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Custer's Little Big Horn
- Thread starter Barbaria1
- Start date
are you saying you are a smart ass???Don't do that to my tight little!!!!It smarts
new episode of Custer coming later today ... watch for it. The episode, Tree, not my ass!! 
Oh... ok...View attachment 345974 new episode of Custer coming later today ... watch for it. The episode, Tree, not my ass!!
4. I laid naked for hours, face-down and spread-eagled on that filthy mattress, my poor backside burning from the terrible whipping I had received at the hand of Colonel George Armstrong Custer.
All the while in the saloon below the piano played, men laughed and shouted, fist fights broke out, and the girls squealed and giggled. Every now and then a couple would ascend the stairs and closet themselves for a quick tryst in one of the rooms along the hallway. I could hear the bed moving and the moans of pleasure right through the thin wall of my room.
Then everything went gradually quiet ... closing time. After a while, I hear footsteps and my door opens. I raise my head. It's Messaline come to get me. She sets a ring of keys down on the table and sings a little French ditty to herself as she busily sets about untying my wrists and ankles. Slowly I roll over and try to sit up. The room spins but I steady myself; then I throw my long legs over the side of the bed and she helps me to my feet.
Partially supporting me, Messaline leads me out into the hallway and down into the strangely quiet saloon below. We pass by overturned tables, broken bottles and chairs, cast off articles of female clothing, here and there a drunk sprawled on the floor.
Slowly, we make our way to the rear of the building, where we stop in her office. I am amazed at the richly appointed with paintings, the damask draperies, the desk of highly polished fine French wood, and a large chesterfield on which the form of my friend Wragg lies, reeking of alcohol and totally passed out. Messaline clearly does alright in this line of work.
I look at Wragg and then at Messaline. She nods in his direction and winks at me. "Poor sod," she says, "he lost all his money and his girl, so I took pity and gave him a nice place to sleep it off. He claims he is an English Lord or some such silly thing. Would you believe it looking at him? Nonetheless, who knows, he might be useful to us."
She cups her hand behind the flute of the green-shaded lamp adorning her desk, and gently blows the flame out. We leave, but I swear, despite the gloom, that Wragg opened one eye and leered at tight bare little butt as we passed by.
Out in the hall once again, I turn to Messaline, “I really must find a way to get to Fort Abraham Lincoln in the morning. Custer left without granting me the exclusive interview I was sent here to obtain. I must follow him and complete my assignment.”
“Hush ma chérie,” she murmurs, “you must rest, and you must forget him. Perhaps you would like to work for Messaline instead, no?”
“That’s very generous, but I am just not cut out to be a saloon girl, and I could never entertain men in one of those little rooms… it just wouldn’t be right … I am a good girl, I am. Now, seriously, Messa, I must go to Fort Abraham Lincoln as soon as possible.”
“All in good time, Barb. First we must clean you up. Then Messa will see what she can arrange. Perhaps I can hire Jolly to drive the buckboard and Siss and I will accompany you.”
“But what about the Indians? Is it safe for three women to travel to Fort Abraham Lincoln without military escort?”
“oh, oh … tshawwww ... these Indians, they are Sioux … Messa will speak French to them, perhaps give them little gift, no?”
With that, she takes me by the hand and leads me out the back of the establishment ... to what she calls the bathhouse … a wood paneled room, the centerpiece of which is an imported, claw-footed, cast-iron bath tub.
We enter. The air is steamy and the tub, filled nearly to the brim with hot sudsy water, is occupied by Siss ... her long blonde hair wrapped and piled on top of her head. She lies languidly in the bath water with only her shoulders and the swell of her full alabaster white breasts visible above the surface.
"Get in," orders Messaline, "there's just enough room in the tub for two."
"Well I ... I mean ... with Siss? You want me to get in the tub with Siss?"
"Do not be unquiet, Barb. The water will soothe, and the two of you can find ecstasy in each other's bodies, no?"
"Ummm. I never ... I mean ... with a woman, not even a man … well, I don’t know."
"Such naïveté. Mon dieu. Never been with a woman before? Tskkk tskkk. Must Messaline demonstrate?"
"No, no" I say as I straddle the side of the tub and slide one leg into the warm fragrant water; and then with a twist of my hips, I settle into the tub, gently jostling Siss and excusing myself repeatedly as I pull my other leg in.
Siss adjusts her position, making room for me, the water roiling around and sloshing over the side. To make more room, she lifts one leg and lies her calf on the rim of the tub, rivulets of water running down the soft inside of her thigh.
"Face each other now and scissor legs together. Yes, like so. Tres bien!" Messaline instructs.
The tub is cramped ... barely enough room to maneuver. We instantly come into contact beneath the surface of the sudsy water. Siss smiles and closes her eyes, resting her head back on the tub. My butt slides forward a little bit more as I wrap a leg up around and over her hip. We are touching ... down there!!! As our bodies dovetail beneath the surface of the water I feel an irrepressible tingle. I blush contentedly and lean back, eyes closed.
"Make good now," says Messaline as she departs, quietly closing the door behind her, and laughing quietly to herself.
TO BE CONTINUED
credit to Siss on this one for help with the plot
All the while in the saloon below the piano played, men laughed and shouted, fist fights broke out, and the girls squealed and giggled. Every now and then a couple would ascend the stairs and closet themselves for a quick tryst in one of the rooms along the hallway. I could hear the bed moving and the moans of pleasure right through the thin wall of my room.
Then everything went gradually quiet ... closing time. After a while, I hear footsteps and my door opens. I raise my head. It's Messaline come to get me. She sets a ring of keys down on the table and sings a little French ditty to herself as she busily sets about untying my wrists and ankles. Slowly I roll over and try to sit up. The room spins but I steady myself; then I throw my long legs over the side of the bed and she helps me to my feet.
Partially supporting me, Messaline leads me out into the hallway and down into the strangely quiet saloon below. We pass by overturned tables, broken bottles and chairs, cast off articles of female clothing, here and there a drunk sprawled on the floor.
Slowly, we make our way to the rear of the building, where we stop in her office. I am amazed at the richly appointed with paintings, the damask draperies, the desk of highly polished fine French wood, and a large chesterfield on which the form of my friend Wragg lies, reeking of alcohol and totally passed out. Messaline clearly does alright in this line of work.
I look at Wragg and then at Messaline. She nods in his direction and winks at me. "Poor sod," she says, "he lost all his money and his girl, so I took pity and gave him a nice place to sleep it off. He claims he is an English Lord or some such silly thing. Would you believe it looking at him? Nonetheless, who knows, he might be useful to us."
She cups her hand behind the flute of the green-shaded lamp adorning her desk, and gently blows the flame out. We leave, but I swear, despite the gloom, that Wragg opened one eye and leered at tight bare little butt as we passed by.
Out in the hall once again, I turn to Messaline, “I really must find a way to get to Fort Abraham Lincoln in the morning. Custer left without granting me the exclusive interview I was sent here to obtain. I must follow him and complete my assignment.”
“Hush ma chérie,” she murmurs, “you must rest, and you must forget him. Perhaps you would like to work for Messaline instead, no?”
“That’s very generous, but I am just not cut out to be a saloon girl, and I could never entertain men in one of those little rooms… it just wouldn’t be right … I am a good girl, I am. Now, seriously, Messa, I must go to Fort Abraham Lincoln as soon as possible.”
“All in good time, Barb. First we must clean you up. Then Messa will see what she can arrange. Perhaps I can hire Jolly to drive the buckboard and Siss and I will accompany you.”
“But what about the Indians? Is it safe for three women to travel to Fort Abraham Lincoln without military escort?”
“oh, oh … tshawwww ... these Indians, they are Sioux … Messa will speak French to them, perhaps give them little gift, no?”
With that, she takes me by the hand and leads me out the back of the establishment ... to what she calls the bathhouse … a wood paneled room, the centerpiece of which is an imported, claw-footed, cast-iron bath tub.
We enter. The air is steamy and the tub, filled nearly to the brim with hot sudsy water, is occupied by Siss ... her long blonde hair wrapped and piled on top of her head. She lies languidly in the bath water with only her shoulders and the swell of her full alabaster white breasts visible above the surface.
"Get in," orders Messaline, "there's just enough room in the tub for two."
"Well I ... I mean ... with Siss? You want me to get in the tub with Siss?"
"Do not be unquiet, Barb. The water will soothe, and the two of you can find ecstasy in each other's bodies, no?"
"Ummm. I never ... I mean ... with a woman, not even a man … well, I don’t know."
"Such naïveté. Mon dieu. Never been with a woman before? Tskkk tskkk. Must Messaline demonstrate?"
"No, no" I say as I straddle the side of the tub and slide one leg into the warm fragrant water; and then with a twist of my hips, I settle into the tub, gently jostling Siss and excusing myself repeatedly as I pull my other leg in.
Siss adjusts her position, making room for me, the water roiling around and sloshing over the side. To make more room, she lifts one leg and lies her calf on the rim of the tub, rivulets of water running down the soft inside of her thigh.
"Face each other now and scissor legs together. Yes, like so. Tres bien!" Messaline instructs.
The tub is cramped ... barely enough room to maneuver. We instantly come into contact beneath the surface of the sudsy water. Siss smiles and closes her eyes, resting her head back on the tub. My butt slides forward a little bit more as I wrap a leg up around and over her hip. We are touching ... down there!!! As our bodies dovetail beneath the surface of the water I feel an irrepressible tingle. I blush contentedly and lean back, eyes closed.
"Make good now," says Messaline as she departs, quietly closing the door behind her, and laughing quietly to herself.
TO BE CONTINUED
credit to Siss on this one for help with the plot
credit to Siss on this one for help with the plot
Of course credit to Siss for leading you down the road to hell and damnation and eternal fire and brimstone!!!- Rev. Lynch
Of course credit to Siss for leading you down the road to hell and damnation and eternal fire and brimstone!!!- Rev. Lynch
RacingRodent
Consul
If you had done your job and convinced 'General' Custer of the holy righteousness of bringing along the Gatling guns instead of bemoaning his "consorting with whores" then a lot of what is about to happen might have been avoided Chaplain Lynch
This is all too true, wise rodent!!! Haste makes waste and the Gatling guns would have made a huge difference! But then the mayhem about to descend on Barb and friends may have never happened!!!If you had done your job and convinced 'General' Custer of the holy righteousness of bringing along the Gatling guns instead of bemoaning his "consorting with whores" then a lot of what is about to happen might have been avoided Chaplain Lynch
P
Pia
Guest
What a lovely scene to imagine.... but I fear for their little trip - no good will come of it...
can't handle 'merican whisky, you fucking limey...Ohhhhh!
My poor head!
Why must they make such a racket in that tub!
RacingRodent
Consul
Handling was not the problem, hand on bottle, pour bottle into glass, glass in hand, to mouth, drink, repeat until fall over.
I fail to see what he did wrong
Whisky? Is that what you call it?
One day you yanks will get to the moon courtesy of that stuff!
Oh come now. I'm not such a bad buckboard driver, surely.
messaline
Crucified Amazon
Ooooh ! I dont agree ! My establisment was always clean ! ... at least, I suppose ...
I knew well such a man, by the past, but certainly in an other story ...
...and she even hasn't a place into the bath !!! I'm deceived ...
... of course that I'm !
LittleSiss
Sorceress
Yeah... you don't even 'fake it' well...
LittleSiss
Sorceress
Ohhhhh!
My poor head!
Why must they make such a racket in that tub!
Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh Siss .... I hear that old English crab ... Lord whateverheis ... complaining again
Handling was not the problem, hand on bottle, pour bottle into glass, glass in hand, to mouth, drink, repeat until fall over.
I fail to see what he did wrong
So sensible ... the world makes so much sense when you are only a 6 inches tall squirrel.
Whisky? Is that what you call it?
One day you yanks will get to the moon courtesy of that stuff!
He sees into the future when he is drunk so much better than into his immediate surroundings
Oh come now. I'm not such a bad buckboard driver, surely.
Remember now....those are horses ... not mules