Diamond Mountain


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Lady Strangways invades the Old West.

In 1870, the world’s largest diamond field is discovered in American Indian country. London financier Nathan Rothschild joins forces with San Francisco entrepreneur Asbury Harpending to control the new wealth. To protect his investment, Rothschild dispatches consulting detective, and sometime spy, Lady Theodora Strangways to shadow Harpending. 

Theodora’s adventures stretch from London to San Francisco. Through the desert and chased by Indians, she finally scales Diamond Mountain to find the secret of the treasure.

Lady Strangways’ escapades include inviting several men into her bed. Thus, this story is best suited for adult readers.

Sample Chapter

Chapter One

Sacramento, California, May 1870

“Oh, my God,” Anastasia moaned. She tossed her head back as her orgasm exploded. “Ah-ooh.”

The waves of pleasure pulsated along her spine as every muscle clenched and released in a rolling cascade. When her pussy tightened around Phil’s cock, she felt his member twitch as his climax followed hers.

“That was soo good,” she whispered. Collapsing onto his chest, she listened to the freight train hammering of his heart.

Breathless, Philip stroked her hair.

Ana was good at her job—very good. However, she didn’t climax with all of her customers. An entertainer could not have real orgasms with all of the men. Most of them simply did not bother to spend the time a woman required. Nonetheless, she always left her customers believing themselves to be God’s gift to women as she faked a big ‘O’ following their thirty seconds of pumping. She felt a bit guilty for the disservice she created for the men’s future—or current—wives. The men would doubtlessly be disappointed to discover their brides were flawed, and required so much more effort to please in bed.

However, Philip Arnold was a regular. He always took the time required to build her lust into excitement, and on to an avalanche of pleasure. Additionally, he allowed her to ride him cowgirl fashion. She always enjoyed being on top instead of being crushed under the men who pounded her in the missionary position.

Entertainer was the euphemism applied to women working in saloons, gambling halls, dance halls, peep shows, and brothels. Being a sex entertainer had not been her choice of professions, but fate can be a harsh mistress. Nonetheless, of all the tribulations providence had pressed upon her, this situation was nirvana.

Ana climbed from the bed and retrieved the washbasin. Standing nude, she washed herself, and then cleaned her customer. Pulling a nightdress over her head, she retrieved Phil’s clothes and began to dress him. She would like to spend the evening lounging in bed with him, but his hour was up, and she had a quota to fill.

“When will I see you again?” she asked.

“I dunno, not much gold left in those hills.” Philip reached into his pocket and retrieved a handful of small stones. Ana recognized three gold nuggets, each the size of a pea. He extended his palm toward her. “Take your pick.”

Anastasia Kilbury selected what appeared to be the largest nugget; she guessed it was worth at least three dollars—a day’s wage for most men. The Gold Rush was over; the California economy was shifting away from gold miners. However, Philip Arnold was one of the few diehards. He had migrated from panning the hills to mining in the Sierra Nevada Mountains, east of Carson City. “I don’t know no other way to make a living,” he had once explained.

“What’s this?” Ana pointed to a small, translucent, oblong pebble in his palm, one of three he was carrying. Additionally, she recognized a ruby and a sapphire.

“Ah, it is a pretty stone, to be sure. It brings me good luck.”

Gingerly, Ana picked up the small rock. It had a smooth, almost oily feel to it. She noticed its symmetry.

“I could certainly use a good luck charm. May I have it?”

Philip grinned. “Aye, lass.”

A pang of guilt briefly gripped Ana’s heart. He doubtlessly did not know what the stone was, or at least what she thought it was. She gave him a kiss on the cheek. “For luck,” she said, and mentally prodded herself to reward him with something special next time he was in town. As he was freshly spent, this would be a debt she would have to pay sometime down the road.

Ana opened a drawer and added the gold nugget and the odd stone to her collection in a jar labeled cold cream.

Instead of ushering him out the door, she let him sit on the bed and watch her dress. She pulled off the white cotton nightdress and posed naked for him. She watched the glint of interest in his eyes as he surveyed her slender, toned body. She lifted her naturally wavy dark brown hair and released it to flow around her shoulders. Sitting in the side chair, she pulled her black stockings onto her legs and tied the garters above her knees.

She hoped the extra show would not raise his interest, or his cock, too much. Mr. Morris, the proprietor of the Silver Spur Saloon, would be expecting her to appear downstairs, to select another customer, momentarily.

She quickly pulled on her white bloomers and chemise to cover all the essential body parts, but she took her time donning the bright red corset.

“Would you be a dear?” Ana asked, turning her back to Phil. She pointed at the laces.

He pulled the laces tight, which squeezed her already slender waist and pressed the tops of her breasts upward. Facing him once again, she stepped into the red lacy underskirt, and lowered her rose and black colored dress over her head. She arranged the neckline so that the bulging tops of her breasts and her shoulders were in full view.

The dress hemline was far shorter than was acceptable in polite society; it barely covered her knees. The lace of the red underskirt and her black stockings were visible. However, this was a bordello, and she was a sex entertainer. This was the costume required for her job.

She handed Phil her shoes and sat in the chair. Propping her ankles over his thigh, she said, “Please, if it’s not too much of a bother?”

Grinning, he accepted the challenge. Before slipping her shoes on, he caressed her small feet. He massaged her toes one at a time. Ana was beginning to worry that this tiny reward for the small stone was taking too long. If she was late reappearing in the saloon downstairs, Mr. Morris would dock her pay, or perhaps beat her.

She sighed with relief when Phil finished tying the shoelaces. Standing quickly, she opened the door and stepped onto the balcony overlooking the saloon. Now, she was in view of Mr. Morris, and the saloon patrons.

“Come on, darling. I’m sorry, but time is up.” She smiled, and beckoned for Philip Arnold to follow her.

Ana waited by the balcony railing as Mr. Arnold descended the stairs. At the far end of the bar, she caught an evil eye from Mr. Morris. However, he observed that Philip strode to the bar and ordered a whiskey; “Make it a double,” Arnold said to the bartender. Since he was remaining in the establishment, and spending more money, Morris’ frown softened. Ana knew she would not be punished for spending too much time with her customer.

Allowing her short skirt to swish to and fro, Ana paused at each step as she descended the stairs. She wanted the men below to look up her skirt; to look at her legs. She wanted to attract as much attention to herself as possible. She was ready for the next customer. The elaborate process of dressing seemed to be such a waste of time; however, the process of undressing her was a joy each customer expected.

She crossed the saloon floor to the far end of the bar.

“Here,” she said, and placed a dollar coin beside Mr. Morris’ glass of beer. “He’s a regular,” she added, by way of explanation for the extra time she had spent with Mr. Arnold.

Morris scoffed, and said, “Yeah, but he don’t pay extra.” He picked up the coin and said no more.

Ana, of course, would never mention how much extra Philip had paid.

She turned and surveyed the men. The length of the bar was lined with men wearing shirts of red, green, and black; several were checkered mixes of these colors. The men had their leather vests casually open and flapping wide. Their hats were slouched back on their heads. Some were drinking, with their beer glasses held in mid-flight between their lips and the bar. Others were talking. None wore guns or chaps; Sacramento was not a cowboy town.

Ana had seen many fights among the rowdy men. Some of these involved guns. In Virginia City, most all men carried a gun. Most of the fights were about one down-on-his-luck man stealing the purse from another man who had worked hard to dig his proceeds from the ground. Contrary to what was written in the romantic tales of the west, a man caught stealing another’s life savings would be shot in any manner necessary to stop him. There was no stigma attached to shooting a fleeing thief in the back.

However, Sacramento was a peaceful town. None of Mr. Morris’ men carried guns, although there were firearms hidden within the Silver Spur. These could be brought to bear as necessary to stop a fight before it began.

Ana turned her attention away from the men at the bar. These men were probably too drunk to perform. None of them looked either familiar, or well-to-do. While Ana might like the opportunity to fleece a dollar from them, she would leave these men to the low-rent girls.

Turning to the card tables, Ana looked for a more palatable customer.

Due to her special skills, Ana was a high-priced girl. Two of the three low-rent girls were standing along the back wall. They were barefoot; wearing only a chemise and an underskirt. They waited for a man to approach. For a half-dollar, they would take a customer into the crib behind the stairs. There, they would lie on their backs and open their legs, giving the man ten minutes to satisfy himself. Each girl would do this ten, or more times a night, making Mr. Morris at least five dollars per day. For this, the girls received fifty dollars per month, a place to sleep, meals, and a swig of laudanum each day. The girls had no pockets and were forced to split any tips they received with Mr. Morris. It was, actually, a very good living. They would be able to save up a substantial nest egg, if they did not allow the laudanum to rule them.

Ana, however, had the privilege of selecting her own customers. She had a quota of five men per night, but she took care of as many customers as she wanted. She spent up to an hour with each man, and paid Mr. Morris a dollar per customer. For this she was rewarded the upstairs room and her meals. Since she had a private room, she could charge the men whatever she thought they would pay. Additionally, she drew a cut from the price of the drinks the men bought while she was with them in the saloon. Thus, she was making money even when she was not on her back. She did not partake of the laudanum. She did not like the way the opium dulled her mind.

As she examined the patrons, Ana spotted the other high-rent girl, Francine. She had targeted a man in the back corner and was perched on his knee. Holding her skirt up, so he could see her bloomers, she rocked back and forth, grinding her pelvis into his thigh bone. Francine was French, and the French entertainers were considered the most exotic. Stories circulated, expressing the special talent the French women had for pleasing men. Ana had worked with French girls in Virginia City, and she knew all about how to use her mouth to please a man. Nonetheless, Francine was the Silver Spur’s headliner as customers came to experience the French way for themselves.

Ana decided she would use the French method of pleasing a man the next time Philip Arnold came to town.

Anastasia Kilbury examined the men playing cards at the half-dozen tables in the saloon’s main room. There were several well-dressed men gambling. She eyed the stacks of chips gathered beside each man, and selected her next patron. He was playing Faro, but he was watching her with one eye, while keeping the other on the card game. Weaving between the tables, she came up behind him. She rested her hands on his shoulders and gave him a massaging squeeze. He looked up, into her eyes.

“Hiya, I’m Anastasia,” she whispered. “Could ya buy a lady a drink?”


It was past breakfast time when Ana awoke. She went down the back stairs to the common room used by the Silver Spur’s live-in, female employees.

“Much obliged, Liling,” she said to the Chinese woman who worked in the kitchen and did the girl’s laundry.

The woman, ten years Ana’s senior, replied in some of her own singsong language and undressed Ana. Liling spoke English, but she abhorred it. When Ana had first arrived at the Silver Spur, she had learned what Liling’s name meant: sound of white jasmine. While it was a pretty name, she had no idea how a flower made a sound.

Another perk of Ana’s status was to bathe in fresh water. Liling had kept a tub full of clean, warm water waiting for Ana to awaken. After she finished her bath, the low-rent girls would be allowed to use the water. Francine was already bathing in the second tub. Ana did not converse with her, or the other girls waiting for their turn. Ana was not being rude; they were all foreigners and did not speak conversational English. The three low-rent girls were of Spanish, Indian, and Irish descent. While the Irish girl spoke English, after a fashion, she was so strung out on laudanum that she cared nothing for human interaction.

The other live-in, female employees of the Silver Spur had already bathed.

Finished washing, Ana wore her nightdress, robe, and slippers as she entered the kitchen. At a counter along the back wall, she was served a breakfast of eggs, ham, and fried potatoes even though the kitchen was currently serving lunch to the saloon patrons.

By day, the Silver Spur was a respectable establishment catering to Sacramento’s business men and refined women. Being an entertainer, Ana was not welcome in the main room while the breakfast, lunch, and dinner meals were being served. Should a man have an interest in an afternoon delight, he would have to come by the back entrance to make his desire known—as frequently happened.

Returning to her room, Ana dressed in a conservative dark green frock with a high white lace neckline, puffy full length sleeves, and a hemline that brushed the ground. She exited the Silver Spur via the back entrance, and walked several blocks along the street until she was confident that no one knew from whence she came.

Sacramento had a growing population of middle class families, and the attitude toward entertainers—sex entertainers—was different than it had been in Carson City and Virginia City. While prostitution was accepted in Sacramento, the entertainers had been pushed down to a lower rung on the social ladder. Nonetheless, they were never addressed by any of the vile names used in the American east coast cities.

In Virginia City, where Ana had first entered the profession, the ladies had been held in high esteem. Men had outnumbered women by 3-to-1, and unmarried men outnumbered unmarried women by 6-to-1. Women were nonexistent in the outlying mining towns. Thus, all women—even the Indian women—were regarded as near-nobility. Entertainers were well paid and politely regarded. The ratios had not been as unbalanced in Carson City; however, Ana and the other entertainers had never been shunned.

Secure in the knowledge that she would be perceived as any other woman in the business district, Ana crossed over to California Street. She approached the bank with its high brick walls and barred windows. Anastasia recalled how intimidating the building had been when she had first arrived in Sacramento.

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