep had said...her name's Evie.

"Hello?" He spoke aloud.

"You ask for some company?" The voice was small, dainty.

"Hold on. Be right there, ma'am." He winced at his tone. Ma'am sounded so much like a young un's reply. Today, he was a man, not a young un, by God. He took a pull of the rye from the neck and stared at himself in the shaving mirror.

"You're a man, Davy Stoddard." He whispered to his reflection. The faded shine of the mirror made him look older. "Be a man." Sighing deeply to steady his nerves, he wiped his sweating palms repeatedly on his denim pants before he opened the door.

There stood Evie. She was gnawing on a piece of horehound candy. Young, Davy was happy to see. Something about her said...nervous, he thought perhaps.

"Ma'am." He took off his hat and laid it nervously across his chest. Wondering how obvious his prick was jutting through his pants, he almost covered it with his hat instead.

"Might I come in?" She smiled and threw a hand to her hip as she cocked it to one side. He thought it was contrived. Something she had been taught. He sized her up.

She was clad in a frilly red and black bustier with some black leggings that were cinched to a pair of garters that accentuated her white thighs. She had a self-assured smile but behind it, her brow was sweating. Her bosom was large. Her features were soft. Her voice syrupy sweet. She put rouge on her cheeks and some kohl around her eyes, giving her a tint of color on her otherwise pale face. Soft lips, a winning set of teeth...he was glad for that, and bright, smart eyes that beheld him as he did her for a pregnant instant.

"Yes, please. You Evie?"

"Absolutely." She walked past him. Her rear cheeks hung delectably from below the fringes of the lacy get-up. Any thoughts he had about hiding his hard pecker were demolished at the sight of those two cheeks. He had never seen an ass before. For that matter, he had never seen anything approaching a get-up like that on a woman, be she ugly or gorgeous as she was.

"You drinking all that yourself?" She pointed demurely at the rye as she sashayed by it.

"Not if I have some help."

She looked over her shoulder and wrinkled her nose. "No, honey. Me and whiskey ain't friendly. There's some tonic water and a glass in that drawer in that chest beside you. That would be fine." She walked over and pulled back the covers on the bed casually. "Hoss said you might be looking for some company all night?"

"Maybe." He fumbled about getting some water into a glass, shaking his hands while his heart pounded. Trying to look nonplussed, though, despite his prick pressing a tent in his trousers.

"I like that in a man. You kinda young. First time?" She raked her hair out of her face with a long sensuous finger. "It's okay if it is. We all got one, you know."

He debated whether to lie and decided not to do so. "You be my first, ma'am." He winced as he said ma'am from habit again. Dang it...

"Oh goody! I love that. Means you're clean. I am, too. Case you're wondering. I ain't been at this all that long. For money I mean. I was married, though. He got himself shot about a year ago, so don't you worry about spoiling another man's bride. Plenty of men beat you to the punch on that account, of course. But that also means I know what needs to be done and how it should be done."

"That's good to hear." He walked over and handed her the glass, the rye bottle in his other hand.

"My stars! You best calm that feller down a little bit if you want your dollar's worth, honey." She patted her hand on his pecker. "What's your name?"

"Davy."

She gripped his prick through his trousers with her hand and shook it. "Pleased to meet you, Davy." They both giggled. Her hand was abrupt but felt glorious even in jest.

"We're gonna have some fun, Davy. Don't fret. I'm an honest whore. I ain't out to cheat you, to rob you or give you less than your money's worth. You paid Hoss pretty nice so you gonna get real nice from Evie. That sound good?"

"Beyond good. It's the most awesome words I ever heard." They were. Uttered so simply and directly from the painted lips of an angel in his opinion. "I would like to have a bath. I done been on the trail up from Kansas. Rinsing off in some snowmelt ain't really much measure of a bath."

"You from down Kansas-way?" She took an unfussy draw of the tonic and set it down. Standing up, she offered a laced-gloved hand. "Let's get that bath drawn."

"I done got it drawed. I figured you wouldn't want to as much with me smelling like a cattle drive." He had smelled the men around him for weeks. He figured if he smelled a tenth as bad as they after weeks on a horse in the sun, it was impossible for any women to be within the length of the Montana Territory from him. "And I'm from Fort Smith, Arkansas originally."

"We get you men like that a lot." She walked him over to the tub. "It's sweet you was thinking about it though. Most men don't care about things like that. You're just adorable!" His prick flinched in rapid jerks at the sound of that. He was embarrassed about it. Davy could almost feel his seed trying to spurt just from the walk fully clothed to the tub.

Evie danced her fingers in the tub, admiringly. "That's a good temperature." She opened the stove to check the fire and got another pail heating. Satisfied she had everything in order, she turned to him.

"Well, let's have a look at you, Mister Davy." He stood motionless. Never having taken off his clothes in front of a woman before, he suddenly felt paralyzed. His hands nervously covered his erection, which he cursed for not going down even though it needed to be that way to get the jollies done. Evie licked her lips subtly and reached out for him as she sat on the lip of the claw-foot tub.

"I can help you, if you like. That your first trail drive? You don't strike me as a regular hand."

"It was. My last, too. I figure there's gotta be better ways to make a living."

"Poor thing! I bet you're worn slap out. It's a hard life, that driving. Here, come here." She reached over at his feet and patted her gartered thigh. "Gotta get you outta them heavy boots."

He shook his head and kicked them off on the floor. "Wouldn't be right puttin' some smelly feet next to something so pretty. I done been in the same woolens for a month. Best I keep most of me away from you until I get scrubbed up. Wouldn't want you to faint." He chuckled haltingly.

"So sweet! Ain't you just the sweetest thing!" Evie clasped her hands together and smiled behind her prayer. "Thank you Lord. Handsome and sweet to a working girl! You was raised right down there in Arkansas. Any more like you down there? I might pick up and move." He blushed. He did not fancy himself handsome.

She took a few steps and grabbed his shirttail, pulled it from his trousers. Unfastening the two buttons by the throat, she leaned forward and kissed him softly between his two nipples, which were as hard as spur spikes under the white gingham.

"New shirt?" She pulled it over his head and laid her soft hands on his nipples, feeling his chest.

"Yes it is. I figured after being in the same two pairs of clothes, it was time to get some new duds."

"You're a very handsome man." She stroked her hands over his belly. "So young. How old are you?"

"Eighteen."

"Same as me." She gave one of his nipples a teasing nip that devolved into a suck and flitter of her pink tongue. He gasped when she slid a hand down his trousers and cupped his balls in her palm, his prick laid against his belly and poking its head from the fabric. "That's a fine pecker. Make you a proud wife one day, I reckon." She looked down his pants to examine it with the thoroughness of an auctioneer checking a horse for defects. "You ain't been cut, neither. Have to make sure I get that all cleaned up under there for you."

"Are most men cut?" He noticed some of the hands had their nubbins trimmed at birth but had dared not ask about it.

"You see it more and more now. Of course, I ain't seen as many as the older women. But they talk, you know?"

"Does it look okay?" He swallowed hard. He had no idea what okay meant.

She smiled at him, amused and flirty-like, and with a quick jerk of her free hand had his trousers at his feet. He flinched in her hand reflexively and stood perfectly still, in shock. He was naked with a hard prick in a woman's hand. Though inside him was a swagger somewhere brought on by the fact that she was paid for and there was no need for formality or even small talk, the newness, that raw exposure of his sex publicly to a woman held him shy and motionless as a body in rigor mortis.

"It's a beautiful cock, Davy." She leaned forward and kissed it smartly, then released it. "Get in the tub and Evie will get you all ready for what must be done to make it smile. Kick out of them pants. I ain't gonna bite." He clumsily released the trousers from his snared feet and staggered into the tub. She dumped in some more hot water and fished a bar of lye soap from a cupboard.

"You want another shot of that whiskey, honey?" She called to him as she fetched a towel from beside the bed.

"Sounds good." He relaxed in the warm water, glad his prick had subsided a spell. He watched her gather up everything and come to him. His eyes beheld her buxom glory as she fixed her gaze on him. She held the shot glass mischievously and stuffed in between her breasts as she leaned over him and paused.

"Better than anything you ever drank from your mama's. Come get it." He leaned forward, feeling the soft skin of her breasts on his cheeks as he wrapped his mouth around the glass and tossed it back. Half of the whiskey sloshed on his chin as he gurgled on the hot rye. She laughed and splashed his face with the bath water.

"That's why I don't like whiskey. It's too harsh to swallow in one suck. She rubbed his face softly. "Would you like me to show my titties to you, Davy?"

He nodded, not trusting himself to open his mouth in fear of saying something dumb.

"I'm gonna take all this outfit off. But I'm gonna do it real slow for you. Would you like that?"

Again, he nodded. His prick was once again alive. She nodded at it, visible in the suds-free water. "Take your skin back so it can watch, too. I like to think they must just hate sitting in the dark under that skin all the time with nothing so nice as these titties to look at."

"I think you're right."

"I don't have to take it off if you don't want me to yet. I just hate to get my clothes wet when I scrub you down."

"No ma'am. We wouldn't want that." He wagered whether to tell her she was the first woman naked he had actually ever seen. He left it unsaid.

She sat on the bed, facing him as she unhooked the fastenings holding the leggings up, leaning forward so her bosom would hang down in her bustier. Staring at him, she rolled the leggings down her thighs and calves, smoothly, well practiced, dainty, and provocative.

"Raise your hips, honey. Let that prick have some air and let it see what it's been wanting all its life." He bucked his hips, holding his pecker out so that it periscoped from the water. "Roll that skin back, baby. Let that eye have a gander at these." She raised her arms above her head with the bottom of the red and black cover in her fists. Her breasts fell from beneath it and there she was, topless and wearing only a hint of red and black bloomers. He gasped at the glory of two dark nipples staring directly at him.

"Be glad you catching these before I done had a kid or two and I'm still young." She stood up and let him gaze upon her as he pulled back his foreskin and rubbed his prick delicately. "Us girls with a big pair make a lot more money into an older age than a lot of other girls, but the real money is when we got them where they can look right at a fellow."

"They're a sight."

"Can't take no credit for them. The Good Lord gives as he will to whoever he chooses."

"Amen."

She walked over to him, watching his eyes as they feasted on her breasts. She had been with a few first timers in her day. The look was universal from them. She liked that she was the first they had ever seen and would forever remember. It made her tingle down in her cunny, a rarity at work.

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