Learning The Trade (Book 2 of "Little Jill: A Western Whore")

As Little Jill heads west, dreading the uncertain reunion with her husband, she continues working for Warren—satisfying his clients’ lusts. Amazed to find the sex trade exciting and lucrative, she looks forward to an encounter Warren scheduled for her layover at her next stop. With her future dubious, she is focused on learning her new trade—mastering the skills of a western whore. More

As Little Jill heads west, dreading the uncertain reunion with her husband, she continues working for Warren—satisfying his clients’ lusts. Amazed to find the sex trade exciting and lucrative, she looks forward to an encounter Warren scheduled for her layover at her next stop. With her future dubious, she is focused on learning her new trade—mastering the skills of a western whore.

~~~~~ PG Excerpt ~~~~~

Then, with him satiated and feeling good about paying for the room, he took me downstairs to the club dining room for a late lunch, after which we went to the bar for a drink and to meet his friends.

“Clayton, dear boy,” a tall woman said, coming up to him and kissing him on the cheek.

“Esther,” he said delightedly. “I want you to meet Little Jill.”

Esther’s face was attractive, but too strong to be beautiful. She had a lush, full figure and large breasts. Her provocative dress showed their fleshy tops, and the way she pulled her shoulders back you knew she was proud of them and took delight in people noticing the prominent orbs.

As we took the measure of each other, Esther’s eyes devoured me. “Aren’t you a delightful little one?” she sighed, touching my cheek softly. I tingled.

“Esther is our club’s de facto social director,” Clayton said.

“Not that this town has much that is social to direct,” she said. “Between the religious prudes and the ones who are just humorless dolts, it’s all a person can do to find any fun at all.”

“Well, you do seem to manage,” he said. “And Little Jill is neither of those.”

“Excellent,” she said, and then swept us into the bar. Soon I had a straight whisky in my hand and she took my arm, drawing me into a small whirl of people who touched as they talked.

“This is Edgar, my husband,” she told me, introducing me to a burly man with a nice smile. Then they introduced me to another couple, Jake and Elisabeth Anthony (“Lis,” the woman corrected) who were friends… just passing through on their way home to Santa Fe. Jake had shoulder-length brown hair that hung free. Elisabeth’s golden hair was tucked into a bun. They were both attractive people, but the most remarkable thing about them was the glimmer of enthusiasm, the sparkle of life in their eyes. It matched a sense of delight in their voices perfectly.

After them I met three or four rather faceless men whose names I missed.

After a circuit of the room, Esther took me aside and handed me a drink. Putting her own down, she rested her hand possessively on my arm and smiled. “I understand you pleased both Clayton and his son rather nicely,” she whispered. “Individually and as a team.”

“I hope so,” I said, seeing no point in being coy. Apparently, Clayton told her all.

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