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Slaughter Gulch

The barkeep looses an exasperated sigh. "Fine, fine. Seeing as how you done chased off all the paying customers I reckon I ain't got much choice but to oblige you." Clearing his throat, he raps his knuckle against the bar and hollers, "Betty Lou, gitcher ass down here!"

You, meanwhile, find your discarded bottle right where you left it and pour yourself a drink. Before long a woman in a frilly red dress sashays down the stairs and to your side. She's a pretty enough thing. Dark hair, long legs, big breasts. About all a man can ask for these days, except free. She leans on your arm and flutters her lashes seductively. "Well hello there, handsome. You lookin' for a good time?"

You toss back your whiskey and frown. She may not be original, but that's not what you're looking for, anyhow. "How much?"

"Well, ain't you a blunt one," she purrs demurely into your ear. You can't help but notice her plump breasts are pressed firmly to your side. The alcohol has begun to take its toll and you snake an arm around her to clutch a handful of frilly dress and ass. "Fifty dollars," she whispers, warmly breathing into your ear.