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Against All Odds: A Gilded Age Romance
- Thread starter Barbaria1
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Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
Blimey, Windar, you're not pulling your punches!
Corn flakes depress the libido? They don't put that in the adverts!
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
At least, dr. James Darwin graduated in medicine. His uncle Charles never achieved that!
Chapter 25.
Barbara had difficulty getting any rest that night. Partly it was because she was cold. There was no heat in her barren little cell and she was naked. The coarse woolen blanket she had been issued was simply not heavy or large enough to ward off the chill.
But it was more than that. She simply could not turn off her mind. So much had happened that day, and none of it good.
She felt that her father had misled and betrayed her shamelessly by pretending to take her with him on a business trip, only to deposit and abandon her in this godforsaken place. She had suspected something was amiss as soon as she had noticed on arrival in Jack’s rig that there were bars on the Institute’s windows. And sure enough, look at her now … imprisoned like a convict in a barren cell.
She wasn’t accustomed to being deprived of all the comforts of a proper bed, nor of being naked before total strangers. She had taken an instant dislike to the two matrons and Max … a dislike that had deepened after the callously insensitive way they had forced her to strip naked and wash herself in front of them.
She also hated that peephole in the cell door. It was creepy the way in which the cover would periodically slide aside, and how she could see an eyeball peering through it … presumably Max’s. She reckoned that he had been ordered to check on her every so often.
She wished she could extinguish the gas lamp on the wall, which never ceased to cast its faint flickering glow down upon her, exposing her partial nudity to Max’s eye as she lay shivering on her cot. Alas, the lamp was mounted too high on the wall for her to reach.
But what was most unsettling was the so-called physical exam conducted by Dr. Darwin. She hadn’t been able to keep her mind from replaying the memory of it over and over again.
Allowing him to examine her most intimate parts had been humiliating enough. And intimidating too, given the threat that Max stood by ready to intervene had she not submitted to Darwin’s attentions peaceably.
At least submitting to the exam had meant she could be relieved of those dreadful irons and chains. And she hadn’t minded Darwin checking her breathing. But when he ordered her to lie down, forced her legs apart, raised her knees, and bent over her to peer at her lewdly exposed pussy, she had begun to panic.
He had tried to reassure her, telling her of his many years of experience, and of his expertise in treating what he believed to be her “problem” … an oblique reference to the so-called “overactive libido” he had spoken of to her father.
Who was he trying to kid? She’d never heard of any such thing. She was as normal as anyone!
And then he had probed inside her with his fingers, and had done so with a well-practiced adroitness that took her by surprise. She had responded instinctively, almost immediately, to his stroking, caressing, and teasing finger play. She remembered gasping, both in surprise and alarmed excitement, “What are you doing?”
He had responded by telling her to lie back and relax. Then he had produced a wooden dildo from his bag, and used it in a way that even Kristina and Mario would have been hard pressed to match. The stimulation had rendered her as helpless as a newborn. She had been at his complete mercy as he worked the dildo in and out while stroking her burning bud with his finger … working her into a frenzy of desire.
She remembered him withdrawing the dildo momentarily to examine it and declare her “at a 9 on the Darwin scale of arousal.” Yes, she distinctly remembered him saying that before slipping the dildo back inside and bringing her swiftly to the biggest orgasm she’d ever experienced.
She also vaguely recalled him talking to her as he worked her into a state, but what might have been said was a blur. She only recalled Darwin, as she lay on her cot panting for air and sheened with sweat, amending his declaration of her score on his scale from a 9 to “perhaps a 10.”
But was this true? Could it be that she was some kind of freak … an extreme case of what Darwin called an “overactive libido?” How could she be sure? And just what kinds of so-called treatments had he in mind for her? She was dubious about all of this, and worried about what lay in store for her in the days and weeks ahead.
But, there was no time to fret about such things now, for her cell door had swung open to admit the two matrons, Jones and Marston, backed up by the ever ominously present Max.
“On your feet, Moore!” barked Jones. “Time to go upstairs to the dining hall for breakfast, and then a full day of treatment per Dr. Darwin’s orders.”
Barbara glared at them at them and defiantly remained right where she was.
“Max!” snapped Marston, waving him over.
“Don’t bother, Max, I’m coming,” sighed Barbara, wrapping her blanket around her torso and getting to her feet.
“The blanket stays here!” snarled Jones, ripping it abruptly away.
“You mean I am to go to breakfast naked?”
“Nearly so. New patients are not allowed to shield anything from the clinical scrutiny of either the matrons or Dr. Darwin. This is all you’re allowed until Darwin says you are making progress,” explained Marston as she held out a somewhat elongated, rectangular scrap of black cloth. “It’s to be worn like a short sarong. Wrap it around your hips and tie it at one side.
Barbara took it from the matron, held it up gingerly between thumb and forefinger for inspection and then did as she was told while complaining, “there’s barely enough here to cover my butt and crotch!”
“Be thankful for what you’ve been given, sweetie. One of Dr. Darwin’s dictums is that healing begins with openness and humility. Nothing is to be hidden from his or our watchful eyes.”
“No need for the cuffs and chains then, I assume?” ventured Barbara hopefully after noting they were nowhere to be seen.
“Sorry, Moore. You’ll need to be shackled, at least for now,” replied Jones, producing the irons and chains from where she had been holding them behind her back. “We don’t want to risk any escape attempts. New arrivals here have been known to have such foolish ideas.”
“Of course, how silly of me.” muttered Barb drily as her irons and chains were applied.
“Hurry up! Let’s go,” groused an impatient Max.
*************
Meanwhile back at the Plaza Hotel, Barbara’s father was seated at the writing desk in their suite’s sitting room. He had planned before going down for breakfast to write a letter to leave at the front desk for posting. Spreading a piece of hotel stationary before him, he picked up a pen and began to write:
“My dear Archibald, I am writing this morning to extend my most sincere apologies for Barbara’s shocking behavior in Saratoga Springs on Saturday, but also to plead for your patience and forbearance. I ask this, because I believe that you were quite romantically attracted to her before this inexplicable and deplorable incident occurred, and I’m quite certain that she was equally attracted to you. I want you to know that I firmly believe what happened between Barbara and that awful Jew boy, whose name I cannot bring myself to mention, to be merely an unfortunate aberration. I have sought professional advice and am told by someone I believe to be most knowledgeable in these matters that Barbara was simply not well this past week and that her unruly and most shocking behaviors were due to her condition. And, here is the important thing. I am assured that this affliction of the mind that held her in its grip this past week is, thankfully, fully treatable. Indeed, I placed her in an institution on Sunday, where she has agreed to undergo treatments. And those treatments are already underway as of this very morning. So again, I ask you to forgive and forget. I know that isn’t easy. But I also know that you two young people are made for one another. That is quite obvious to me, and there is nothing I would like better than to have you as a son-in-law and that you and Barbara find true love and happiness in each other.”
He read it over twice, signed it, reached for and addressed an envelope, slid the letter inside and sealed it. Tucking the envelope in his vest pocket, he went down for breakfast, and as he strode by the front desk, pressed the envelope and a coin into a desk clerk’s palm.
****************
At roughly the same time, a little over 100 miles north of the Plaza Hotel, Barbara too was entering a dining hall. Unlike her father, who strode in confidently and dressed for business in the city, she shuffled in fettered in chains and embarrassed to be wearing nothing but a scrap of cloth tied at one hip.
She glanced about the room as Max prodded her in the direction of a table at which sat three other young girls wearing no more than she was, and similarly shackled.
A quick glance around the room told her that there were, all together, perhaps as many as a dozen girls seated at three separate tables. Those seated at a second table wore short and rather threadbare-looking white cotton shifts and appeared to be free of shackles. Those seated at a third table … and there were only two of them … were quite ordinarily dressed and without restraints. The pecking order was quite apparent.
Barbara took a seat at the table to which she was directed. A bowl of grayish-looking gruel was placed in front of her by a matron. A cup of brown warm liquid was poured.
She picked up a spoon, and took a cautious mouthful of gruel. The chain linking her wrists to her ankles scraped against the table edge to make an unpleasant rasping noise. The gruel tasted awful.
She looked up at the three other girls at the table and grimaced.
“Better eat it anyway,” one of them advised.
“It’s all you’re going to get,” added another, “until dinner.”
“That is, at least until you graduate to a better table,” laughed a third, nodding in the direction of the table at which the fully dressed inmates were seated.
“I’m Barbara. What are your names?“ she offered after hastily taking a swig from her cup to wash down the foul-tasting gruel.
“Hazel.”
“Clara.”
“Florence.”
“Pleased to meet you all. Tell me, what are you here to be treated for?”
“Overactive libido,” they all said in unison.
“Shhhhhh … not so loud,” cautioned the red-haired one who had identified herself as Florence.
“If they hear us discussing our treatment, they’ll punish us …” cautioned Hazel. “with anywhere from six to a dozen lashes at the whipping post.”
“And they’ll do it in front of everyone too,” added Clara, turning slightly sideways so that Barbara could see the faded lash marks on her back. “Those are from last week.”
“So ….” began Barbara, taking care now to speak in hushed tones, “Does Darwin come up with the same diagnosis for everyone here?”
Three heads nodded in unison.
“The man’s running a racket then … a highly profitable one! And everyone here is caught in it?”
“Pretty much so,” admitted Hazel.
“And let me guess … everyone is a diagnosed to be at a so-called level 3?”
“Uh-huh.”
“And do I dare ask, what the treatment is?”
“Darwin basically forces us to get it off several times a day, and when we do he has us submit to shock therapy of one sort or another. The idea is to make us associate carnal pleasure with pain.” explained Clara.
“He calls it ‘conditioning’,” added Hazel. “Linking pleasure with pain acts as a deterrent.”
“Shhhhh ….here comes Jonesy,” cautioned Florence.
“Straighten up and keep quiet,” snarled the matron as she delivered a sharp cuff to the back of Florence’s head, before announcing to all present. “Straighten up! Dr. Darwin is on his way here.”
Moments later, Darwin strode briskly into the dining hall. He was wearing a crisply-starched white lab coat and a very serious expression on his face.
“Good morning, ladies,” he greeted with a wave of his hand. “I trust everyone slept well last night and are ready for a day of treatment. As always, I am pleased to report that most everyone is making good progress.”
“Uh oh, did you catch that he said ‘most’? Someone’s in for it this morning!” hissed Florence.
“But before we begin our day, I have two matters I’d like to bring up. First, we have a new addition to our group. Seated over there with Florence, Hazel, and Clara, if you haven’t taken note of her presence yet, is Miss Barbara Moore. Please stand up Barbara so we can all see you.”
Barbara looked first at her table companions, who all nodded, and then pushed back her chair and stood.
“Barbara is not a New Yorker.” continued Darwin. “She’s from Minnesota originally, the Great Lakes port city of Duluth to be more precise, but she’s recently moved to our state. Her father has placed her in my care … as have the good and caring parents of all of you …. knowing that my scientifically proven methods will no doubt cure her of the affliction that brings her here. Everyone, please stand and welcome Barbara.”
With a scraping of chair legs, and a few whispered comments, everyone stood and offered a polite round of applause before sitting down again.
Barbara wondered whether she was supposed to make a speech, but Jonesy’s big paw pressing firmly down on her shoulder said no. So she sat down. Which was probably a good thing because she had been toying with the idea of saying something terribly impudent.
“The second matter I wanted to bring up this morning is one that saddens me greatly. It has come to my attention, thanks to Gwendolyn who reported to Matron Jones earlier this morning that she had observed Clara crawling into bed with Florence during the night.”
There was a collective gasp from those seated at two of the dining hall tables, and a suppressed snicker from the two seated at the privileged third table, one of whom Barbara surmised was Gwendolyn.
Across the table from her, Clara and Florence glanced at one another in alarm. Barb suspected from their body language that they had likely clasped hands beneath the table.
“As everyone here must surely be aware,” continued Darwin, “fraternizations of any kind at night after lights are out in the woman’s dorm room are strictly forbidden and punishable. And, I might add that the particular kind of fraternization most probably engaged in by Clara and Florence, was of a totally reprehensible and forbidden kind. Remember girls, our mission here at the Institute is to free you of the tyranny of your carnal urges and desires, not to shift them to alternative socially unacceptable urges and desires. Accordingly, I must sadly order a maximum punishment for Clara and Florence of twelve lashes each at the whipping post, to be administered by their two most immediate classmates, Hazel and Barbara. Matrons, kindly remove the miscreants from the dining hall. The rest of you finish your breakfast. We shall all reconvene in the garden fifteen minutes from now to witness the carrying out of Clara and Florence’s punishment.”
*****************
A quarter of an hour later everyone was ushered out to the garden area behind the building. Clara and Florence were already there, having been removed from the dining hall by the matrons and Max immediately following Darwin’s order that they be punished.
Barbara had turned to her remaining tablemate, Clara, with a questioning look.
“Just do as I do out there. Follow my example.” she had whispered in response, brushing a wisp of blond hair from her face. “Do exactly as I do so you don’t end up at the post too.”
Now as they and the other girls emerged out onto the garden lawn, Barbara briefly shielded her eyes with her hand from the rays of the bright early morning sun. The air was already warm and humid. Another typical August day.
Before the group as it gathered together near the center of the garden, was the whipping post … standing tall and wooden, weatherbeaten, gnarled and slightly twisted. To the top of it were bolted two sets of chains and iron cuffs. And standing side by side, arms raised overhead, wrists locked in the irons, were Clara and Florence. Both were totally nude, their black sarongs cast aside and lying on the ground.
The two matrons, having completed the task of herding the girls outside, took up positions, arms akimbo and feet firmly planted, on either side of the post. Each held in her hand a long leather whip.
Max was behind the post adjusting the chains so as to raise Clara and Florence onto their toes.
Darwin stood off to one side, arms crossed, doing his level best to affect a resolute posture and countenance.
On his signal, the matrons stepped forward to extract Barbara and Hazel from the crowd.
“Remember! Do as I do,” hissed Hazel as they were led forward.
The matrons lined up … Hazel behind Clara, Barbara behind Florence … and handed each a whip.
“Give them twelve now!” instructed Marston, “And don’t hold back or you’ll find yourselves hugging the post next.”
Barbara regarded the wooden handled whip in her hand somewhat dubiously. She was familiar enough with corporal punishments. Father had often used a tawse and occasionally a leather belt on her bare bottom, and more recently had subjected her to a caning. She had taken such ordeals in stride, recognizing that her behaviors necessitated them, and that such thrashings were a parent’s prerogative. But this was different. She had never seen or experienced a whipping, and certainly had never wielded one in her own hand.
“Do as I do,” Hazel hissed at her, reminding her again of the need to perform properly. Following Hazel’s example, she began by flipping the business end of her whip against the ground. Then she made a show of leaning forward to study Florence’s naked backside, from the redhead’s freckled shoulders down to the full round globes of her butt, while watching to see what Hazel would do next, which was to let fly with a stinging lash across Clara’s shoulder blades that caused the girl to both jump and yelp.
Straightening up Barbara drew her arm backwards, as she had observed Hazel do, and let fly with a lazy stroke that bounced off Florence’s buttocks, causing the soft flesh of her cheeks to bounce and shake, but hardly enough to elicit a cry.
“Harder next time!” admonished Hazel. “Put your back into it!”
Out of the corner of her eye, Barbara could see the look of disapproval already registering on Darwin’s face. And from behind her she could hear titters and whispers coming from the other inmates.
Resolving to do better, Barbara let fly again, putting more umphhh into it, but failing sufficiently in her aim to send the lash off target, barely grazing Florence’s right shoulder and causing Matron Jones to flinch and duck. This was in sharp contrast to Hazel’s stroke which succeeded in causing Clara to jump and scream.
The next one went somewhat better, and after that Barbara felt she had found her rhythm at last. Indeed, by the end of the twelve strokes she and Hazel had both Clara and Florence writhing and screaming, bumping against one another as well as against the unyielding hardness of the post they shared.
When it was over, Barbara dropped her whip on the ground and looked to Hazel for approval. Both were bathed in sweat and breathing hard from their exertions.
Hazel nodded, which Barbara took to mean that she had managed to pass muster.
Darwin ordered everyone indoors for the onset of the day’s first round of treatments, and instructed the matrons to release Clara and Florence from the whipping post and take them to the infirmary to procure some salve for their backs.
But then, to Barbara’s surprise and dismay, Darwin called on Max to secure Barbara to the post for three lashes to make up for her initial poor performance.
And as a bewildered and crestfallen Barbara was dragged to the post, Darwin called after the departing group of girls to ask Gwendolyn if she wouldn’t mind staying behind to deliver the three strokes.
Barbara had difficulty getting any rest that night. Partly it was because she was cold. There was no heat in her barren little cell and she was naked. The coarse woolen blanket she had been issued was simply not heavy or large enough to ward off the chill.
But it was more than that. She simply could not turn off her mind. So much had happened that day, and none of it good.
She felt that her father had misled and betrayed her shamelessly by pretending to take her with him on a business trip, only to deposit and abandon her in this godforsaken place. She had suspected something was amiss as soon as she had noticed on arrival in Jack’s rig that there were bars on the Institute’s windows. And sure enough, look at her now … imprisoned like a convict in a barren cell.
She wasn’t accustomed to being deprived of all the comforts of a proper bed, nor of being naked before total strangers. She had taken an instant dislike to the two matrons and Max … a dislike that had deepened after the callously insensitive way they had forced her to strip naked and wash herself in front of them.
She also hated that peephole in the cell door. It was creepy the way in which the cover would periodically slide aside, and how she could see an eyeball peering through it … presumably Max’s. She reckoned that he had been ordered to check on her every so often.
She wished she could extinguish the gas lamp on the wall, which never ceased to cast its faint flickering glow down upon her, exposing her partial nudity to Max’s eye as she lay shivering on her cot. Alas, the lamp was mounted too high on the wall for her to reach.
But what was most unsettling was the so-called physical exam conducted by Dr. Darwin. She hadn’t been able to keep her mind from replaying the memory of it over and over again.
Allowing him to examine her most intimate parts had been humiliating enough. And intimidating too, given the threat that Max stood by ready to intervene had she not submitted to Darwin’s attentions peaceably.
At least submitting to the exam had meant she could be relieved of those dreadful irons and chains. And she hadn’t minded Darwin checking her breathing. But when he ordered her to lie down, forced her legs apart, raised her knees, and bent over her to peer at her lewdly exposed pussy, she had begun to panic.
He had tried to reassure her, telling her of his many years of experience, and of his expertise in treating what he believed to be her “problem” … an oblique reference to the so-called “overactive libido” he had spoken of to her father.
Who was he trying to kid? She’d never heard of any such thing. She was as normal as anyone!
And then he had probed inside her with his fingers, and had done so with a well-practiced adroitness that took her by surprise. She had responded instinctively, almost immediately, to his stroking, caressing, and teasing finger play. She remembered gasping, both in surprise and alarmed excitement, “What are you doing?”
He had responded by telling her to lie back and relax. Then he had produced a wooden dildo from his bag, and used it in a way that even Kristina and Mario would have been hard pressed to match. The stimulation had rendered her as helpless as a newborn. She had been at his complete mercy as he worked the dildo in and out while stroking her burning bud with his finger … working her into a frenzy of desire.
She remembered him withdrawing the dildo momentarily to examine it and declare her “at a 9 on the Darwin scale of arousal.” Yes, she distinctly remembered him saying that before slipping the dildo back inside and bringing her swiftly to the biggest orgasm she’d ever experienced.
She also vaguely recalled him talking to her as he worked her into a state, but what might have been said was a blur. She only recalled Darwin, as she lay on her cot panting for air and sheened with sweat, amending his declaration of her score on his scale from a 9 to “perhaps a 10.”
But was this true? Could it be that she was some kind of freak … an extreme case of what Darwin called an “overactive libido?” How could she be sure? And just what kinds of so-called treatments had he in mind for her? She was dubious about all of this, and worried about what lay in store for her in the days and weeks ahead.
But, there was no time to fret about such things now, for her cell door had swung open to admit the two matrons, Jones and Marston, backed up by the ever ominously present Max.
“On your feet, Moore!” barked Jones. “Time to go upstairs to the dining hall for breakfast, and then a full day of treatment per Dr. Darwin’s orders.”
Barbara glared at them at them and defiantly remained right where she was.
“Max!” snapped Marston, waving him over.
“Don’t bother, Max, I’m coming,” sighed Barbara, wrapping her blanket around her torso and getting to her feet.
“The blanket stays here!” snarled Jones, ripping it abruptly away.
“You mean I am to go to breakfast naked?”
“Nearly so. New patients are not allowed to shield anything from the clinical scrutiny of either the matrons or Dr. Darwin. This is all you’re allowed until Darwin says you are making progress,” explained Marston as she held out a somewhat elongated, rectangular scrap of black cloth. “It’s to be worn like a short sarong. Wrap it around your hips and tie it at one side.
Barbara took it from the matron, held it up gingerly between thumb and forefinger for inspection and then did as she was told while complaining, “there’s barely enough here to cover my butt and crotch!”
“Be thankful for what you’ve been given, sweetie. One of Dr. Darwin’s dictums is that healing begins with openness and humility. Nothing is to be hidden from his or our watchful eyes.”
“No need for the cuffs and chains then, I assume?” ventured Barbara hopefully after noting they were nowhere to be seen.
“Sorry, Moore. You’ll need to be shackled, at least for now,” replied Jones, producing the irons and chains from where she had been holding them behind her back. “We don’t want to risk any escape attempts. New arrivals here have been known to have such foolish ideas.”
“Of course, how silly of me.” muttered Barb drily as her irons and chains were applied.
“Hurry up! Let’s go,” groused an impatient Max.
*************
Meanwhile back at the Plaza Hotel, Barbara’s father was seated at the writing desk in their suite’s sitting room. He had planned before going down for breakfast to write a letter to leave at the front desk for posting. Spreading a piece of hotel stationary before him, he picked up a pen and began to write:
“My dear Archibald, I am writing this morning to extend my most sincere apologies for Barbara’s shocking behavior in Saratoga Springs on Saturday, but also to plead for your patience and forbearance. I ask this, because I believe that you were quite romantically attracted to her before this inexplicable and deplorable incident occurred, and I’m quite certain that she was equally attracted to you. I want you to know that I firmly believe what happened between Barbara and that awful Jew boy, whose name I cannot bring myself to mention, to be merely an unfortunate aberration. I have sought professional advice and am told by someone I believe to be most knowledgeable in these matters that Barbara was simply not well this past week and that her unruly and most shocking behaviors were due to her condition. And, here is the important thing. I am assured that this affliction of the mind that held her in its grip this past week is, thankfully, fully treatable. Indeed, I placed her in an institution on Sunday, where she has agreed to undergo treatments. And those treatments are already underway as of this very morning. So again, I ask you to forgive and forget. I know that isn’t easy. But I also know that you two young people are made for one another. That is quite obvious to me, and there is nothing I would like better than to have you as a son-in-law and that you and Barbara find true love and happiness in each other.”
He read it over twice, signed it, reached for and addressed an envelope, slid the letter inside and sealed it. Tucking the envelope in his vest pocket, he went down for breakfast, and as he strode by the front desk, pressed the envelope and a coin into a desk clerk’s palm.
****************
At roughly the same time, a little over 100 miles north of the Plaza Hotel, Barbara too was entering a dining hall. Unlike her father, who strode in confidently and dressed for business in the city, she shuffled in fettered in chains and embarrassed to be wearing nothing but a scrap of cloth tied at one hip.
She glanced about the room as Max prodded her in the direction of a table at which sat three other young girls wearing no more than she was, and similarly shackled.
A quick glance around the room told her that there were, all together, perhaps as many as a dozen girls seated at three separate tables. Those seated at a second table wore short and rather threadbare-looking white cotton shifts and appeared to be free of shackles. Those seated at a third table … and there were only two of them … were quite ordinarily dressed and without restraints. The pecking order was quite apparent.
Barbara took a seat at the table to which she was directed. A bowl of grayish-looking gruel was placed in front of her by a matron. A cup of brown warm liquid was poured.
She picked up a spoon, and took a cautious mouthful of gruel. The chain linking her wrists to her ankles scraped against the table edge to make an unpleasant rasping noise. The gruel tasted awful.
She looked up at the three other girls at the table and grimaced.
“Better eat it anyway,” one of them advised.
“It’s all you’re going to get,” added another, “until dinner.”
“That is, at least until you graduate to a better table,” laughed a third, nodding in the direction of the table at which the fully dressed inmates were seated.
“I’m Barbara. What are your names?“ she offered after hastily taking a swig from her cup to wash down the foul-tasting gruel.
“Hazel.”
“Clara.”
“Florence.”
“Pleased to meet you all. Tell me, what are you here to be treated for?”
“Overactive libido,” they all said in unison.
“Shhhhhh … not so loud,” cautioned the red-haired one who had identified herself as Florence.
“If they hear us discussing our treatment, they’ll punish us …” cautioned Hazel. “with anywhere from six to a dozen lashes at the whipping post.”
“And they’ll do it in front of everyone too,” added Clara, turning slightly sideways so that Barbara could see the faded lash marks on her back. “Those are from last week.”
“So ….” began Barbara, taking care now to speak in hushed tones, “Does Darwin come up with the same diagnosis for everyone here?”
Three heads nodded in unison.
“The man’s running a racket then … a highly profitable one! And everyone here is caught in it?”
“Pretty much so,” admitted Hazel.
“And let me guess … everyone is a diagnosed to be at a so-called level 3?”
“Uh-huh.”
“And do I dare ask, what the treatment is?”
“Darwin basically forces us to get it off several times a day, and when we do he has us submit to shock therapy of one sort or another. The idea is to make us associate carnal pleasure with pain.” explained Clara.
“He calls it ‘conditioning’,” added Hazel. “Linking pleasure with pain acts as a deterrent.”
“Shhhhh ….here comes Jonesy,” cautioned Florence.
“Straighten up and keep quiet,” snarled the matron as she delivered a sharp cuff to the back of Florence’s head, before announcing to all present. “Straighten up! Dr. Darwin is on his way here.”
Moments later, Darwin strode briskly into the dining hall. He was wearing a crisply-starched white lab coat and a very serious expression on his face.
“Good morning, ladies,” he greeted with a wave of his hand. “I trust everyone slept well last night and are ready for a day of treatment. As always, I am pleased to report that most everyone is making good progress.”
“Uh oh, did you catch that he said ‘most’? Someone’s in for it this morning!” hissed Florence.
“But before we begin our day, I have two matters I’d like to bring up. First, we have a new addition to our group. Seated over there with Florence, Hazel, and Clara, if you haven’t taken note of her presence yet, is Miss Barbara Moore. Please stand up Barbara so we can all see you.”
Barbara looked first at her table companions, who all nodded, and then pushed back her chair and stood.
“Barbara is not a New Yorker.” continued Darwin. “She’s from Minnesota originally, the Great Lakes port city of Duluth to be more precise, but she’s recently moved to our state. Her father has placed her in my care … as have the good and caring parents of all of you …. knowing that my scientifically proven methods will no doubt cure her of the affliction that brings her here. Everyone, please stand and welcome Barbara.”
With a scraping of chair legs, and a few whispered comments, everyone stood and offered a polite round of applause before sitting down again.
Barbara wondered whether she was supposed to make a speech, but Jonesy’s big paw pressing firmly down on her shoulder said no. So she sat down. Which was probably a good thing because she had been toying with the idea of saying something terribly impudent.
“The second matter I wanted to bring up this morning is one that saddens me greatly. It has come to my attention, thanks to Gwendolyn who reported to Matron Jones earlier this morning that she had observed Clara crawling into bed with Florence during the night.”
There was a collective gasp from those seated at two of the dining hall tables, and a suppressed snicker from the two seated at the privileged third table, one of whom Barbara surmised was Gwendolyn.
Across the table from her, Clara and Florence glanced at one another in alarm. Barb suspected from their body language that they had likely clasped hands beneath the table.
“As everyone here must surely be aware,” continued Darwin, “fraternizations of any kind at night after lights are out in the woman’s dorm room are strictly forbidden and punishable. And, I might add that the particular kind of fraternization most probably engaged in by Clara and Florence, was of a totally reprehensible and forbidden kind. Remember girls, our mission here at the Institute is to free you of the tyranny of your carnal urges and desires, not to shift them to alternative socially unacceptable urges and desires. Accordingly, I must sadly order a maximum punishment for Clara and Florence of twelve lashes each at the whipping post, to be administered by their two most immediate classmates, Hazel and Barbara. Matrons, kindly remove the miscreants from the dining hall. The rest of you finish your breakfast. We shall all reconvene in the garden fifteen minutes from now to witness the carrying out of Clara and Florence’s punishment.”
*****************
A quarter of an hour later everyone was ushered out to the garden area behind the building. Clara and Florence were already there, having been removed from the dining hall by the matrons and Max immediately following Darwin’s order that they be punished.
Barbara had turned to her remaining tablemate, Clara, with a questioning look.
“Just do as I do out there. Follow my example.” she had whispered in response, brushing a wisp of blond hair from her face. “Do exactly as I do so you don’t end up at the post too.”
Now as they and the other girls emerged out onto the garden lawn, Barbara briefly shielded her eyes with her hand from the rays of the bright early morning sun. The air was already warm and humid. Another typical August day.
Before the group as it gathered together near the center of the garden, was the whipping post … standing tall and wooden, weatherbeaten, gnarled and slightly twisted. To the top of it were bolted two sets of chains and iron cuffs. And standing side by side, arms raised overhead, wrists locked in the irons, were Clara and Florence. Both were totally nude, their black sarongs cast aside and lying on the ground.
The two matrons, having completed the task of herding the girls outside, took up positions, arms akimbo and feet firmly planted, on either side of the post. Each held in her hand a long leather whip.
Max was behind the post adjusting the chains so as to raise Clara and Florence onto their toes.
Darwin stood off to one side, arms crossed, doing his level best to affect a resolute posture and countenance.
On his signal, the matrons stepped forward to extract Barbara and Hazel from the crowd.
“Remember! Do as I do,” hissed Hazel as they were led forward.
The matrons lined up … Hazel behind Clara, Barbara behind Florence … and handed each a whip.
“Give them twelve now!” instructed Marston, “And don’t hold back or you’ll find yourselves hugging the post next.”
Barbara regarded the wooden handled whip in her hand somewhat dubiously. She was familiar enough with corporal punishments. Father had often used a tawse and occasionally a leather belt on her bare bottom, and more recently had subjected her to a caning. She had taken such ordeals in stride, recognizing that her behaviors necessitated them, and that such thrashings were a parent’s prerogative. But this was different. She had never seen or experienced a whipping, and certainly had never wielded one in her own hand.
“Do as I do,” Hazel hissed at her, reminding her again of the need to perform properly. Following Hazel’s example, she began by flipping the business end of her whip against the ground. Then she made a show of leaning forward to study Florence’s naked backside, from the redhead’s freckled shoulders down to the full round globes of her butt, while watching to see what Hazel would do next, which was to let fly with a stinging lash across Clara’s shoulder blades that caused the girl to both jump and yelp.
Straightening up Barbara drew her arm backwards, as she had observed Hazel do, and let fly with a lazy stroke that bounced off Florence’s buttocks, causing the soft flesh of her cheeks to bounce and shake, but hardly enough to elicit a cry.
“Harder next time!” admonished Hazel. “Put your back into it!”
Out of the corner of her eye, Barbara could see the look of disapproval already registering on Darwin’s face. And from behind her she could hear titters and whispers coming from the other inmates.
Resolving to do better, Barbara let fly again, putting more umphhh into it, but failing sufficiently in her aim to send the lash off target, barely grazing Florence’s right shoulder and causing Matron Jones to flinch and duck. This was in sharp contrast to Hazel’s stroke which succeeded in causing Clara to jump and scream.
The next one went somewhat better, and after that Barbara felt she had found her rhythm at last. Indeed, by the end of the twelve strokes she and Hazel had both Clara and Florence writhing and screaming, bumping against one another as well as against the unyielding hardness of the post they shared.
When it was over, Barbara dropped her whip on the ground and looked to Hazel for approval. Both were bathed in sweat and breathing hard from their exertions.
Hazel nodded, which Barbara took to mean that she had managed to pass muster.
Darwin ordered everyone indoors for the onset of the day’s first round of treatments, and instructed the matrons to release Clara and Florence from the whipping post and take them to the infirmary to procure some salve for their backs.
But then, to Barbara’s surprise and dismay, Darwin called on Max to secure Barbara to the post for three lashes to make up for her initial poor performance.
And as a bewildered and crestfallen Barbara was dragged to the post, Darwin called after the departing group of girls to ask Gwendolyn if she wouldn’t mind staying behind to deliver the three strokes.
Migoz2
Senator
I'm sure Barb will turn it up to 11 before this tale is over.
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
They are concerned about Barb's secuity! What's wrong with that?
I start to value dr. Darwin's therapeutical competences!
You see!? It works!
So, it is dr. Darwin who learned Barb to issue demertits!
windar
Teller of Tales
Yes, and he was also assured that he could be the proud owner of that bridge leading to Brooklyn for a small additional fee..
It's a dirty rotten job, but someone has to do it...
And then he had probed inside her with his fingers, and had done so with a well-practiced adroitness that took her by surprise. She had responded instinctively, almost immediately, to his stroking, caressing, and teasing finger play. She remembered gasping, both in surprise and alarmed excitement, “What are you doing?”
He had responded by telling her to lie back and relax. Then he had produced a wooden dildo from his bag, and used it in a way that even Kristina and Mario would have been hard pressed to match. The stimulation had rendered her as helpless as a newborn. She had been at his complete mercy as he worked the dildo in and out while stroking her burning bud with his finger … working her into a frenzy of desire.
She remembered him withdrawing the dildo momentarily to examine it and declare her “at a 9 on the Darwin scale of arousal.” Yes, she distinctly remembered him saying that before slipping the dildo back inside and bringing her swiftly to the biggest orgasm she’d ever experienced.
Not all the treatment is bad!!!
He had responded by telling her to lie back and relax. Then he had produced a wooden dildo from his bag, and used it in a way that even Kristina and Mario would have been hard pressed to match. The stimulation had rendered her as helpless as a newborn. She had been at his complete mercy as he worked the dildo in and out while stroking her burning bud with his finger … working her into a frenzy of desire.
She remembered him withdrawing the dildo momentarily to examine it and declare her “at a 9 on the Darwin scale of arousal.” Yes, she distinctly remembered him saying that before slipping the dildo back inside and bringing her swiftly to the biggest orgasm she’d ever experienced.
Not all the treatment is bad!!!
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
A presumption indeed - methinks Matron might have an eye for the ladies too!
Oh my, what an erotic description
A heaven for @Loinclothslave
Genius!
Wow, great stuff Barb. The twist that took Barbara to the 'institution' is a very enjoyable, and stimulating, twist indeed!
Doragon
Tribune
How devious! And all for our pleasure!
Doragon
Tribune
There are two kinds of people. Those who practice sports: "my muscles ache, I am tired, I am making progress! So happy!" And those that don't practice sports: "This aches, I am tired, fuck this shit, I am out of here!"
Similarly, if you combine pain and pleasure in some twisted therapy, there are two types of outcome: those that end up saying "don't give me pleasure, it hurts!" and those that surprisingly turn it around and end up saying "strike me harder, I love it!"
We all hope for the latter outcome of course, especially since it will drive Darwin bonkers.
Similarly, if you combine pain and pleasure in some twisted therapy, there are two types of outcome: those that end up saying "don't give me pleasure, it hurts!" and those that surprisingly turn it around and end up saying "strike me harder, I love it!"
We all hope for the latter outcome of course, especially since it will drive Darwin bonkers.
windar
Teller of Tales
Chapter 26.
Stan spent the week resolving to put Barbara out of his mind. Yes, he’d done that before, after the failed assignation at the Plaza, but this time the consequences of any attempt to connect with her were potentially far more severe. James Moore now knew who he was and that his daughter was attracted to him.
Stan felt fortunate that, so far, he hadn’t been identified as the “young Jewish man, whose identity has not been revealed,” and he hoped to keep it that way. He had taken to buying The Herald every day on his way to the office downtown, just to check if there was anything further on the Moore affair.
Catching him reading it at his desk, Caleb had remarked, “Good God, Goldman, you aren’t taking stock tips from that rag, I hope?” Stan had guiltily tucked it away in a drawer.
So far, there was nothing new on his misadventures at the track; presumably The Herald’s Saratoga correspondent had moved on to the next scandalous goings-on among the idle rich enjoying their summer relaxation.
Putting the whole sordid matter aside would have been easier if they had been busy at the trading firm, but the summer market doldrums only took hold more strongly as July turned to August. And the racing action was all up at Saratoga, where he was banned, so that outlet was unavailable as well.
Towards the end of the week, Stan could hold out no longer. He telephoned the Plaza, asking for Mr. James Moore. The operator rang the room and found no answer, offering to take a message, which Stan declined to leave, saying he would try again later.
That gave him some useful information. The Moores had left Saratoga after the incident, which wasn’t surprising, and were in New York, back at the Plaza, rather than having returned to Minnesota, defeated. Thinking about James Moore, Stan decided that wasn’t surprising either. Moore hadn’t achieved his fortune by giving up easily, that much was certain.
But the fact that James Moore was in New York didn’t necessarily mean that Barbara was. Stan tried to put himself into the mind of her father. ‘What would a man like him do?’ he thought. The answer seemed clear. Moore would send his daughter away, somewhere nosy reporters couldn’t find her, where she could do penance for her sins and return, a chastened young woman, to try again with Archibald Vandergrift or someone else of his class.
‘But, where?’ Stan wondered. Europe? That was certainly possible, and if Moore had chosen that route, Stan’s quest would be likely beyond any realistic chance of success. It was a big continent and Stan lacked the resources to forfeit his income in New York and journey therein a fruitless attempt to find his lost love.
No, he had to hope Moore had chosen somewhere closer. Still, that left a lot of ground to cover. And, Stan knew, the only person who could possibly have some useful information regarding Miss Barbara Moore’s whereabouts was someone he had every reason to mistrust and detest-Mario Pellegrino.
Still, beggars can’t be choosers, but with cash a bit tight at the moment Stan would have to plan his approach to Mario carefully. No doubt, the desk clerk would demand a heavy price in view of the circumstances, which he was certain to have apprised himself of.
After the market closed on Friday, he joined his friends for drinks at Fraunces Tavern on Pearl St., a short distance south of Wall St., near the Battery. It was the oldest bar in the city, dating back before the Revolution and had hosted many of the Founding Fathers, including George Washington himself, when New York was, for a period, the capital of the newly born United States.
There was much teasing about Stan’s mishaps at Saratoga. When he mentioned that Moore had returned to the Plaza and that he was thinking of trying to find Barbara, he was met with much mockery.
“Are you mad, Goldman? Does Moore have to send goons to break your legs?” Patrick demanded.
“It’s doomed, Stanley,” Caleb added. “You need to go Rose’s and get laid and forget about her. A bird in the hand is worth two bushes.” They all laughed heartily.
He laid out his plan to approach Mario.
“Stan, are you crazy?” Henry asked. “I thought you were a sensible Midwestern boy such as myself. The scoundrel cheated you once. What makes you think he won’t do it again?”
Stan had been going to ask his friends for a loan to bribe Mario, but decided this wasn’t the most opportune time. So, in all likelihood, he needed to think of another way to handle this. But his mind drew a blank.
It was later that night that fate intervened. Lonely and lustful, Stan felt such a strong need for female companionship that, despite his dwindling bank account, he made his way to Rose’s, where he was welcomed as always.
“Ah, Mr. Goldman, will you be wanting Emily, then?” she asked.
He thought about this. Perhaps someone who reminded him so much of Barbara wasn’t what he needed. Maybe he needed something different, to change his luck. “Um, I was perhaps looking for some variety. You know, the spice of life.”
“Maybe the new girl, then?” Rose suggested. “Kristina. She’s Swedish.”
“Swedish?” he asked.
Rose nodded. “Very blonde and very blue-eyed,” she said.
“Where did you find her?”
“Sleeping in a doorway off Canal St. She had been a chambermaid at the Plaza and got fired in some kind of scandal. No letter of reference, so it must have been bad. And that means no respectable establishment will hire her.”
Stan’s ears perked up. ‘The Plaza? A scandal?’ he thought. Now that was interesting. “But no one ever accused you of running a respectable establishment, Rose, so of course you hired her on the spot.”
Rose roared with laughter. “You know me too well, Mr. Goldman.”
“Yes, Kristina sounds perfect,” Stan admitted. “I am, however, a bit stretched these days. Summer is a slow time. Will $ 10 cover it?”
“Seeing as how you’ve been a good customer, that should do. But you can’t spend all night, in case someone else wants her.”
“That’s OK,” Stan replied. “I pay a healthy rent on my room, so I might as well sleep there. Besides, I have one of those new-fangled electric fans there. You ought to buy a few of them with some of that cash you take in. You can provide bit of comfort for the customers and your hard-working staff.”
“Oh, I think we do pretty well in the comfort department already, but it’s a worth a thought,” Rose allowed. “Kristina is the fourth room on the right. Enjoy.” She winked at Stan as she rose to answer another knock at the door.
Stan found Kristina sitting on the bed, dressed in a rather plain white cotton shift. She smiled shyly at Stan as he approached. She looked a bit uncomfortable, which was not surprising given the rather sudden change in her circumstances.
“Hello,” she said. “I am Kristina. What do you like to do?”
“I’m Stan,” he replied. “Perhaps we can chat a bit first. Get to know each other.”
“Ya, sure,” she replied. “I am from Sweden.”
“Rose told me,” Stan replied. “Do you like New York?”
She shook her head. “Nej, inte så mycket. Not so much. The people, some are not so nice.”
“Some of them aren’t, to be sure,” Stan said. “Rose told me you worked at the Plaza Hotel.”
“Ja, det är så. I was chambermaid. I help women with the bathing, the dressing, rich women, with important husbands and fathers.”
“I know someone who works at the Plaza,” Stan said. “A desk clerk by the name of Mario Pellegrino.”
Kristina looked shocked. “You know him? He was my, how you say?”
“Supervisor?” Stan said.
“Yes, supervisor. He try to save my job, but the hotel wouldn’t listen. Mr. Moore wanted me out, and he is very rich and important, so out I go into the street.”
Stan tried to hide his excitement. This was too good to be true. “Did you say Moore? Mr. James Moore, from Minnesota?”
Kristina nodded. “Yes. I take care of his daughter, Barbara. I do everything good for her, bathing, massage. I make her feel very nice.”
“Do you mean to say?” Stan asked.
“She is healthy young woman with no man. The men her father pick for her are boring. She want only this man she sees in the restaurant. Denna man Goldman.”
Stan barely managed to keep from shouting with joy.
“Then one day she tell me that Mario will join us. He will help her to meet with this Goldman if we let him watch us. And so he watch, but he don’t just watch.”
“With Barbara?” Stan asked, his head spinning.
“No, never with Barbara. He ask, but she say, ‘No!’ Bara med mig … only with me. .”
“So you made love with Barbara while Mario watched and then he made love with you.”
“Yes,” she said. “Then Barbara and her father go to Saratoga and something must have happen there, because when he comes back, I am fired. No recommendation, so where can I go? Only here. So I work here until I have money to go back to Sweden.”
Stan’s head was spinning. ‘Could all this be true?’ he wondered. Kristina didn’t seem like the type to make up a tale like that. And all the details fit. So his Barbara liked women. But, obviously, she liked men, too. He’d read about such things in the books from the friendly newsstand around the corner from his apartment, but he had never imagined that he’d encounter this in real life.
He lay on the bed. “You want I take your clothes off?” Kristina asked.
“Sure,” Stan replied. She helped him undress and shed her shift as well. Despite the fact that she was very pretty, with a very desirable body, she wasn’t his type in the way that Barbara and Emily and even Brigid were. But she was here and she was naked and when she took his cock into his mouth he quickly became hard.
“You want make sex?” she asked.
“Definitely,” Stan replied. And he meant it. Kristina slipped a condom on his erect member and climbed on top. “Tell me what you did with Barbara, please,” he asked, watching her breasts slowly undulating as she moved up and down on his penis.
“Well, first I make with the mouth and Barbara like very much. And then I make with the dildo and she like even more.” Stan closed his eyes imagining the look of pleasure on Barbara’s face as Kristina fucked her with the dildo. Oh, how he wished that were him. He had to shut his mind to the other image-the one of that sleazy crook Mario having his way with Kristina and focus on what was for him the main event.
He imagined Barbara’s nipples becoming hard with excitement, her sweet cries of delight as she begged Kristina to go harder, faster. And harder and faster was how Kristina rode him as his pleasure mounted and he shot great gobs of semen into the condom, imagining he was shooting inside of Barbara.
As he walked home through the sultry air, he formulated his plan. He would go and see Mario and demand that he tell him everything he knew about where Barbara was and let him know that if he didn’t come clean, he would go to hotel management and tell them about Mario’s adventures in the penthouse suite.
Sure, Mario might gamble that they’d never believe that story, especially coming from someone like Goldman. But Stan had names and dates and could have Kristina back him up. Mario might be a sleazy operator, but he and Stan spoke the same language and Stan was pretty sure he could convince him that the risk wasn’t worth taking. His prospects of finding Barbara had just risen substantially, from longshot to contender. And for a horse player like Stan, that was all he could ask for.
Stan spent the week resolving to put Barbara out of his mind. Yes, he’d done that before, after the failed assignation at the Plaza, but this time the consequences of any attempt to connect with her were potentially far more severe. James Moore now knew who he was and that his daughter was attracted to him.
Stan felt fortunate that, so far, he hadn’t been identified as the “young Jewish man, whose identity has not been revealed,” and he hoped to keep it that way. He had taken to buying The Herald every day on his way to the office downtown, just to check if there was anything further on the Moore affair.
Catching him reading it at his desk, Caleb had remarked, “Good God, Goldman, you aren’t taking stock tips from that rag, I hope?” Stan had guiltily tucked it away in a drawer.
So far, there was nothing new on his misadventures at the track; presumably The Herald’s Saratoga correspondent had moved on to the next scandalous goings-on among the idle rich enjoying their summer relaxation.
Putting the whole sordid matter aside would have been easier if they had been busy at the trading firm, but the summer market doldrums only took hold more strongly as July turned to August. And the racing action was all up at Saratoga, where he was banned, so that outlet was unavailable as well.
Towards the end of the week, Stan could hold out no longer. He telephoned the Plaza, asking for Mr. James Moore. The operator rang the room and found no answer, offering to take a message, which Stan declined to leave, saying he would try again later.
That gave him some useful information. The Moores had left Saratoga after the incident, which wasn’t surprising, and were in New York, back at the Plaza, rather than having returned to Minnesota, defeated. Thinking about James Moore, Stan decided that wasn’t surprising either. Moore hadn’t achieved his fortune by giving up easily, that much was certain.
But the fact that James Moore was in New York didn’t necessarily mean that Barbara was. Stan tried to put himself into the mind of her father. ‘What would a man like him do?’ he thought. The answer seemed clear. Moore would send his daughter away, somewhere nosy reporters couldn’t find her, where she could do penance for her sins and return, a chastened young woman, to try again with Archibald Vandergrift or someone else of his class.
‘But, where?’ Stan wondered. Europe? That was certainly possible, and if Moore had chosen that route, Stan’s quest would be likely beyond any realistic chance of success. It was a big continent and Stan lacked the resources to forfeit his income in New York and journey therein a fruitless attempt to find his lost love.
No, he had to hope Moore had chosen somewhere closer. Still, that left a lot of ground to cover. And, Stan knew, the only person who could possibly have some useful information regarding Miss Barbara Moore’s whereabouts was someone he had every reason to mistrust and detest-Mario Pellegrino.
Still, beggars can’t be choosers, but with cash a bit tight at the moment Stan would have to plan his approach to Mario carefully. No doubt, the desk clerk would demand a heavy price in view of the circumstances, which he was certain to have apprised himself of.
After the market closed on Friday, he joined his friends for drinks at Fraunces Tavern on Pearl St., a short distance south of Wall St., near the Battery. It was the oldest bar in the city, dating back before the Revolution and had hosted many of the Founding Fathers, including George Washington himself, when New York was, for a period, the capital of the newly born United States.
There was much teasing about Stan’s mishaps at Saratoga. When he mentioned that Moore had returned to the Plaza and that he was thinking of trying to find Barbara, he was met with much mockery.
“Are you mad, Goldman? Does Moore have to send goons to break your legs?” Patrick demanded.
“It’s doomed, Stanley,” Caleb added. “You need to go Rose’s and get laid and forget about her. A bird in the hand is worth two bushes.” They all laughed heartily.
He laid out his plan to approach Mario.
“Stan, are you crazy?” Henry asked. “I thought you were a sensible Midwestern boy such as myself. The scoundrel cheated you once. What makes you think he won’t do it again?”
Stan had been going to ask his friends for a loan to bribe Mario, but decided this wasn’t the most opportune time. So, in all likelihood, he needed to think of another way to handle this. But his mind drew a blank.
It was later that night that fate intervened. Lonely and lustful, Stan felt such a strong need for female companionship that, despite his dwindling bank account, he made his way to Rose’s, where he was welcomed as always.
“Ah, Mr. Goldman, will you be wanting Emily, then?” she asked.
He thought about this. Perhaps someone who reminded him so much of Barbara wasn’t what he needed. Maybe he needed something different, to change his luck. “Um, I was perhaps looking for some variety. You know, the spice of life.”
“Maybe the new girl, then?” Rose suggested. “Kristina. She’s Swedish.”
“Swedish?” he asked.
Rose nodded. “Very blonde and very blue-eyed,” she said.
“Where did you find her?”
“Sleeping in a doorway off Canal St. She had been a chambermaid at the Plaza and got fired in some kind of scandal. No letter of reference, so it must have been bad. And that means no respectable establishment will hire her.”
Stan’s ears perked up. ‘The Plaza? A scandal?’ he thought. Now that was interesting. “But no one ever accused you of running a respectable establishment, Rose, so of course you hired her on the spot.”
Rose roared with laughter. “You know me too well, Mr. Goldman.”
“Yes, Kristina sounds perfect,” Stan admitted. “I am, however, a bit stretched these days. Summer is a slow time. Will $ 10 cover it?”
“Seeing as how you’ve been a good customer, that should do. But you can’t spend all night, in case someone else wants her.”
“That’s OK,” Stan replied. “I pay a healthy rent on my room, so I might as well sleep there. Besides, I have one of those new-fangled electric fans there. You ought to buy a few of them with some of that cash you take in. You can provide bit of comfort for the customers and your hard-working staff.”
“Oh, I think we do pretty well in the comfort department already, but it’s a worth a thought,” Rose allowed. “Kristina is the fourth room on the right. Enjoy.” She winked at Stan as she rose to answer another knock at the door.
***
Stan found Kristina sitting on the bed, dressed in a rather plain white cotton shift. She smiled shyly at Stan as he approached. She looked a bit uncomfortable, which was not surprising given the rather sudden change in her circumstances.
“Hello,” she said. “I am Kristina. What do you like to do?”
“I’m Stan,” he replied. “Perhaps we can chat a bit first. Get to know each other.”
“Ya, sure,” she replied. “I am from Sweden.”
“Rose told me,” Stan replied. “Do you like New York?”
She shook her head. “Nej, inte så mycket. Not so much. The people, some are not so nice.”
“Some of them aren’t, to be sure,” Stan said. “Rose told me you worked at the Plaza Hotel.”
“Ja, det är så. I was chambermaid. I help women with the bathing, the dressing, rich women, with important husbands and fathers.”
“I know someone who works at the Plaza,” Stan said. “A desk clerk by the name of Mario Pellegrino.”
Kristina looked shocked. “You know him? He was my, how you say?”
“Supervisor?” Stan said.
“Yes, supervisor. He try to save my job, but the hotel wouldn’t listen. Mr. Moore wanted me out, and he is very rich and important, so out I go into the street.”
Stan tried to hide his excitement. This was too good to be true. “Did you say Moore? Mr. James Moore, from Minnesota?”
Kristina nodded. “Yes. I take care of his daughter, Barbara. I do everything good for her, bathing, massage. I make her feel very nice.”
“Do you mean to say?” Stan asked.
“She is healthy young woman with no man. The men her father pick for her are boring. She want only this man she sees in the restaurant. Denna man Goldman.”
Stan barely managed to keep from shouting with joy.
“Then one day she tell me that Mario will join us. He will help her to meet with this Goldman if we let him watch us. And so he watch, but he don’t just watch.”
“With Barbara?” Stan asked, his head spinning.
“No, never with Barbara. He ask, but she say, ‘No!’ Bara med mig … only with me. .”
“So you made love with Barbara while Mario watched and then he made love with you.”
“Yes,” she said. “Then Barbara and her father go to Saratoga and something must have happen there, because when he comes back, I am fired. No recommendation, so where can I go? Only here. So I work here until I have money to go back to Sweden.”
Stan’s head was spinning. ‘Could all this be true?’ he wondered. Kristina didn’t seem like the type to make up a tale like that. And all the details fit. So his Barbara liked women. But, obviously, she liked men, too. He’d read about such things in the books from the friendly newsstand around the corner from his apartment, but he had never imagined that he’d encounter this in real life.
He lay on the bed. “You want I take your clothes off?” Kristina asked.
“Sure,” Stan replied. She helped him undress and shed her shift as well. Despite the fact that she was very pretty, with a very desirable body, she wasn’t his type in the way that Barbara and Emily and even Brigid were. But she was here and she was naked and when she took his cock into his mouth he quickly became hard.
“You want make sex?” she asked.
“Definitely,” Stan replied. And he meant it. Kristina slipped a condom on his erect member and climbed on top. “Tell me what you did with Barbara, please,” he asked, watching her breasts slowly undulating as she moved up and down on his penis.
“Well, first I make with the mouth and Barbara like very much. And then I make with the dildo and she like even more.” Stan closed his eyes imagining the look of pleasure on Barbara’s face as Kristina fucked her with the dildo. Oh, how he wished that were him. He had to shut his mind to the other image-the one of that sleazy crook Mario having his way with Kristina and focus on what was for him the main event.
He imagined Barbara’s nipples becoming hard with excitement, her sweet cries of delight as she begged Kristina to go harder, faster. And harder and faster was how Kristina rode him as his pleasure mounted and he shot great gobs of semen into the condom, imagining he was shooting inside of Barbara.
As he walked home through the sultry air, he formulated his plan. He would go and see Mario and demand that he tell him everything he knew about where Barbara was and let him know that if he didn’t come clean, he would go to hotel management and tell them about Mario’s adventures in the penthouse suite.
Sure, Mario might gamble that they’d never believe that story, especially coming from someone like Goldman. But Stan had names and dates and could have Kristina back him up. Mario might be a sleazy operator, but he and Stan spoke the same language and Stan was pretty sure he could convince him that the risk wasn’t worth taking. His prospects of finding Barbara had just risen substantially, from longshot to contender. And for a horse player like Stan, that was all he could ask for.
windar
Teller of Tales
Notes for Chapter 26
First, I don't speak a word of Swedish, so all of the expressions in that language are from my co-author.
Frances Tavern, at 54 Pearl Street, is the oldest building in New York City, dating back to 1719 (a mere babe by the standards of many places). Earlier buildings were destroyed to make way for newer ones in the constant expansion of the city. It was built on land reclaimed from the harbor.
In its early years it served as a private residence and trading house until 1762, when Samuel Fraunces purchased it and turned it into a tavern, which became a favorite meeting place for those agitating for independence from Britain. During the Revolutionary War, when New York was occupied by the British, Fraunces escaped to New Jersey, leaving the tavern to be run by his Loyalist son-in-law, who hosted British generals there. The British remained in New York until Novemeber 25, 1783 (Evacuation Day).
Nine days later, George Washington and his men moved in and the tavern served as the de facto capital of the United States until 1788, when the government moved to Federal Hall in New York and then to Philadelphia in 1790 and to Washington, DC in 1800.
Part of the building is today a museum, but part is still a tavern where food and drink is served.
This is how it would have looked at the time of our story
First, I don't speak a word of Swedish, so all of the expressions in that language are from my co-author.
Frances Tavern, at 54 Pearl Street, is the oldest building in New York City, dating back to 1719 (a mere babe by the standards of many places). Earlier buildings were destroyed to make way for newer ones in the constant expansion of the city. It was built on land reclaimed from the harbor.
In its early years it served as a private residence and trading house until 1762, when Samuel Fraunces purchased it and turned it into a tavern, which became a favorite meeting place for those agitating for independence from Britain. During the Revolutionary War, when New York was occupied by the British, Fraunces escaped to New Jersey, leaving the tavern to be run by his Loyalist son-in-law, who hosted British generals there. The British remained in New York until Novemeber 25, 1783 (Evacuation Day).
Nine days later, George Washington and his men moved in and the tavern served as the de facto capital of the United States until 1788, when the government moved to Federal Hall in New York and then to Philadelphia in 1790 and to Washington, DC in 1800.
Part of the building is today a museum, but part is still a tavern where food and drink is served.
This is how it would have looked at the time of our story
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Good advice ...
The source of all the best CF heroines
I see Goldman's loyalties to his 'love' are a little flimsy at best
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
Aha! Kristina pops up again at the most convenient place!
Bårbårå Møøre from Minnæsøtå?
