Chapter 8: 1881

It was Christmas Eve 1881. I was fourteen-years-old and feeling like the world had caved in on me because there just hadn’t been enough money to buy me the Colt model 1875 repeating rifle that I’d wanted for Christmas. Pa had Mom and my two sisters, Mary and Alice, do the chores early that day for some reason. I just figured Pa wanted a little extra time so he could read aloud our Lord and Savior’s birth story in the Bible and have bodily relief before going to bed.

After supper was over and Mom and the girls cleaned up, I took my boots and clothes off and stretched out in front of the fireplace and waited for Pa to get down the old Bible. I was expecting my sisters to give me some relief will Pa read the birth story. I was still feeling sorry for myself and, to be honest, I wasn’t in much of a mood to hear Scriptures.

But Pa didn’t get the Bible, instead he took mom and the girls out to the stable. I couldn’t figure it out because this was a Christmas tradition, Pa reading the birth story as mom sucked and licked on his cock and my sisters doubled teamed my cock.

I didn’t worry about it long though, I was too busy wallowing in self-pity for not getting the rifle. Soon Pa came back in. It was a clear night out.

“Come on, Matt,” he said. “Get dressed.”

I was really upset then. Not only wasn’t I getting the rifle for Christmas but I wasn’t going to get my cock sucked, now Pa was dragging me out outside, and for no earthly reason that I could see. Mom and the girls already done all the chores, and I couldn’t think of anything else that needed doing, especially not on Christmas eve. I knew Pa was not very patient at dragging one’s feet when he’d told me to do something. Mom and the girls knew that well. So I got up and put my clothes and boots back on and got my cowboy hat. Something was up, but I didn’t know what.

Outside, I became even more curious. There in front of the house was mom and the girls, already hitched to the big wagon. Mom in front with Mary and Alice on either side behind her. Whatever it was we were going to do wasn’t going to be a short, quick, little job. I could tell. We never hitched up this wagon unless we were going to town for shopping. Pa was already up on the seat, reins in hand.

“Here,” he tossed me a sack with nipple bells inside. “Put them on the girls.”

I opened the sack and attached the nipple bells to mom and the girls. The law said that females pulling wagons had to wear nipple bells so others knew they were coming. I tossed the sack in the back of the wagon. I reluctantly climbed up beside Pa. I wasn’t happy. When I was on, he pulled the wagon around the house and stopped in front of the woodshed. He got off and I followed.

“I think we’ll put on the high sideboards,” he said. “Here, help me.” The high sideboards? It had been a bigger job than I wanted to do with just the low sideboards on, but whatever it was we were going to do would be a lot bigger with the high side boards on.

After we had exchanged the sideboards, Pa went into the woodshed and came out with an armload of chains, whips, and different restraints. He dumped the stuff in the wagon and went back into the shed. He carried out the padded sawhorse, the kind used for punishment sex games. What was he doing? Finally I said something.

“Pa,” I asked, “what are you doing? We use that sawhorse on mom and the girls.”

“You been by the Widow Jensen’s lately?” he asked.

The Widow Jensen lived about two miles down the road. Her husband had died a year or so before and left her with three girls, the oldest, Clare being seventeen, Betty fifteen, and Amy fourteen. Sure, I’d been by, sex with the Amy was great and Widow Jensen didn’t charge me a lot, but so what?

“Yeah, the other day,” I replied, “Why?”

“I stopped by there today for a little relief,” Pa said. “Widow Jensen mentioned that she was losing customers because she didn’t have toys and implements that other whore houses had.”

That was all he said as he climbed up on the wagon and took the reins. He cracked the whip over mom and the girls.

“Get on, girls,” he said as he snaped the reins.

We rode the two miles to Widow Jensen’s waving to friends and saying ‘Merry Christmas’ to every one we met on the way. Mom and the girls struggled at times down the dirt road, their bells announcing our presence. Pa mentioned that come spring time we’d need to work the girls more on pulling the wagon. They had gotten soft.

I nodded as I tried to think through what Pa was doing. We didn’t have much by worldly standards but Pa did make sexual implements that he sold around the region. Why was he doing any of this? Widow Jensen probably made more money than us; it shouldn’t have been our concern what toys she had.

We arrived at Widow Jensen’s house. We knocked. The door opened a crack and Clare asked, “Who is it?”

“Lucas Miles, Clare, and Matt, could we come in for a bit?”

Widow Jensen opened the door and let us in. She had a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, a short tight shirt that barely held her ample breasts and white panties. The girls were wrapped in blankets and were sitting in front of the fireplace. Widow Jensen fumbled with a match and finally lit the lamp.

“Back so soon, Lucas?” she smiled. “What can we do for you?”

“We brought you a few sexual implements, Ma’am,” Pa said. He nodded to me and I put the whips and chains on the floor. The three girls smiled as they got up and came over to the implements. I watched them carefully. Widow Jenson She bit her lower lip to keep it from trembling and then tears filled her eyes and started running down her cheeks. She looked up at Pa like she wanted to say something, but it wouldn’t come out.