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Against All Odds: A Gilded Age Romance

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Chapter 11.

It was 6 in the morning when Mario went on duty at the front desk. The hotel lobby was still quiet at that hour, which meant that he could count on being undisturbed long enough to carry out the small task he had set for himself while lying awake half the night. The reason why he hadn’t slept had to do with the previous morning’s visit to the eighth floor suite in which Barbara and her father were staying, and the extraordinary sensual experience he had had there.

Who, after all, would have been able to sleep after observing Barbara and her Swedish maid, Kristina, going at it, stark naked, on the bed? Not only had he been a witness to a scene so steamy that he was probably never going to forget it for the rest of his life, but it had ended with Kristina serving him up one of the best fucks of his life!

Moreover, having now seen Barbara totally naked, he desperately wanted to fuck this little Midwestern vixen. No, he wanted more than to just fuck her. He wanted to possess her!

And therein lay the problem he now needed to solve. As he saw it, there were two barriers standing in his way.

One was her ever vigilant father. Mario knew the man would never accept him as a suitor. He was neither rich nor patrician. That, however … being the practical opportunist that he was … was not an insuperable problem to overcome. He was not the marrying type anyway, and would be happy enough if he could simply get Barbara to dump the “we are just friends” accommodation they had agreed upon and replace it with a whole lot of fucking for the simple sake of fucking. The hotel was, after all, huge and in his managerial role there, it was child’s play for him to organize places and opportunities for them to couple willy-nilly … right under her father’s nose, so to speak.

The other and far more vexing problem was her infatuation with that Goldman character. He knew that he was going to have to find a way to frustrate that, and a plan for doing just that had come to him during the night. He was about to put that plan into play that very morning.

Reaching into a drawer beneath the lobby desktop, he pulled out a sheet of stationary with the Plaza’s logo embossed on it, and reached for a pen.

Writing in the flowery script that he had perfected, he crafted a note that read:

“My Dear Goldman (yes, I know who you are now),

Knowing of your keen romantic interest in Miss Barbara Moore, I have decided, being of good Italian stock and possessing a fiery romantic spirit myself, that I might be of service to you.

To that end I have taken the liberty of arranging for you a private and well secluded meeting with Miss Moore here at the Plaza Hotel.

Her father, as I have told you, is one of those overly protective sorts, so to be successful this must be done very discretely. I have refrained, therefore, from providing Miss Moore with any details.

She knows only that a certain gentleman, whom I believe she really would like to know, has expressed a desire to meet with her. And that, in my managerial capacity at the Plaza, I have arranged a meeting for her and this gentleman in one of the hotel’s private meeting rooms.

If this arrangement is agreeable to you, as I can assure you that it is to Miss Moore, please reply in the affirmative, and come to the Plaza in one week’s time on the 25th of May at 10:45 am. On your arrival, do not stop at the front desk. Proceed directly and discretely to the second floor, where you will find the door to the Melville Room unlocked. Let yourself in and wait there for Miss Moore to join you.

I am delivering this note to you via a friend who works as a waiter at Delmonico’s and tells me that he knows of you.

If ever asked I will deny any knowledge of this arrangement, but know that I send this to you with my very best wishes. I expect no compensation. Consider this my little gift to what i hope might be a budding romance.

M. Pellegrino”

He read it over quickly and reached for a blotter, which he then artfully manipulated to smudge the “5” in the “25th of May” just enough to make it appear to be a “6”. Placing it in an envelope, he turned to an associate who was about to go off duty, and asked him to kindly get it into the hands of their mutual friend ‘Seppi” over at Delmonico’s.

Then he turned, with a smugly satisfied feeling, to his duties at the desk. Phase two of his plan would follow shortly, once he had seen Mr. James J. Moore depart the building for the day. And he hadn’t long to wait, as right on time, Mr. Moore emerged from the elevator at exactly 8:32 am and proceeded directly across the lobby to where the doorman hastened to open a door while signaling for a hansom cab to pull forward from its place at the head of the cab queue.

Mario turned to an associate as soon as Moore had ridden off in the cab, and told him to cover for him. Then he took the elevator to the eighth floor.

“Kristina, please go see who is rapping at the door,” said Barbara from the bath tub.

“Ja Fröken,” she replied, laying aside the towels she had been holding, and rushing off.

Moments later she returned … trailing behind Mario, waving her arms, and exclaiming “It’s Mr. Pellegrino, insisting he must see you immediately.”

“Mario!” gasped Barbara, as she slid beneath the surface of the sudsy bath water and attempted to cover up with arms and hands.

“Oh, don’t do that. Relax. You’ve got no reason to hide, Barbara. I’ve seen it all before, remember?” he chuckled, mockingly pretending to cover his eyes with a hand, while gaping his fingers wide enough to make the gesture pointless.

“Stand aside, please,” snapped Barbara, rising out of the tub. “I want to get out so that Kristina can dry me off.”

“Oh, allow me,” he declared, snatching the towels away from Kristina.

“You can dry my back, but Kristina will do my front”, sniffed Barbara turning away to face the tub.

“Oh!” he exclaimed. “What in the world happened to your butt? It’s all covered with red stripes!”

“Father took a strap to me last night, if you really must know. I misbehaved at the Stock Exchange yesterday afternoon and embarrassed him, as well as myself. There’s no excuse, of course, for what I did. I fully deserved the thrashing I received. Don’t worry. The redness and the welts will go away. Kristina will see to that. She works wonders with all her oils and lotions.”

“She certainly is good at working you up. I was witness to that yesterday.”

“Uh-huh. Move back now so Kristina can dry me off in front.”

“Sure, I’ll just go into the bedroom and take my customary place on that chair. Tell me. Is Kristina planning to use that fancy little dildo on you again today?”

“Wait a minute! Your presence yesterday was a one time thing … nothing customary about it! A down payment on services yet to be rendered, is what you claimed it to be, remember?”

“Well, actually, that’s what brought me up here this morning. I have some news that I know you’ll want to hear.”

“Okay, tell me.”

“Um, first there is a matter of payment. A lot of effort went into what I am about to tell you.”

“Okay, I should have known. What’s the price this time?”

“I’m wounded, Barbara. Terribly wounded that you think i am in this just for remuneration. I know how badly you want to meet this fellow, Goldman, and I know how appalled your father would be to find out. Think of what a thrashing you’d surely receive if he did! So out of respect and affection for you, I’ve been working hard … very hard … to arrange a private meeting between you and Goldman.”

“Really? That’s wonderful, Mario! Tell me more!”

“Ahhh, I fully intend to. That’s why I’m here, but … uh … first ….”

“Don’t say it. I will. First, there’s a matter of pre-payment, right? Didn’t we do that already yesterday?”

“Well, yes and no. Let’s say yesterday was a kind of partial pre-payment … an incentive if you will.”

“Mario, you could give my father a run for his money! What exactly do you have in mind?”

“To watch you and Kristina again, as I did yesterday, but this time … when she gets to that dildo part … I’d like to be allowed do it to you instead.”

“Out of the question!”

“Kristina, what do you say?” he said turning abruptly to her.

“Ja, sure. We could do that.”

“Thanks for that,” sighed Barbara sarcastically,” as pushing her way past them, she strode into the bedroom and threw herself face down on the bed. “Don’t just stand there. Let’s get on with it.”

Kristina shrugged, followed Barbara into the bedroom, and nonchalantly proceeded to strip naked. She then clambered onto the bed to administer the massage, while Mario watched from the edge of his chair. And when the time came, Kristina handed him the dildo and moved out of his way.

By then he was naked too.

Taking the dildo in his hand and slathering it with lubricating lotion as he had seen Kristina do, he waited patiently for Barbara to flip over on her back and open her thighs. Then he went to work, slipping the tip of the dildo in, moving and twisting it about, angling it to bring the ribbed part into contact in exactly the way it would do the most good.

And it did. He watched in fascination as she quickly became lost in her own mounting excitement … gasping and moaning, rhythmically moving her hips, crushing her breasts together with her hands and thumbing her nipples.

Then … suddenly stiffening, belly drawn taut, mouth wide open, she screamed “Yesssssss!!”

There was an immediate tug at his elbow. It was Kristina. Throwing Mario down alongside Barbara, in an amazing show of strength, she mounted him and repeated her performance of the previous day.

Afterwards, as they all lay panting on the bed, Barbara raised her head, poked him with a finger, and said, “Okay, Mario, tell us the news now. And it had better be worth what just happened here!”

“It is,” he declared, before repeating an approximation of what he had written to Goldman, but not mentioning, of course, the smudging of the date of the proposed rendezvous.

“So, if that sounds good to you, dear Barbara,” he continued. “You will go down to the Melville Room on the second floor, exactly one week from today on Wednesday the 25th, and there you will have the pleasure of making the acquaintance of your mysterious Mr Goldman.”

“Oh, that sounds perfect, Mario! But, alas, its an entire week from now! Waiting will be so difficult”

“Well, Kristina and I can help keep you … um … occupied every morning until then, can’t we Kristina?”

“Ja, sure …. det kan vi.”

“Don’t press your luck, Mario.” laughed Barbara. “Kristina will eat you alive!”

*********

A week passed. By noon on Wednesday, the 25th, Mario positioned himself behind the reception desk in the Plaza Hotel lobby so as to keep a vigil on both the elevator door and the staircase leading to the second floor. He was expecting to see Barbara emerging from one or the other very soon.

Ten minutes went by and then she appeared on the staircase. She looked distraught, and was holding on to the polished brass banister for support as she descended. By the time she reached the lobby floor he could tell that she’d been crying, presumably out of frustration. Her face was red and her eyes watery.

On spotting him she made straight for the reception desk. Ordering a subordinate to cover for him, Mario moved quickly to intercept her and steer her into the nearby small room where he had previously closeted himself with her.

As soon as he had closed and locked the door, she flew into his arms, wailing, “Oh, Mario. I’m devastated. He …. Goldman … never turned up. I went to the Melville Room at 11:00 as we had planned. I even got there a few minutes early. But the room was empty. He wasn’t there. I waited a whole hour, thinking he may have been delayed. But no, he never showed up. I’m absolutely devastated, Mario!”

“There, there,” purred Mario consolingly. “I’m so sorry. You know how much I wanted this arrangement to work. It was all set, Barbara. I was told he’d definitely be here.”

“Then what went wrong? Why didn’t he come?”

“Well, we really don’t know. Of course I will try to work my contacts to find out. But, from what I’ve heard this Goldman is a bit of an adventurer, a man on the make, a philanderer, if you will. I had hoped his intentions were honorable … his stated interest in you sincere. But perhaps another interest popped up for him over the course of the past week, and he simply decided to back out, and is enough of a cad to stoop so low as to doing so without notice or explanation.”

“(Sniff) … i suppose you could be right. Mario. It’s so terribly disappointing, but I shall simply have to learn to forget about him.”

1ED1CB53-FACE-4DCF-B23B-1237ADE3A7EB.jpeg

“Yes, it may very well come to that.”

“I’m glad I have you you to turn to at a time like this, Mario. I know you have my best interests at heart. Now, hold me tight, please.”


“Of course, dear Barbara. That’s what friends are for.”
 
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A note to Chapter 11.

An estimated 1.2 million emigrants from Sweden entered the U.S. between 1850 and 1920. They came in a series of waves. Unlike the early arrivals, who largely came in family groups during the 1850s, 1860s and 1870s to settle on the agricultural frontiers of the states of the Upper Middle West, and particularly in Minnesota, our Kristina would have likely come over in the late 1880s or early 1890s and have been part of a very large wave of mostly single young adults in search of employment as laborers or domestics in large cities. Finding work as a chamber maid in the Plaza Hotel would have seemed a bit of good fortune to a girl like Kristina … more to her liking than toiling in a sweatshop,

28B67806-57A4-481B-B681-4C3E7692D276.jpeg

Swedish-born domestic servants were generally viewed positively. They were thought to be both hard working and pleasant-tempered. They were quick to adopt the English language with a pleasant lilting accent and often, especially in a moment of excitement, liberally salted and peppered with Swedish phrases and words. They were also quick to adapt themselves to American norms and fashions.


A7A9AC35-4183-4FF1-8031-1EBABD271D45.jpeg
 
“You can dry my back, but Kristina will do my front”, sniffed Barbara turning away to face the tub.
Miss Moore, what a greedy girl you are ... :naughty2:

Honestly, I wouldn't really wish any of the male protagonists onto Barbara - her father, Mario and Goldman all seem to have their 'own ends' so to speak. No, I sincerely believe that young Miss Moore would be better off taking Kristina and catching the first boat back to Sweden where they could live in secluded peace amongst the Stockholm Archipelago ...

Loved it as always Barb ... very erotic and as panoramic as usual when it comes to describing the New York of that time ...
 
J J has tawsed young Barbara again
But she seems to ignore the pain.
Although her tight little burned,
No lesson was learned,
J J should now purchase a cane.

The plot thickens, another great chapter, Barb, this is well written by both authors, informative and enjoyable at the same time.
 
J J has tawsed young Barbara again
But she seems to ignore the pain.
Although her tight little burned,
No lesson was learned,
J J should now purchase a cane.

The plot thickens, another great chapter, Barb, this is well written by both authors, informative and enjoyable at the same time.
You deserve the personal title!
 
It was 6 in the morning when Mario went on duty at the front desk. The hotel lobby was still quiet at that hour, which meant that he could count on being undisturbed long enough to carry out the small task he had set for himself while lying awake half the night. The reason why he hadn’t slept had to do with the previous morning’s visit to the eighth floor suite in which Barbara and her father were staying, and the extraordinary sensual experience he had had there.
I got to think of @Silent_Water , who regularly has reported about his night job at the hotel desk.

Obviously a varied and exciting job, this story shows.:rolleyes:
 
Nice try, Moore....

"... I shall simply have to learn to forget about him ..."

View attachment 1151630

Well, just bowing to reality. Can a nice Minnesota girl like Barbara really get it on with a guy like Goldman? The odds are stacked against her, but then again playing the odds is what Goldman does. Problem is, at this point in the story, Mario seems to have the better hand, and Barbara in his hands as well.
 
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Well, just bowing to reality. Can a nice Minnesota girl like Barbara really get it on with a guy like Goldman? The odds are stacked against her, but then again playing the odds is what Goldman does. Problem is, at this point in the story, Mario seems to have the better hand, and Barbara in his hands as well.
Mario and Stan`s lives are replete,
To get Barb in bed, they compete.
She`ll flirt and she`ll pout,
But if J J finds out,
He`ll take the skin off her seat.
 
And yet, Moore Sr. brought his daughter to New York to marry her off...

Well, just bowing to reality. Can a nice Minnesota girl like Barbara really get it on with a guy like Goldman?
Does it matter? It is about social climbing, the American Dream, making America great, bringing it to its Gilded Age, and getting better of it one's self?:zlumi::chuck:
These questions sound so.... Old Europe.:(
 
Chapter 12.

It was Decoration Day, or, as it was coming to be known, Memorial Day, the day set aside to commemorate those who had lost their lives in the Civil War. Stan lay in his rooms, thinking. The window was open on this warm late spring evening and the sound of passing carriages and pedestrians drifted in, along with the faint odor of horse manure and garbage, a scent that would only grow stronger as the summer heat took hold.

Stan hadn’t gone to any of the solemn ceremonies at the Battery in Manhattan or at Cypress Hills Cemetery in Brooklyn, where many of the dead from New York were interred. He had, however, written a letter to his father, who had lost far too many comrades in that great struggle.

The thought of his father had led Stan to think about his own life. What was he doing wasting his time chasing the unobtainable? The incident the previous week had been a telling example.

He had been dining at the Delmonico’s on Broad, near the Exchange, with Henry and Caleb-Patrick had had some family affair to see to. When he had requested the check, the waiter, one of the regulars, a fellow he knew as Seppi (likely short for Giuseppe) handed it to him. Oddly, along with the list of charges, was an envelope addressed in a rather flowery script to “Mr. Goldman”. He picked it up and glanced at it.

“What’s that, Stan?” Henry asked.

Stan fingered the stationery. “Not the faintest idea.”

“I bet it’s from a young lady,” Caleb said, winking. Stan blushed.

“Come on, open it,” Henry urged.

“I’m going to save it for later, if you don’t mind,” Stan replied, slipping it into his pocket, and picking up the bill. “Um, let’s see,” he said doing the kind of quick calculation that had served him well on the Market and at the racetrack. “$ 5 from each of you should suffice.” That would leave a generous tip for Seppi.

“She must be quite a dish,” Caleb said.

“A gentleman never kisses and tells,” Stan replied.

Later at home, he opened the letter. He read it twice, the first time hurriedly, the second slowly. He was suspicious. This seemed too good to be true, and, in his experience, such things usually were.

‘Why would Barbara agree to meet with me?’ he wondered. ‘We’ve only seen each other twice, once across a very crowded trading floor, and never said a word to each other.’ But, perhaps Mario, who presumably had some opportunity to interact with her, had talked up his virtues. After all, Stan had funneled a nice amount of cash Mario’s way. Up until now, it had seemed like money wasted, but perhaps he had some reason to hope otherwise.

So, on the morning of the 26th, after stopping at the office to inform his colleagues that he would be absent until at least the afternoon, and absorbing a fair amount of ribbing from them, as Henry and Caleb had surmised that it was connected to the letter that Stan had accepted in Delmonico’s and Patrick had joined in, he rushed up to the Plaza and was installed in the Melville Room with a good ten minutes to spare before the appointed hour.

And there he had sat, waiting anxiously. It was a busy time down at the Exchange, with traders squaring up their positions as many of the wealthy investors were preparing to depart for their summer residences in Newport, Saratoga and other locales away from the unhealthful airs of the city in summer. “Sell in May and go away,” as the saying went.

Yet there he had sat in an empty hotel meeting room as the clock ticked past 11 with no sign of the lovely Miss Moore. Women were often late, but this was becoming concerning. He checked the letter again: “May 26th at 10:45 AM in the Melville Room.” Yet, she had not appeared.

Finally, at 11:30, he accepted the inevitable. This was some sort of game on Pellegrino’s part. What the man stood to gain, since, oddly, he hadn’t asked Stan for money, Stan couldn’t say, but that the desk clerk had some scheme seemed indisputable.

He left the Melville Room and, heedless of the instructions in the letter, stopped at the front desk. There was no sign of the slippery Italian. “May I please speak with Mr. Pellegrino?” he had asked the clerk on duty.

“I’m sorry,” the man had replied, “Mr. Pellegrino is off duty today.”

Stan shook his head. “I might have known,” he muttered. As he made his way to the station for the elevated train, he paused and took the letter from his pocket and read it one more time, shaking his head in disgust, before ripping it into pieces. The breeze blew the shredded paper into the street where the hooves of passing horses ground it into dust.

By the afternoon, Stan was back at the Exchange trying to salvage something of this wasted day.

Soon, May turned into June. The days became quite warm. Things were fairly quiet on the Exchange and Stan spent more time at Morris Park than he did there. With the right information, gathered by careful cultivation of jockeys and trainers, it could be almost as profitable.

But with less to occupy his time, Stan found himself thinking more and more of Barbara Moore. He took to strolling in Central Park, particularly the corner that adjoined the Plaza, hoping that she might be taking the air.

He knew that if she were doing so, she would almost certainly be accompanied by her father, but even a glimpse of her would be delightful. But if she did take the air, she did so at times other than those that Stan considered the most likely. Perhaps her father had seen all the trees and fresh air that a man needed for one lifetime in the woods of Minnesota.

He also had more troubling thoughts about Barbara. Lying in his bed at night, he imagined her naked, draped over the stool as Emily had been, being fucked, not by the alderman, but by him. These thoughts excited him greatly, a lust which could be slaked momentarily by recourse to the small library of erotic literature that he had amassed from a friendly bookseller in his neighborhood.

Eventually, though, his natural urges became too much. Stan found himself knocking on Rose Callahan’s door.

“Ah, Mr. Goldman, do come in. It has been some time since your last visit. You’ll be wanting to spend the evening with Brigid, then?”

“Actually, Rose, I was wondering if Emily might be available.”

“Regrettably, Emily has been reserved by another gentleman this evening,” she told him. “But she will be available tomorrow, if that would suit you.”

“Ye..ye…yes, that would,” Stan said. He felt embarrassed to tell Rose the true nature of what he desired.

“Is there anything particular that you wanted with her?” Rose asked, stressing the word ‘particular’.

Stan felt himself tongue tied. “Um, I, um…”

“Mr. Goldman, there is no shame permitted in my house. You must ask for what your heart desires and I shall do my best to make your dreams come true.”

Stan saw no option but to be out with it. “I want to do what he did. With Emily.”

Rose looked puzzled for a moment, then realized what he meant. “You mean what Mr. Jackson did?”

“Yes, that,” Stan replied.

“There will be an extra charge, of course.”

“I understand,” Stan said.

“Fifty dollars,” Rose said.

Stan nodded.

“What scenario would you like to enact? Misbehaving student and teacher, thief, like Mr. Jackson did?

“Would it be possible?” Stan asked, swallowing hard, “To, perhaps, if we could, be a husband and wife?”

“I don’t see why not,” Rose allowed.

“And, would it be possible, if we could, may I refer to Emily as Barbara?”

“If it is your wish, you can call her anything you would like. I will, of course, be present when you administer her punishment to make sure there are no problems. When I say stop, you will stop-is that understood?”

Stan nodded. “It is your house.”

“I must ask you for $ 20 as a deposit, because I will not be able to book Emily with other clients. If you decide not to go through with it you will forfeit that. You will bring the rest tomorrow at 9 PM.”

Stan handed her the deposit and walked out into the sultry evening.

The next day was quite hot. Stan spent the morning at the Exchange and, after a light lunch, he passed the afternoon at Morris Park. Neither was terribly profitable, largely because Stan’s mind was occupied imagining the naked Barbara draped over Rose’s stool, her ass cherry red as he vigorously took her from behind.

He stopped at his apartment to bathe and change his clothes as he had perspired quite freely due to the heat, then made his way to the Callahan establishment, having every reason to believe that Rose was a much more dependable arranger of assignations than Pellegrino was.

“All is arranged,” Rose said as she greeted him. “Would you like a drink before you begin?”

“Yes,” Stan replied. “A cold beer would be nice after today’s heat.” Rose went to the icebox and returned with the cool beverage.

“I just wanted to ask you, Mr. Goldman, if this is your first time for such an event?”

“Other than watching Mr. Jackson, yes,” he replied.

“That is as I thought. I’m going to have you use the strap then. It’s easier to control than the cane.”

Stan nodded and drained his beer. “Then, please follow me,” Rose said. She led him downstairs to a small anteroom off of the larger room where the stool had been set up as it had been the night that Stan had watched from his hiding place. “You don’t have anyone watching, do you?”

Rose laughed. “No, I don’t. Would you like me to invite someone?”

“That won’t be necessary,” Stan replied.

“I will go and get Emily, I mean Barbara,” Rose said. A few minutes later she reappeared with the girl trailing behind her, dressed only in the shift she had worn the last time, her soft brown hair hanging loose, looking like she was a wife ready to accompany her husband to bed. “I will see you out there,” Rose said, proceeding into the other room.

Stan was nervous, but he was somehow reassured by Emily’s stage experience. If anyone would know how to play the role it was she.

“Barbara,” he began in his sternest voice. “You are my wife. You promised to love, honor and obey. I will not have you looking at that Mario in that way.”

She laughed. “What way, Stan?”

“Like a common whore trolling for business. He’s our cook, a hired hand, yet every time he comes in the room, you are staring at him like he is Adonis himself.”

“Well, he is rather attractive,” she replied.

“That’s enough, Barbara!” he shouted. “It’s time you learned what it means to be a wife.”

“And who’s going to teach me?” she demanded, putting her hands on her hips.

Stan grabbed her by the arm and started pulling her towards the room where the stool awaited. “I am, Barbara. Right here and right now.” She struggled, but not so hard that he couldn’t move her through the door and over to the stool. The show of resistance and the anticipation of what was to come had Stan semi-hard already.

“Now get that shift off, Barbara! I want you naked, like the slut you are around that Pellegrino.”

“Sure, Stan, as you wish,” she said, pulling it over her head. He stood, soaking in her beauty, which he was able to see in its fullness now, rather than through a slit in the curtains. “You like what you see?”

“Yes,” Stan replied. “And I do not intend to share it with that Italian lothario. Now get that tight little ass over the stool.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Now, Barbara, I’m out of patience with you.” Stan pushed her torso over the stool. He bent, spreading her legs and carefully, but firmly, laced one of the thick straps attached to each chair leg around each of her ankles.

He stared up at her very lovely bottom, stroking it gently. “It will be my great pleasure to tan this ass of yours until you can assure me that your eyes will be for your husband only.”

“Whatever you say, sir,” she replied, sarcastically.

Stan watched as Rose attached Barbara’s wrists to the front legs of the stool and then went to the cabinet that held the various instruments of chastisement. She handed Stan the strap that the alderman had used and then took a seat in the chair directly in front of the girl.

“You might want to take a few practice strokes, Mr. Goldman,” Rose said, indicating a pillow approximately the size and shape of human buttocks attached to the one of the support beams at approximately the height of Barbara’s derrière.

Stan gripped the handle of the strap firmly and swung it against the pillow. “You want to snap your wrist right before impact,” Rose advised. Stan tried it and found the impact much more satisfying.

He walked back and took his stance behind the immobilized girl. ‘Can I really do this to a living breathing woman?’ he asked himself.

‘There’s only one way to find out,’ he thought, pulling the strap behind him and smacking the supple leather hard against her firm flesh. He was surprised by the power he felt in his arm and the healthy report that echoed around the room.

Barbara sucked in her breath and moaned softly.

Stan watched as a bright red line rose up on her soft, pale skin. He swung again. “Fuck!” she cried, her ass gyrating as much as it could, given her limited mobility.

“You swear like a whore, Barbara. Not very ladylike.”

“Screw you, Stan!” she cried. He hit her again.

“Owww!” she shrieked.

“I am your husband. There are no other men for you!” he cried smacking the strap as hard as he could against her lower cheeks.

“Oh, God! Please stop!” she howled. The red lines on her ass had merged now into a single area of inflamed tissue.

He swung the supple leather again. “Please! I beg you!” she protested.

“Where do your eyes look?” he asked.

“Only at you, Stan,” she gasped, breathless from the pain and her struggles.

He swung again. “No more looking at Mario like that!”

“No, Stan, no more, only you. Please! I’ll be the best wife in all of creation. But please, stop!” she sobbed, her whole body shaking.

“One more just to be sure,” he said and delivered one more blow to her battered butt cheeks, before handing the strap to Rose. Barbara lay exhausted and still across the stool. Stan practically tore his clothes off. He was as hard as he had ever been in his life.

“I’ll leave you two lovebirds alone now,” Rose said. Stan barely noticed her leaving as he took his place behind Barbara and adjusted her hips to the desired angle before sliding inside her. He couldn’t help noticing that she was very well lubricated. He remembered what Brigid had told him about how it had made her feel.

Despite his need, he took her slowly, not like the alderman had, whispering his love for her as he moved inside her, his upper body draped over her back. Finally, he felt that he was very close. He wanted to come inside of her, but he knew the dangers that presented and that Rose would likely bar him from her establishment, so, at the last second, he managed to pull out and rub his cock against the burning skin of Barbara’s bright red bottom as he shot a huge load all over her ass and lower back, before collapsing on top of her.

After a few minutes he came back down to earth and released her from the straps. She stood a bit shakily. He took her in his arms and kissed her tear-stained face. “Now, will you come to bed with your husband like a good wife should?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” she replied, taking his hand and leading him to her room.
 
Notes on Chapter 12

Decoration Day began shortly after the Civil War to commemorate those killed in the war. The origins are somewhat obscure, but there were commemorations in both the North for Union dead and in the South for Confederate dead.

This picture shows the parade that took place in St Paul, Minnesota in 1870

1870DecorationDayStPaulMNphotoCharlesZimmerman.jpg

Following the First World War and subsequent wars, it came to commemorate all the war dead and the name "Memorial Day" gradually replaced Decoration Day. Originally it was celebrated on May 30, but in 1968, Congress moved it to the last Monday in May to provide a long weekend for barbeques and for car dealers and furniture stores to make sales.
 
“And, would it be possible, if we could, may I refer to Emily as Barbara?”
A slippery slope Stan, if you truly have designs on the real Barbara!
‘Can I really do this to a living breathing woman?’ he asked himself.
It appears that the answer to that question was unequivocally YES!
“Fuck!” she cried
Definitely a 'Moore girl'
“Screw you, Stan!” she cried. He hit her again.
Most definitely!

Great stuff Windy!
 
This just gets better, it`s almost as though you and Barb are in competition, spurring each other on to greater heights.
To a certain degree our back and forth collaborative style of writing does that. Thanks for that comment. Truth be told though, since I’m the one in the driver’s seat, it’s W who keeps us from crashing.
 
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