Regina and the Hardcase Pt. 01

"Never on the bed you miserable, filth ridden whore. Never, never, never!"

New Arrival

The stagecoach rumbled to a shaky stop. The coachman set the brake and jumped off the seat. The powdered New Mexico puffed up like fine talc around his worn boots. The door flung open and Ruthie paused for a moment before gathering up her skirts and accepting the blistered hand of the coachman.

"Ma'am" he coughed out, attempting to muster a gentleman's poise.

Ruthie accepted his hand and noted the rough and ragged feel. The tell-tale signs of years of holding the leather strap that commanded his horse team to run their course. She tried not to cringe as she imagined such a leathery appendage against the silk of her folds. She said a quiet prayer that she would not be attending to him later that evening.

"Surely not" she thought. Keeng had plans for her. He had promised. This coachman would not have the money to rent her for five minutes. No, she would not have to worry about those ragged clubs trying to penetrate her most delicate of places.

"Only for a gentleman" she accidentally said aloud. The coachman smiled and gave her a slight bow. She was relieved that he could not read her mind and she feigned a smile at him as she stepped out of the coach.

She could feel the leers as she slowly stepped into the saloon. She was used to being stared at. She liked it, and it would be good for business. The johns that couldn't afford her would get so worked up they would double the earnings of the cut rate girls. Her presence was indeed a boon to the whole operation and she was certain she would see better rates than she did in that dive in Muscle Shoals, or was it Medina. She stopped for a moment, amused that she couldn't actually remember where she had just come from. "Now if I could just get a look at the ceiling, I would surely remember!" She covered her mouth with her handkerchief to stifle the giggle.

Ruthie Sutton was a whore. For as long as she could remember she had been turning tricks to earn her living. Many girls in her situation had a story. One of those stories that makes a person genuinely feel bad for her. "Oh, she became a prostitute to care for her brothers and sisters after her parents were unceremoniously slaughtered by some unpronounceable tribe of local savages." Or "She has a beloved relative in captivity in a far away land that requires an insurmountable ransom to rescue, and she is feverishly earning that money with two bit tit squeezes and two dollar blow jobs". No, Ruthie had no story like that. She was the daughter of a wealthy parson in Canton, Ohio and she absolutely hated that life. She could not stand having religion crammed down her throat, and she hated the promise of a prudish life as a "minister's wife", so she ran away. Ruthie quite unashamedly liked sex, and she liked money. She was very good at her profession and she commanded a hefty sum for her attention. Keeng was a tough negotiator, but Ruthie was certain she was one of the only girls that got to keep seventy percent - an almost unheard of split for this territory. She was wet with the thought of raw silver piling up in her horde. Ruthie slowed her stride and looked around, taking in the view of her new home, the Promenade.

The Promenade was the largest of the town drinking holes, and boasted a brothel with "clean" companionship. Keeng Phelps, proprietor, pimp, and bartender built the older portion of the building with lumber he scavenged from a frigate that had fallen prey to a Confederate iron clad. He named the hotel-saloon combo the Promenade, but had stopped correcting people on the pronunciation years ago.

"It's Prahhhh men ahhhhd" he used to scold. In time, he learned to accept the Americanized pronunciation and even named a gin infused lemon drink "Promenade" as a play on "Lemonade" and a high brow jab at his clientele.

Born in poverty, Keeng had struggled most of his life trying to live up to his name which his illiterate mother had intended to be "King". Sadly, the midwife's assistant was almost as illiterate and spelled his name with two e's instead of the traditional "i". Phelps has attributed his life of "almosts" to the fact that his name is almost correct. Keeng has a reputation far and wide for being one of the most reasonable pimps in the business. The fact that he preferred men over women helped him keep the interest in his stable more profit oriented, at least the female stable that is.

The gunshot rang out, echoing off the wooden walls of the small town, startling everyone in Ruthie's view. She ran over to the window of the saloon to see what was happening.

She felt a hand clasp around her upper arm. A strong hand, but a feminine hand none the less. She wheeled on the perpetrator that dared to touch her. "Let go of my arm bitch!" she growled as she locked eyes with the woman. The woman relaxed her grip slightly and looked her back in the eyes.

"You ain't from 'round here honey, so I'm gonna tell you how things is." The woman's hazel eyes burned right through Ruthie with the look of a concerned parent. "We don't watch gunfights here sweetheart. Dem boys don't always hit what they aimin' at and we can't have no shot whores up in here."

Ruthie felt her posture relax. The woman spoke like she remembered many locals in Alabama, yet she knew from the woman's posture that she was genuinely concerned for her well being. This had to be the Madarma as Keeng had called her.

Regina May Barrister was indeed from Alabama. Born to a wealthy family of cotton growers, she had been fairly well pampered until the war. Her father and brothers had all been lost fighting in the war. Her family's slaves had excused themselves from further servitude and Regina left home when the Union troops set fire to the back fields. She did not stay and wait to witness worse. She had no sisters, and her mother had passed delivering her youngest brother. There was nothing left for her in Alabama. The curvy brunette had started her life as a prostitute in Atlanta. She made a handsome living laying the rebel troops that wondered in from time to time, no doubt without permission from their commanders. When Sherman came through Atlanta, she once again felt the fire against her back as she left the town behind.

Regina met up with Keeng in Texas. She was whoring in Abilene and he had come in to play piano in the joint. Keeng had taken a lot of ridicule from the cowpokes for his "womanly" mannerisms, but the girls all looked out for him. When Keeng called for Regina to come work for him, he promised she would be his "Madarma" a word he made up meaning "chief whore".

"Git reddy hun, the boys always come in whoney after they been a killin' " Regina said with a smile on her face. "Git it ready gurls" Regina shouted to upper balcony leading to the rooms upstairs.

Neddy ran into the Saloon. He was always the first one in to report the news, hoping to get a discount drink and a free feel or two in return for delivering the news to the staff. He quickly threw himself on the stool and Keeng gently set a shot down in front of him urging him to begin. Neddy Jules, town drunk and gossip, lubricated his tongue with the watered down whisky, and as he placed his hand folded in his lapel, he made his announcement.

"Earl Rate is dead. Yup, uhm hmm. Hamilton McRae shot him dead in the street. I saw the whole thing." he proudly announced.

"And McRae, is he alright? Was he shot?" Regina asked trying to mask her panic.

As Neddy reached for Regina's leg, running his hand up her skirts a little toward her upper thigh, his smile had an almost lizard-like quality. Regina knocked his hand away.

"Out with it Neddy" she growled through her clenched teeth.

Neddy wiggled his empty shot glass in the air and Keeng refilled it habitually.

"Naw...the hardcase is fine. He is always fine" Ned sneered as he slowly sipped the shot; leering at Regina out of the corner of his eyes as he made the slurping sound.

Regina was visibly relieved and she began to primp herself. She knew that Hamilton "Hardcase" McRae always came in for a roll after he killed someone and she was his favorite whore.

Hamilton McRae was not the typical gunfighter. He had the look of an over-fed banker. He dressed in fine clothing that helped hide the paunch he had cultivated over his routine biscuits and gravy breakfast. He wore a pinstriped long coat and a red satin vest. His black gun belt held two matching pistols that were still smoking as he stood in the doorway to the saloon. His long dark hair hung like a curtain under his understated hat. His piercing eyes scanned the room through his heavily bearded face. To the casual observer, Hamilton appeared more of a dandy than a gunslinger. It was obvious the man made his living out of the sun and without breaking a sweat. Yet he carried himself with the confidence of a Texas Ranger. He was both alluring and nondescript, and he walked like he owned everything he surveyed.

Ruthie found herself astonished at the sight of the man.

"This is him?' she thought to herself. 'He doesn't look like a gunfighter". She had a vision of a v-shaped ruffian with leather chaps and trail dust. She found his low-cut gambler hat a stark disappointment compared to the outrageous ten gallon hats so popular amongst the wannabe cowpokes in the Deep South.

"I'll have him eating out of my hand" she smiled as she thought to herself. This was exactly the type of money she was used to getting and for very little effort. After all, he probably finishes half way before he starts like the presby deacons she used to service in Alabama. She gently placed her hands on her hips with a slight wiggle, watching his face to see if he noticed.

Hamilton noticed. He noticed everything. His very life depended on every detail.

"She is new" he said looking at Keeng.

"She is" Keeng said beaming "Now Mr. McRae, she is a little different; the normal price doesn't apply to her. She is here to entertain the men of quality in town." "Like yourself, of course." he nervously corrected.

"Right, let's give you a roll then shall we?" McRae looked at the smug blonde.

"Payment up front for this one Mr. McRae" Keeng said. Hamilton flashed him a glare, his eyes narrowed at the finely dressed man. His hand slowly reached into his vest. Keeng did not flinch. With a lightning motion Hamilton drew a small leather bag and threw it at Keeng.

"Fair enough then" He said and turned his gaze back to Ruthie "C'mon you, let's go".

"My name is..." Ruthie started

"Don't care" Hamilton said without tone.

Regina shouldn't have been surprised that she would be passed over for new pussy. It only made sense that Hamilton would want to break in the new girl, yet she felt her skin warming at the thought, her stomach knotted a little and she realized her fists were clenched. She pursed her lips and cocked her head at Keeng. He shrugged and looked toward the stairs where Ruthie and Hamilton were progressing.

"Room nine Mr. McRae, please" Keeng yelled toward the stairs.

Hamilton waved his hand over his shoulder in acknowledgement. Regina's face lit up and she leaned across the bar and placed an excited kiss on Keeng's cheek. "You are welcome, dearie" he said to Regina as she darted off to the back steps.

Keeng was an innovator and a bit of a dreamer. He had built the saloon like a king designing a palace. He had tunnels and secret doors everywhere. He wanted to make sure he and his staff had ways to escape in the event of a mishap. What the hardcase did not know, was that room nine has a viewing room adjacent to it. Some of Keeng's clientele like to watch, so he had a special room built to facilitate the needs of his diverse clientele. Regina was already there by the time Hamilton and Ruthie arrived in room nine.

Ruthie and Hamilton stood near the bed. As often as both had done this, one would have thought there would be no awkward moment in the beginning. Hamilton scanned Ruthie up and down. She had long curly blonde hair; her skin was pale and slightly freckled. She had a longish neck that Hamilton was certain he could snap with three fingers. Ruthie sensing the discomfort, and being used to having to take the initiative with the little boys she was accustomed to, began to undress.

She removed her skirts, she had no bustle as she had just come off the coach ride and she knew enough that ride would have been a special kind of hell with the added bulk. Her alabaster legs were shapely. She was by no means skinny but she was a bit less fed than Hamilton was used to seeing. She saw Hamilton's gaze go to her legs and she quickly turned around showing off her well formed ass. She pretended to struggle with her corset.

"Would you be a gentleman for me?" she asked playfully. Hamilton dutifully untied her corset. It joined the skirt on a chair near the bed. Hamilton looked at it for a moment, laughing inwardly at how often there is a chair sitting right next to a bed with the sole purpose of holding removed clothing. Why not just place a rack there to hang the clothes on, instead of the pretense of someone actually sitting in the chair. "People are silly in what they do sometimes" he thought to himself.

Ruthie was completely naked and clearly comfortable in her nudity. Hamilton reached for the indentations in her waist that the unforgiving corset had left behind. He gently rubbed the area, feeling the texture.

"His hands are so soft" Ruthie thought to herself, again surprised by this man standing before her. She couldn't remember having such soft hands on her body; even the women she had been with had rough hands. She felt the skin tighten, and the goose bumps spread in waves outward from her abdomen. Hamilton smiled as her nipples wrinkled into shape. She was smaller busted than his favorite whore, but the teardrop shaped breasts seemed to stand out from her body as though she still wore a corset. His hand traced the underside of each breast in turn. Again the goose bumps came in waves over Ruthie's body. Hamilton was very pleased at how she responded to his touch.

He looked down at her yellow triangle and quickly looked Ruthie in the eyes.

"Unshaved?" he said genuinely puzzled.

Ruthie put a hand on her hip and shifted her weight in disgust.

"Why would I be?" she said cocking her head slightly to one side. "I don't carry crabs honey, and I won't lie with anyone that is likely to give them to me."

"I can't see it though." Hamilton said with mild disappointment.

"Oh it's there darlin' " she playfully reassured. "Here, see for yourself" and she grabbed Hamilton's hand rubbing it against her wet lips.

Hamilton smiled "Wet. You are wet already" he said surprised.

"Of course I am honey, it wants you." She said with a confident look.

Ruthie had always had the ability to lubricate almost on command. It was one of the features that made her such a good whore. She required very little foreplay to make the spot ready for her clients. It was a skill she had a great deal of pride in.

--

"Scrawny bitch" Regina thought to herself as she watched through the eye holes in the wall. Still though, Regina enjoyed seeing the blonde's body and wondered what it felt like.

"Now, I'm all ready. Let's get you ready, honey." Ruthie said playfully looking at Hamilton. She stepped back on one heel and scanned him top to bottom.

"Now, let's see, what shall we take off first..." She raised her hand to her mouth gently biting a cuticle in thought.

"I know. The hat!" she said. She playfully removed Hamilton's hat and quickly turned it around. She set it on her head cocked over to one side.

She smiled and playfully made a gun shape with her hand, pointing it at Hamilton. His eyes narrowed. She moved her "hand gun" and pointed it at her pussy. "Pooogh" she whispered as she fired the pretend gun at herself. She giggled and playfully wiggled her eyebrows at Hamilton, biting the corner of her lip just slightly. She reached up and grabbed the hat by its brim and with a fluid motion she withdrew it and tossed it gently on the bed.

Hamilton's eyes flashed. The look on his face changed instantly. Ruthie felt his hand on her head and did not remember seeing his hand move. His fingers raked her scalp and he drew his hand into a tightly clenched fist gathering her hair with it. She felt his knuckles against her skull, and realized in an instant that she was no longer in control.

Hamilton slowly and deliberately steered the surprised girl toward the hat; leaned her over the bed, making her struggle for balance. Ruthie was certain she was being held over the hat by the fistful of hair. She had surrendered in a flash.

"Never on the bed, you miserable filth ridden whore. Never, never, never!" Hamilton growled through his clenched teeth. Ruthie could feel the spray of his saliva falling to her shoulder.

"Are you trying to get me killed you miserable bitch?!" Hamilton growled.

Ruthie tried to answer but her lips would not form the words to apologize. She instead found herself gasping for air and struggling to maintain her balance. She felt the hand on her right ass cheek before she heard the sound. The prickly feeling of fire resonated across her skin. The next slap found her left cheek; she felt her whole body move which in turn jerked against her scalp pulling her hair tighter. She could feel her eyes begin to water. Another slap delivered more fire to her silky round posterior. All she could manage was a grunt.

"You never, fuck-ing put...my...hat...on...a...god...damned...bed" each syllable delivered with a fiery hand. Ruthie felt dizzy as she clenched her eyes shut. She could hear sobbing, and was surprised to discover the sound was coming from her. Hamilton continued. Each smack, each wave of pain, she felt herself leaving her body. She could hear herself cry and grunt with each strike. Hamilton had stopped yelling now, but the right hand continued its sinister rhythm.

She hadn't been spanked since she was a child. She certainly didn't remember it hurting this bad. The pain forked its way through her body like fire in a canyon. She could hear the tear drops as they splashed against the beaver felt hat. Her body moved in response to each smack. For an instant, she thought she was going numb because she no longer felt pain. Instead, she felt a pulsing wave of pleasure that was very foreign. She had never experienced such bliss, and by the time she was aware that she might climax, she already had. She could faintly hear her breath quicken. Another orgasm seized her body. She heard her gurgled sound and realized she had just drooled all over the bed. She did not seem to care that she was now thrusting her ass toward Hamilton's hand, anticipating each strike. She felt the warm liquid running down her thighs, she thought about what was happening, and came again.

She tried to open her eyes, but the room was too bright. Her tear soaked eye lashes stuck together making it difficult to open them wider than a slit. The room spun around her, and she quickly closed them and climaxed. She felt his fingers against her furry lips. She couldn't tell which felt softer, her silky folds or his manicured fingers. She quickly stopped caring as she felt a finger press against the front wall of her wet hole. The finger had found its way in to an undiscovered spot, one she could not reach herself. The pressure was heavy and she could feel the strong finger writhing into position. She heard herself groan as the finger began to slam against the spot inside. Quicker and harder...she felt herself swelling inside. Like a sock filling with water, she could feel her inside swelling shut, but the finger would not relent. It kept hammering away. She could hear screaming now, and again was surprised to learn it was coming from herself. She slammed herself against the hand. Hamilton yanked her head back still holding her hair.