Choices B

Hauk stood behind the desk in his office, peeking through the opened segment of the French windows which faced the barroom of his highly successful brothel, watching the action going on down there.
Right now, business was still slow, but evening was approaching and he had few doubts that things would soon pick up.
The stable of whores in his employ was a mixed bunch, with even a couple of Indian girls which had rolled into town a few months ago, but they were all of them fit and busty, just the way he liked them.
Currently dressed in a black robe which hung open to reveal his firm abdomen and his semi-hard cock, Hauk had taken it upon himself to service each and every female customer that walked through the front door, something which meant that he was fucking ten to twelve different women per day, and that number was increasing as word got around about his skills.

As for Thyra, she was the prime female whore in the brothel, and currently she was seated at the bar, dressed in an outfit that consisted of black high heels, black stockings, a miniscule black thong and a black corset with red workings, which was cut so low that the top half of her areolas were visible. Smoking a cigarette and enjoying a glass of bourbon, Thyra was waiting for a customer to walk in through the doors. Glancing up at Hauk in his office, she raised her glass to him and cocked her right eyebrow at the sight of his cock. Maybe if business stayed slow a little while longer she should go up there?

At the same time as business-hours were in approach for Hauk and Thyra, Wells-Fargo’s stage coach came rolling down Main Street to halt outside the local affiliate of that firm.
Out of the coach came River, wiping the last drop of cum from her lips and adjusting the cleavage of her intricately designed and quite revealing ruby dress.
Having been one of the most successful whores in all of New Orleans, infamous for her readiness to do quite literally anything (her servicing of a plantation owner and his entire family was well-known throughout that sinful city), she had now resettled to Santa Fe.
Ignorant as to where the others were located, River pondered on whether she should seek them out and find out what they were up to, or look for a job or maybe even start working on establishing her own brothel.

At the other end of town, Sledge came riding in. Dressed as usual in little more than a pair of denims and a poncho, his trusted revolvers holstered and ready to be drawn and fired, he was eager for a drink and a fuck after ten days on the trail.
As a bounty hunter with a special interest in tracking down old confederate soldiers that had turned to a life of crime, Sledge was currently on the trail of one Colonel Travis, an old confederate militiaman that had transformed into a robber baron after the war. Last Sledge heard, Travis was somewhere around Santa Fe.
First, however, Sledge was planning on stopping by the best brothel in town.