Chapter 2

As the first light of dawn began to creep over the horizon, Joe awoke with a start, the chill of the morning air seeping into his bones. He stretched, his muscles protesting from the uncomfortable chair, and stood up, the silver dollars feeling heavier than ever. He had a job to do, a promise to keep, and a future to forge. The Sapphire Siren was counting on him, and he wouldn’t let her down.

He shuffled his way to the station’s bathroom, the cobwebs of sleep clinging to his eyes. The bathroom was a grim affair, the walls stained with the ghosts of a thousand forgotten journeys. The air was thick with the scent of mold and stale piss, but Joe didn’t care. He had money in his pocket and a purpose in his heart. He approached the sink, the chipped porcelain a sad echo of the grandeur he had seen in the Courage Saloon.

With a deep sigh, he turned the faucet, the water gushing out with a guttural roar that filled the small space. It was cold, biting his skin as he splashed it over his face and neck, but it was a welcome shock to his system. He looked into the cracked mirror, his reflection a distorted shadow of the boy he had been just hours ago. He had seen things, felt things, that would change him forever. But he was ready.

He removed his shirt, the fabric sticking to his back with the sweat of the night’s excitement. His stomach rumbled, a reminder that he hadn’t eaten since the bread bought with his first silver dollar. But food could wait. For now, he needed to cleanse himself, to wash away the grime of the streets and prepare for the day ahead.

Joe took a deep breath and stepped into the lukewarm spray of the shower, the water beating down on his shoulders like a hundred tiny fists. It was a strange sensation, one that was both soothing and invigorating. He closed his eyes, letting the water wash over him, feeling the dirt and grime of his life sluicing away with every drop. The sound of the rain had been replaced by the drumming of the showerhead, a rhythm that matched the pounding of his heart.

The water cascaded down his body, tracing the lines of his burgeoning manhood, the same parts that had responded so eagerly to Mrs. Kathleen’s dance. He felt a strange mix of guilt and excitement, his thoughts a tapestry of lust and loyalty. But he pushed them aside, focusing instead on the task at hand. He had to be clean, had to be worthy of the trust she had placed in him.

As the water grew warmer, Joe began to scrub himself with the bar of soap he had pilfered from the sink, the harsh lye scent burning his nose but leaving his skin feeling cleaner than it had in months. He took his time, working the soap into every crevice, every fold, his mind racing with the possibilities of the day ahead. What would Lady Myrtle have in store for them? What secrets would the Sapphire Siren share?

The more he thought about it, the more his thoughts turned to Mrs. Kathleen’s naked body, the way she had moved with such confidence and grace. His hand strayed to his cock, which had begun to swell at the thought of her. He knew it was wrong, that he shouldn’t be doing this in a public place, but he couldn’t help himself. The images of her swaying hips and heaving breasts filled his mind, pushing out all thoughts of propriety.

He began to stroke himself, the soap acting as a surprisingly good lubricant, the friction sending shockwaves through his body. His breath grew ragged, his strokes more urgent, as he pictured her standing before him, her eyes closed in ecstasy. He knew he should stop, that he was betraying her trust in some way, but he couldn’t. The feeling was too intense, too overwhelming. He was lost in a sea of sensation, the only thing anchoring him to reality the cold tile beneath his feet.

With a groan that was lost in the roar of the shower, Joe reached his climax, his seed mixing with the soap and water as it swirled down the drain. He felt a moment of guilt, a pang of shame that he had used her like this, but it was quickly drowned out by the rush of pleasure. He leaned against the wall, panting, his body trembling with the aftershocks of his release. It was wrong, he knew it was wrong, but it was also the most alive he had felt in his short, hard life.

As Joe stepped out of the shower, the water running off him in rivulets, he made a silent vow to be better, to be worthy of the trust that Mrs. Kathleen had placed in him. He would help her, guide her through the treacherous waters of the burlesque world, and maybe, just maybe, he would find a way to pay off her debts and set her free. He had no illusions about his place in her world, but he could be her rock, her confidant, her ... friend.

Dressing quickly, he shoved the soiled soap back into his pocket, a secret that he would carry with him. The silver dollars felt cold against his skin, a stark reminder of the path he had chosen. But as he left the bathroom, the smell of coffee and frying bacon wafting through the station, he couldn’t help but feel a glimmer of hope. Today was a new day, a day where he could make a difference. And with the Sapphire Siren by his side, anything was possible.

The Courage Saloon looked different in the harsh light of day, the velvet curtains drawn back to reveal the grimy windows that let in the early morning sun. The floor was sticky with the remnants of last night’s debauchery, and the air was thick with the smell of stale booze and cigarette smoke. But Joe didn’t care. He was on a mission.

He approached the bar, the same one where he had watched Mrs. Kathleen’s audition, his eyes scanning the room for any sign of her. The patrons that lingered from the night before looked at him with a mix of curiosity and contempt, but he ignored them. He had more important things on his mind.

Mr. Frost, the grizzled old bartender, looked up from his sweeping, his eyes bleary with a hangover. “What do you want, black boy?” he grunted, his voice rough as sandpaper.

“I’m here to see Mrs. McGowan,” Joe replied, his voice firm despite the butterflies in his stomach. “Is she in?”

Mr. Frost squinted at him, taking a moment to process the information. “You must be the kid she’s been on about,” he said finally, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. “Yeah, she’s upstairs in her room. But you best be quick about it. She’s got a busy day ahead.”

Joe nodded and scurried up the stairs, his heart pounding in his chest. He had never been allowed upstairs before, the realm of the performers a forbidden fruit that he had only caught glimpses of through the cracked doorways of the saloon. The corridor was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of perfume and sweat, the walls lined with doors that whispered of secrets and sins.

He found her room easily, the door slightly ajar, the sound of Kathleen’s soft humming spilling into the hallway. He knocked lightly, his knuckles barely making a sound on the wood. “Mrs. McGowan?” he called out, his voice cracking slightly.

“Come in, Joe,” she replied, her voice like a warm embrace.

He pushed the door open and his eyes widened at the sight before him. Mrs. Kathleen was in the washbasin, her voluptuous figure submerged in the steaming water, her blonde hair piled on her head like a golden crown. The sun streamed through the small window, casting a halo around her, making her look like an angel that had descended into Dreadworth’s seedy underbelly.

“Joe,” she said, a soft smile playing on her lips as she held out a hand for the towel. “Could you be a dear and hand me that towel?”

Joe’s cheeks flushed, his eyes darting to the plush towel hanging on the wall hook. He took a step closer, his heart racing as he reached out to grab it. The fabric was soft and warm, like a gentle embrace from a long-lost mother. He held it out to her, his hand trembling slightly.

“Thank you, Joe,” Kathleen said, her eyes meeting his with a knowing glint. She stepped out of the tub, water cascading down her body, leaving a trail of shimmering droplets in its wake. She was a goddess emerging from a sacred pool, her skin flushed and glistening.

Joe’s eyes darted around the room, trying to find something, anything, to focus on that wasn’t her nakedness. He knew he shouldn’t stare, but it was like trying to ignore the sun in the sky. She was beauty incarnate, and he was just a moth drawn to her flame.

And then he saw it, a small stack of dollars on a table by the bed. His eyes widened, and he took a step closer, his mind racing. This was more than just a tip; it was a treasure trove, a sign of her value in this place. Each bill a testament to the power she wielded over the men who watched her dance.

“Joe,” Kathleen’s voice brought him back to reality, “could you help me with this?” She held out a corset, the fabric a rich, dark red that was almost black in the dim light. It was a thing of beauty, delicate lace and shimmering beads that promised to cinch her waist into an impossible hourglass.

He took it from her, his hands feeling clumsy and oversized. “I’ve never ... I mean, I don’t know how to do that,” he stuttered, feeling the weight of her gaze on him.

Kathleen’s smile grew, and she stepped closer, her nakedness a silent invitation. “It’s simple, Joe,” she murmured, placing the corset in his hands. “Just wrap it around me and pull the laces tight.”

Joe’s heart was racing, but he did as she asked, his trembling fingers fumbling with the delicate fabric. The warmth of her body was like a furnace against his cold, clammy skin, and he couldn’t help but feel the heat of her breath as she instructed him. He had never been this close to a naked woman before, especially not one as beautiful as Mrs. Kathleen.

“Joe, have you had breakfast?” she asked, her voice a sweet melody that cut through the awkwardness of the moment.

“No, Mrs. McGowan,” he replied, his eyes still glued to the corset.

“Well, Joe,” she said with a knowing smile, “once we’re done here, I think you’ve earned yourself a proper meal. How does that sound?”

Joe’s eyes snapped up to meet hers, the warmth in them making his heart flutter. “It ... it sounds good, Mrs. McGowan,” he managed to say, his voice a hoarse whisper.

Once she was dressed in a simple yet elegant gown that hugged her curves in all the right places, they made their way out of the saloon and into the crisp morning air. The town of Dreadworth was slowly waking up, the sounds of hooves and wagons mixing with the distant cock-a-doodle-doos of roosters. The smell of breakfast wafted from the nearby restaurant, the aroma of eggs, bacon, and freshly baked bread making Joe’s stomach growl loudly.