Walking into the Buckthorne saloon was like walking into a hazy dream—thanks to the tobacco and clove cigarettes the patrons were so fond of smoking.

A veritable cloud of smoke wafts out of the saloon through its swinging doors, accompanied by the jaunty tunes being performed upon the establishment’s lone piano. Outside, the desert sky is alight with a million stars against its inky blackness, like the glittering gems and untold riches men had traveled across the country to find, out in the golden hills of the desert.

But while jewels and finery were nowhere to be seen within the saloon; as for men—there were plenty.

Many tonight were sat at tables, half-drunk already. They gambled lazily, and drank their whiskey with relish until their faces flushed. Over games of cards and dice and darts, some won enough to supplement their meager earnings that week, and others lost what little money they had to their name. Cowboys from the nearby ranches, miners in search of gold veins, lawmen about their little town—the Buckthorne saloon welcomed all types. Business was hard enough to come by without turning their noses up at whose dollars were going into the till at the end of every night.

While the men nursed their vices, women moseyed about the room in various states of undress. They fawned and flattered the saloon’s patrons, hoping to catch the eye of somebody willing to spend the money for their private company in the rooms upstairs. Religious types might call these women ‘soiled doves,’ as if the fancy words might soften the implications of how they made a living out on the frontier, where even the most able-bodied man might find himself strapped for cash.

The women were prostitutes—whores. Selling their bodies was how they scraped by.

Charlotte Foster hadn’t always been a prostitute.

Her own mother might have fallen dead on the spot had she realized what her daughter had become; the Missus Lloyd had been one of those bible-wielding religious types, before the good Lord saw it fit to take her off of this mortal coil. When her mother died, Charlotte’s father wasn’t far behind. It had been the drink that did him in, leaving Charlotte alone in the world.

She had an aunt and uncle, but they hadn’t been too keen on taking on another mouth to feed. Charlotte was shipped off across the country instead, to be put into employ as a cook for a dubious friend of a friend.

Charlotte decided she didn’t quite like being told how to live her life, so she took up her suitcase, and got off on the wrong station. She would not be a cook, but there were only so many ways a young woman might support herself this far out west.

Turning to prostitution had been the most obvious choice.

It helped that Charlotte was a handsome woman. She was twenty-four, young and whip-smart; with long flaxen hair that spilled down her slender neck and shoulders in ringlets, and blue eyes like gunmetal. The swell of her pale breasts peeked over the top of her corset, the wobbling flesh threatening to spill free as she moved from one card player to the next. The corset squeezed her waist impossibly small, only flaring out around Charlotte’s wide hips; and her skirts fell to her ankles following the curves of her long, lithe legs.

Truly a body made for sin—if you asked the local preacher, and just about any red-blooded man out there.

It wasn’t an easy life by any means, but Charlotte found little joys in her new profession. She liked keeping the men company, hearing their stories, offering them comfort when she could (be it a willing ear or a cathartic release through her body); some even gave her little trinkets from time to time out of fondness, which Charlotte cherished.

Perhaps one day she might not have to work so hard to keep herself fed and clothed, and perhaps someone might want to love her, marry her even—and it would be a happy marriage, unlike her parents’ own—but until that day came, Charlotte had to fend for herself.

...

Feel free to jump right in with the story and continue where I left off when you reply! I'm a descriptive and detailed partner and am looking for the same. I prefer writing in 3rd person!

Orange envelopes only, please; I will be ignoring any replies to the prompt that come over Reddit Chat.

Kinks: Romance, Affectionate Partners, Age Gaps, Raceplay, Creampies, Cumplay, Body Worship, Rough Sex, Name Calling, Light Bondage, Spanking, Outdoor Sex, Impregnation, Breeding, Lactation, Pregnancy

Limits: Blood, Extreme Violence, Humiliation, Degradation, Piss, Scat, Animals, Anal