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New!Gallery New!Stories
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Prohibition
“Well, a gurl’s life isn’t supposed to be easy,” I mumbled, stepping over a two foot high pile of slushy snow and on to the Detroit Ave. streetcar. A ruddy complected fifty year old man smiled broadly as a crisp winter wind blew my dress up to my garter tops. “Hey Toots," Smitty the conductor said, “All aboard.” I winked at him and pretended to put a token in his hand so that the other passengers weren’t aware that I was riding free. Smitty winked back and I knew that before I got off at 22nd. Street he’d be paid for my trip by groping my ass or running his hand up between my thighs! It was December 23, 1933, the day before Christmas Eve, and the day the great state of Ohio decided to repeal Prohibition. Tonight would be the biggest party of the year and a turning point in my life, a life that so far had been less than a fairytale. The depression had been rough on everyone and I’m not looking for sympathy, but a sissy has special needs and special problems, and there is always someone wanting to take advantage of you. “Well, a gurl’s life isn’t supposed to be easy.”
Chapter 1
Cleveland was a sea of corruption then just like it is now, and the speakeasies had sprouted up all over the town when the Volstead Act was made into the 18th amendment to the constitution in 1919. There had been 1200 legal cafes in Cleveland during the year the amendment passed and by 1923 over 3000 illegal speakeasies existed along with thousands more stills producing bathtub gin to satisfy a thirsty public. All the fashionable clubs were on Euclid Avenue and they offered a secretive sophistication to a black tie clientele. Most of these were run by the Italians, sometimes called the Murray Hill Mob. The Negroes had their own spots where music and prostitution went hand in hand with liquor and drugs, and other ethnic groups produced more and more booze in every neighborhood in town. But the most outrageous club in town was where I worked, in the shadow of police headquarters on 18th and Rockwell stood Moe’s Gaiety, and there wasn’t a business man, politician, or civic leader who hadn’t visited Moe’s for a little walk on the wild side. Moe Weisenberg was a respected member of the community with a wife and three kids nestled quietly into a swell house on Wade Park. He never missed Temple, donated generously to every charity, and could see the Mayor without an appointment. He had come to Cleveland from Detroit where his name had been linked to the notorious Purple Gang and I never saw anyone who didn’t talk respectfully to Moe. He ran his club like a tyrant bullying everyone, especially me and the rest of the chorus gurls that performed in the club every night. But I’m not complaining. During this past year, I haven’t missed a meal or been thrown out on to the street by a pissed off landlord who was tired of asking for his rent. I’ve built a nice wardrobe too; tasteful jumpers, plain skirts and blouses, and even a shelf full of neutral colored sweaters. My life was quiet and my reputation in the neighborhood sound: “She’s a fine gurl,” the neighbors said, “a little bit naughty perhaps, but very very nice.” “If they only knew,” I mused as I walked into the side door of Moe’s, the one with the sign over the door that read “chorus gurls only.” The dressing room was already half full of drag queens and the scent of cheap perfume and cheaper cosmetics almost made me light headed. The six make-up mirrors were occupied so I undressed and neatly folded my street clothes and stepped out of my cotton workaday undies. I just finished dressing and was hitching my stockings to their garters when Joe, the stage manager came in. “Hey Fancy, Moe wants to see you in his office, right now!” A pregnant silence fell over the room and all the gurls looked at me with fear in their eyes. We had all heard this message before and it usually meant an ass whipping was in store.
Chapter 2
I remember my knees shaking as I walked down the hallway to Moe’s office and was sure I was going to pee in my panties. I tried to gather up as much strength as I could and flippantly said “hey boss” as I sat on a couch crossing my legs and giving Moe an eyeful of dark stocking against ivory colored thigh. “You can save that prick teasing for the customer’s doll,” he said with a very serious tone to his voice. I got nervous, “Moe you’re not gonna give me an ass whipping again are you? I’ve been a good gurl.” The room smelled like cigar smoke and Kosher sausage and was making me feel queasy and scared. “If that were the case I’d already have my belt off and you’d be screaming bloody murder.” “You like working here doll, you like being in show business?” he asked, and I somehow knew there was more to this question than appeared on the surface. “Sure Moe, this is a swell job, and you’re the best boss I ever had.” “Well I’m thinking of taking this place legit after prohibition ends, making it into a real showplace. The kind of place every Drag Queen from New York to Chicago would come to work at. I’ve got a few big time bankers coming here tonight to look the place over and I need you and two more of your girlfriends to show them a special time. Get my drift?” I understood the conversation now. Many of the patrons weren’t happy with just a casual feel and required a little something extra in the dark backrooms of the building, and hey, I never said I was an angel. Besides some of them Johns were cute young guys who knew how to treat a gurl. And maybe, just maybe, one of those guys might be my Prince Charming, might be the guy to make an honest gurl out of me, sweep me off my feet and into a little cottage with a white picket fence. Yea, I know what you’re thinking. “Stupid broad!” “Show gurl in a sleazy bar flashing her panties at any John who’ll look, and twice to those with a few dollars on the table.” Okay, so it’s a dream, a fantasy. But dreams do come true, I know they do, and without that hope a gurl like me would have to cry hurself to sleep every night! “Hey nobody ever
said a gurl’s life is supposed to be easy.” Chapter 3
I rushed out of Moe’s office and back to the dressing room where I met my two closest gurlfriends in the whole wide world; Luba, an apple-bottomed Polish babe, and Sophia, the kind of smoldering Italian that makes a sailors pants bulge. When I explained to them what Moe had in mind they were all for entertaining the visiting gentlemen that night and we began helping each other prepare for the night ahead. We started with sexy lingerie and gowns then helped each other with hair and makeup, lots of make-up, dark mascara and eyeliner, and creamy red lipstick. And then it was show time. Everyone performed like troopers and gave the best show of their lives and when the band leader struck up the finale we formed a high kicking chorus line that could have performed at Radio City Music Hall! When we walked out into the bar after the show the patrons went wild. I had never heard such applause or ever seen a group of guys hotter for a show. All the gurls flashed the patrons and it wasn’t long before I had three bucks in my garters and felt as important as Greta Garbo. That’s when I saw Moe motioning me over to a table and I saw my date for the night and almost puked. His name was Emil Belinsky and he was a big shot banker, but so what! He was a squat, no more than five and a half feet tall and well on his way to three hundred pounds. His huge belly hung so far over his belt that I was sure he hadn’t seen his putz since Coolidge left office and he had taken off his coat and revealed a shirt with sweat rings under his arms as big as my Aunt Tilly’s ass. I wanted to gag. “Come sit with Uncle Emil,” Moe said, "He needs a little attention.” Belinsky smiled at me with oddly shaped little yellow teeth stained from tobacco and coffee and reached out and grabbed my wrist with a greasy hand and pudgy little fingers that looked like pork sausages. He pushed his hand between my legs and pinched my thigh till I opened my mouth and squealed, and then he kissed me and forced his rough ugly tongue down my throat. His breath smelled from limburger cheese and pumpernickel bread liberally doused with a cheap homemade beer. Ugggggggg! I couldn’t get out of his grasp and he kept feeling me up till I wanted to scream and I knew things couldn’t possibly be any worse. Then I felt his hand go inside the back of my panties and a stubby finger began playing with my tightness. “You gonna give some of that sugar to Emil?” he asked, and I went berserk. I pulled away from him and shouted back, “You fat fuck, I wouldn’t have that dirty putz defiling me in a million years!” A strange silence fell over the entire club and when I looked to my left I saw Moe storming over with a bright red face and his belt off. I started to run in my high heels and another show gurl named Divine put her leg out and tripped me and I hit the floor like a sack of dirty laundry with my skirts up over my ass! I slid across the dance floor, ass over elbows like a clumsy dame and ending up with my nose between the thighs of the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. She was dressed in a man’s black tuxedo, pleated shirt and bowtie, and had a felt Borsalino fedora covering her curly hair. I saw a bulge under her armpit that told me she was packing a rod, and then noticed another bulge at her left thigh that look like a sweet seven incher! She was the kind of dangerous broad you read about in the papers, a gangster, maybe a pimp or even a member of the Lesbian Mafia. I got that high school feeling. You know the way you felt the first time the varsity quarterback looked at you in study hall and you knew he had a hard-on. That feeling where you can’t breath or talk but feel a new and exciting electricity and your panties are soaking wet just like that. I looked up slowly into her dark eyes and she smiled and purred in a low measured voice like warm honey mixed with fragrant lemon; “Nice to meet you too Spanky.” “It’s Fancy,” I said, “My name's Fancy,” and just then Moe showed up with a beet red face and a pissed off look on his face with his thick leather belt in his pudgy hand. He raised his arm high ready to bring down the belt with a ferocious slap, when the woman spoke. “Don’t you dare hurt that gurl Moe,” she said, “You even think about it and I’ll kick your ass.” I hadn’t ever heard a girl talk like to Moe, at least not the kind of gurls I hung out with. “Back off Lou, she’s one of my gurls and a snottie bitch too. I’ll decide when she needs an ass whipping.” But the beautiful woman took Moe’s arm and walked away from me far enough that I couldn’t hear her whispers. Yet when she was done Moe put his belt back on and walked backstage as though nothing at all was bothering him. I’d find out later that she had made him a deal he couldn’t refuse! “Come sit on my lap doll,” Lou said patting her left thigh. I wriggled down with my soft bottom next to the outline in her trousers leg and wasn’t disappointed. “Oh my, you are a big boy.” “Save that malarkey for the cash paying customers toots,” Lou answered, “I don’t need you to stroke my dick or my ego. I’m always hard and I could keep a doll like you purring like a kitten for the rest of her life.” I suddenly felt very weak and very vulnerable. She really didn’t need to say that, I could see it in her eyes and feel it where it counts. The band began played a sensuous tango and she lifted me up. “Come on Spanky, dance with me.” I spat back defiantly, “I told you my name is Fancy not Spanky. And besides I don’t know how to tango,” I muttered feeling less a showgirl and more a bar fly. Lou laughed again and smiled with a broad grin that stretched from ear to ear and made her even more beautiful. “I like a feisty gurl, but don’t get your panties in a bunch dreary. May I have this dance, Miss Fancy? All you have to do is follow me,” she said, “You can follow orders can’t you?” And just like that I was in her arms on the dance floor gliding like Ginger Rogers. Lou’s thigh was lodged between my legs and her hand rested so low on my back my buttocks were quivering for attention I felt her warm breath on my neck and then her lips. “Oh Lou baby, stop please, you don’t know what kind of a gurl I am.” My words were coming out in low throaty gasps, the way they always did when I was hot and hungry “You’re my kind of gurl, Fancypants, and don’t you ever forget it!” The rest of the night was a dream world of liquor and dancing and being treated like a queen right there in Moe’s crummy bar. At two o’clock we walked to the hat check for our coats and when Lou saw the one and only threadbare cotton coat I owned, she wrapped her cashmere topcoat around my shoulders. “Don’t want you to catch cold baby; remind me to buy you a warm coat tomorrow, something in fur would be nice.” Now I was trembling! She said it. Tomorrow! She wasn’t just gonna use me like everyone else had done for all these years, there was gonna be a tomorrow, and a fur coat, and a tough beautiful broad who said I was her kind of gurl! My nipples stiffened in the cold December morning air as we walked to a swell Packard limo waiting at the curb and a uniformed chauffeur stepped out from the driver’s seat and opened the backdoor. I handed Lou her topcoat and when I bent forward to enter the automobile her hand slid under my dress and gave me a Christmas goose that made me giggle uncontrollably. “Is this really happening to me?” I wondered. But it was happening. The car had a heater, and radio, can you imagine, and seats made out of leather like the expensive loge seats at the Hippodrome Theater. “Take us to Public Square Frederick,” Lou ordered, “Miss Fancy and I want to see the Christmas lights." Then she took a flask out of her pocket and tilted it towards my lips, it was real Scotch whiskey not some cheap bathtub gin and it made my head swim. “Merry Christmas Spanky,” she said tilting the flask to her full luscious lips, “Here’s to us."
Chapter 4
When the doors opened they swarmed into the bordello like an excited hive of killer bees. Some came swooping to the liqueur others buzzing around each and every gurl in the house, annoying little bastards consumed with the goal of flying up under a skirt or dress. By the time I caught my breath I realized I was next to a gargantuan man-child with shoulders as wide as a streetcar and a ruddy baby-face with hardly a whisker. “Gee you’re pretty,” he mumbled and I instinctively knew this was his first visit to a cathouse and probably the very first sexual experience of his life. I took hold of his arm, “Come with me big boy, if its pussy you came for, its pussy you shall have!” Once inside my boudoir I filled a metal pan with warm water and ivory soap and ordered the darling to take hold of the pan after he had lowered his britches and underpants. Then with medical precision I rolled his foreskin back and did a quick visual examination of a rather thick and long erect cock. “My you are a big boy,” I purred whiled cradling his balls in my left hand and soaping his member with my right. When his knees began to shake I thought for a moment we were having and earthquake, but it was a volcano eruption and the darling’s lava spilled out into my wet and slippery hands. He looked red–faced and shamed and for a moment I thought he’d cry, but I soothed him, hugged him, and stroked him. “There, there darling it happens to all the boys at some time or other,” I said realizing for the first time in my life that there was more to being a working gurl than laying on your back. Men! What fragile little egos they have. I took him down the stairs and whispered in his ear, “Don’t worry love, the next time you’ll have a gurl squealing with passion,” then headed for the bar where an old gentleman with white hair and sparkling blue eyes was requesting my attention. On our way up the stairs I thought for a moment I was walking too swiftly for the old gentleman but a glance over my shoulder told another story when I saw his eyes aimed under my skirts, taking in all my goodies. I’ve known voyeurs before and always thought them a perfect counterpoint to my reckless exhibitionist. Once inside the room I shouted, “Damn, I’ve lost my earring,” and dropped to hands and knees with my little black dress inching up over my rump to provide an eyeful for my guest. When I heard the sound of a zipper I arched my back pushing my panty covered derriere out even further and was greeting with the slapping music of a delightful wanking and rather fast breathing. Before he left the old dear dropped to his knees, slid my knickers aside, and placed a small cylinder into my jewel. I waited for the door to click shut then reached back and removed the white and green paper tube, unfurled it, and was greeted by the rugged handsome face of Alexander Hamilton. The clock read 7:40 and I was ready to return to the main floor when the door burst open and my man-child reappeared with a fiery glint in his eyes and a enviable woody between his legs. I didn’t know it then but I had created a Frankenstein. I went to my knees to make quick work of the precious boy but ten minutes later I was still there with an aching jaw and I knew a new game plan was in order or I’d never make it back to the salon to really start earning some cash. “You gorgeous man,” I said, giving him a resounding slap on the ass. “Sit in that chair,” I ordered, and when he did I straddled his legs and lowered myself down on to that splendid shaft. “Now give it to me, every fucking drop, fill me up baby.” The giant put his hands under my thighs and lifted me up like a rag doll then let me slither down. Again and again, and oh my, when he did spurt it was a scalding pint of the most divine male juices. I kissed his cheek. “Now you’re a happy man,” I said, “And I’m a squishy gurl, and I have to run baby.” “I, I think I love you,” he said, and I smiled back, “I think I love you too,” I countered then hurried down the stairway and was motioned to the bar. I stood on either side of them, a man named Charles to my left and Lou on my right, the bartender poured me a tumbler of Rye whiskey over cracked ice. "This is my new gurl," Lou said, "Say hello to Spanky." I rolled my eyes at Lou but didn’t say a word. If my name was to be Spanky at her place of business, then so be it. "Hello Spanky," he said with a flash of brilliant white teeth and dropped his hand to the cheek of my ass taking a good squeeze. “What a rude gentleman you are?” I protested, “I don’t even know you and you’re taking liberties with me, here in a public venue!” "She brings the right assets to the job, Lou," he countered, and I felt Lou's hand roaming over the other side of my bottom. “And she’s a sassy gurl,” he continued, “Just my kind of play toy.” I raised the glass and felt the warm liquor trickle down my throat and somehow I knew. I knew that I was becoming The toy of a secret society of spanking enthusiasts, and a jolt of sexual electricity surged through my body. “Charles,” Lou said, “I want you to paddle the gurl while I watch. Not just a simple paddling, but a real scorching. I enjoy the heat of a hot ass pushing back against my cock and when you have finished delivering her blistering I plan to give the gurl the fucking of her life!” “Well Charlie,” I taunted, “Are you up to the task?” I lowered my left hand between his legs and exclaimed, “Oh my, I guess you are.”
Chapter 5
The third floor salon was dark except for a small spotlight hanging in the center of the room above a straight backed wooden chair. A finely polished mahogany paddle rested on the floor against the leg of the chair and sent a chill up my spine as I entered the room. Lou walked to a dark corner to a large over-stuffed arm chair then before sitting down rolled a cigarette and scratched a wooden match against the seat of her sharkskin trousers. In the matches glow I noticed her eyes were wide with excitement. Charles sat down on the wooden chair and patted his lap with his right hand then spoke to me. “Here you go darling, bottoms up, be quick about it.” I settled down over his knee, keenly aware that his cock was poking up into my tummy, and gave myself to the intoxicating pageantry of spanking discipline. He took the hem of my black dress and raised it ever so slowly exposing my stockings and above them my bare thighs to his greedy eyes. When the dress cleared my hips I heard a deep rush of breath. “Gadzooks Lou!” he exclaimed, “The gurls got a bottom perfect for spanking!” He took the waistband of my panties and pulled it up very high so that the nylon stretched and hugged over the contours of my chubby derriere. “You can squirm my precious little bimbo. You can wail and you can cry and you can kick your legs. In fact, I rather expect it!” His hand came down on the right cheek of my bottom with a delicious sounding slap and then down on the other side. In the light of the room that was surrounded in darkness I felt somehow like a player on stage being viewed by an interested audience. A sigh from the corner told me I had an audience of one; a chain smoking gangster busily rubbing her crotch at the sight of my debasement. His hands moved from cheek to cheek quickly with a staccato beat from crisp loud slaps. At ten I squirmed, at twenty I kicked my legs and by the fiftieth spank my eyes were wet with tears. I wailed out loud and he laughed. “So my little bimbo is Charlie up to the task?” he asked with a mocking tone to punish my sassy comments at out meeting downstairs. “Please stop Charles, please.” But we all knew he wouldn’t stop. Fifty more rained down before Charles stopped to catch his breath. He took the waistband of my panties in his hands again and this time snaked them down over my swollen hips, then kneaded the punished flesh with his hand. “Lou, her skin is almost scalded,” he said, then parted my cheeks and examined my tiny jewel. “And the little mouth of her sex is pouting for attention, almost begging for a cock.” Then Charles took up that wooden paddle and wailed me like no other had done before. The wooden blade was broad and had been worn smooth on the bottoms of naughty gurls and boys, but I don’t think any suffered more than me on that particular night. Yet through it all I was constantly aware of Charles rampant cock pressing against my tummy, my own seeping sex that had drenched my panties already, and the sexual moans of our audience. And then I was off his lap and on the floor looking up. Charles straddled my face while pushing down on the base of cock so that it pointed towards its warm and wet destination while Lou quickly settled in between my spread thighs and achieved her journey with one controlled push of her wide hips. They bent forward over my supine body and kissed; deep, long, and noisy. I squirmed, moaned, busy at both ends, a lucky gurl. When Charles ripped off Lou’s shirt she only laughed and he became timid. He reached out with soft hands the way I’d seen European women in babushkas fondle fruit at the market, a precious peach or succulent pear. He weighed each little breast in gentle hands enjoying their ripeness, and then lowered his lips to a delicious strawberry, lapping and sucking till Lou moaned with excitement and ground her hips into me so that her phallus filled me to the brim causing me to moan back. I experienced at that precise time an odd and intoxicating moment of clarity. This was just the beginning of a gradual and continual slide into an abyss of degradation and I was the catalyst, the fulcrum around which the three of us at this moment were experiencing a remarkable sexual crescendo! Perhaps it was Charles who climaxed first, maybe Lou or even me, I can’t recall to this day and my memory seems mired in some opiate dreamscape. But I know it happened, and I know I was a new gurl!
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