Myra, having stepped out of the tub and dried herself, was standingthere with the dank towel held up in front of her body. "Here, lassie,put on yuir ...rawers first. Then slip into this chemise."Myra had to obey. The saloon woman's crisp orders always made herscramble. The cautious way that Irene usually spoke left the new girlunsure, at times, whether she was being ordered or not. Molly O'Tooleregarded the girl's movements as she dressed. "Ye're looking rightpretty already," the saloon. Reluctantly, I pull out of this warm moist refuge, leaving it open to hearthe steady entreatments and pleas for "mercy" and "gentleness…soundsthat only make a bastard harder. The plug has done it's job, and it comes out next, prolonging her beautifulcries. "Don't fret little one" I soothe, "you'll come to love thisin time." It may sound like a line from a bad movie, but I can say it with a straightface; especially when I've seen it as often as I have. What's more difficultis to describe to. More

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