He’s beginning to fathom the depths of the challenge he has on his hands in taming her untamable libido?
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Against All Odds: A Gilded Age Romance
- Thread starter Barbaria1
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Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
There are people today who would pay a fortune to have such a thing heighten their carnal desires
That's one way of putting it!
No, really?
Excellent as always Windy ...
Ah, the women are hidden in their private rooms!!!
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
Dr. Darwin shares with Pastor Lensing of having the best intentions to keep the girls out of hell, stating indeed that a few electric shocks are nothing compared to the horros inflicted by the Devil.
Two hundred years earlier, they would have been a team of devoted inquisitioners!
Two hundred years earlier, they would have been a team of devoted inquisitioners!
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
At the time, gymnastics was not only promoted for physical health, but also as a way to impose discipline (and self-discipline). For youth, particularly the male youth, it was a preparation for their future army service, and hence, the whole gymnastics thing got a military character too. Up to the 1960's grade schools/high schools/secondary schools (whatever they are named), held a yearly gymnastics event, on a public square or in a sports stadium.
Dressed in their (uniform) gymnastics outfit, they marched in column, behind flags, to the place of the event, and performed their massed group excercises under the command of the gymnastics teachers, and in front of a crowd of parents, the school staff and dignitaries.
Bastards never do
I'm sure they'll survive Armageddon - I should quit now, if I were you, Dr D.
Oh yes. Indeed. Of course.
Chapter 29.
Barbara was inclined to protest as she was led into the garden, after returning from the woods where Matron Marston had taken her to collect a number of branches to be bound into what Marston informed her was “a good supple birch.”
“This really isn’t fair at all,” she griped loudly. “No one warned us beforehand that that naked wrestling business was a test of our therapy progress! I thought it was just an innocent Sunday diversion … a means of releasing tension.”
“One does as one is told here at the Institute,” lectured Darwin, wagging a forefinger in front of her face. “The rule here is that you accept treatments as they are given to you without resistance or complaint. In this case your treatment requires an associational remedy of a dozen strokes of the birch for your unseemly arousal in the course of a nice clean wrestling workout. You must learn to resist stimulation of the libido, no matter what the source may be.”
Barbara could hear tittering and whispering from behind her back where the girls … now returned from their swim … had gathered to witness her birching.
“So kindly shut up and lay down on the bench,” instructed Darwin, pointing to a long, stout-looking, wooden bench that Max had dragged out from somewhere and positioned on the flagstoned area in front of the garden whipping post.
Barbara did nothing but continue to stand exactly where she was, gaping at the contraption, festooned on one end with a stock-like apparatus with cutout holes for neck and wrists, and on the other end with ankle irons. In between was a padded leather-covered square to cushion the victim’s pelvis.
An impatient Marston gave the immobilized girl a good shove forward.
“It’s a replica of one I’d seen in Germany years ago,” pronounced Darwin proudly to the assembled.
The matrons were by then maneuvering Barbara onto the bench, positioning her face down, pelvis on the padded cushion. Her wrists and neck were locked into the stock, the cutout holes of which were positioned so as to require her to arch her back and rest her upper torso on her elbows. Her breasts thus hung freely, nipples just grazing the wood.
“I had Max construct it according to my exact specifications. Barbara will have the honor today of being the first to try it out.” continued Darwin as these preparations were carried out.
“I think as the most senior girl present, I would be honored to be the one to administer the bench’s maiden birching,” Gwendolyn offered.
“No, please, not her!” gasped Barbara as her legs were forced apart and ankles cuffed to the lower corners of the bench. A strap cinched down tightly over the small of her back completed the preparations.
“An excellent suggestion. Of course you shall have the honor, Gwendolyn dear.”
“Thank you, Dr. Darwin.”
“Quite welcome. Now, if all is ready, let us proceed. Marston, please hand the birch over to Gwendolyn.”
“This is cruel and unwarranted. It’s fiendish! I vehemently protest!” grumbled Barbara.
“Let’s make it thirteen strokes rather than a dozen, shall we? Such insolence is not tolerated here at the Darwin Institute.”
“Thirteen it is, Dr. Darwin.”
“What makes you think that my … uh … libido, as you call it … will necessarily associate this birching with what it was feeling when I was grappling about out on the lawn with Hazel? Where is the proof?”
“Silence! We don’t question the scientific methods employed at the Institute. Indeed, for that bit of unwelcome insolence, we shall now raise the number of strokes to fifteen!”
“Fifteen it is, Dr. Darwin,” chirped Gwendolyn cheerily.
“Now Gwendolyn, take care to lay all fifteen strokes here on her buttocks, nowhere else, is that understood?” instructed Darwin. To demonstrate he bent over Barbara to outline the bounds of the target area, drawing imaginary lines with the flat of his hand, which he then … ostensibly for added emphasis … used to gently pat and jiggle, each in turn, the raised curves of Barbara’s cheeks.
“Yes, Dr. Darwin.”
“Right then, do proceed with the birching, on my count … Ready … One!”
Gwendolyn reared back and brought the birch down hard and swift. There was a fiendish swishing sound as the bundle of birch shoots sliced through the air, followed by the snap-smack report of impact on bare flesh.
“Owwww!” Barbara cried, squirming about and struggling futily against her restraints. A red flush appeared almost instantly across her bottom as it bounced and quivered in reaction to the force of the blow.
“My God!” cried Barbara as Gwendolyn laid her arm into delivering a second stroke with even greater force than the first, placing it in nearly the exact the same place.
A few tiny flecks of blood appeared.
“Vary where you place the birch,” admonished Dr. Darwin, “spread them out over her entire derrière, please! We don’t wish to draw blood if it can be avoided.”
“Right!” grunted Gwendolyn as she aimed her third stroke at the crease that defined where Barbara’s buttocks met the backs of her thighs.
The searing pain from the stroke caused the poor girl to twist and buck in her bonds and to moan and sob pitifully.
Darwin stood back and watched as the birching continued without pause. Being a ‘breast man’ his eyes were glued to the bouncing and swaying of Barbara’s dangling breasts as much, if not more, than they were to the jiggling and shaking of the poor girl’s lusciously tight little rear end. And as time passed, and stroke followed stroke, his much vaunted professionalism fell easy prey to his very own libido … quite evident by the growing bulge in the front of his pants … a condition that did not go unnoticed, to the good doctor’s profound embarrassment, by the gaggle of tittering girls across the way.
And then it was over. Gwendolyn, having delivered all fifteen strokes, stood at rest over Barbara, the birch held at her side, her naked body bathed in perspiration.
Barbara lay perfectly still.
Matron Jones, stepped forward to raise the poor girl’s head by the hair. Her eyes were closed, her mouth gaped open. She had apparently passed out.
“That’s enough,” said Darwin. “Well done, Gwendolyn. Matrons! Kindly revive Miss Moore and remove her from the bench. Then take her to the infirmary and apply some healing salve to her butt. Everyone else indoors. Dinner is at 8. Then off to bed to get plenty of rest. We have a full schedule of treatments planned for the coming week.”
**********
Around noon on that Sunday morning, Mario was lying naked with Kristina in the bed of the Plaza hotel room he enjoyed as a privileged perk to his employment there as head desk clerk. It was his day off and he had plans to do very little that day, but Kristina’s sudden appearance at his door had changed all that.
He hadn’t heard from her since she had been sacked from her job as a chambermaid at the insistence of James Moore. And he was delighted to see her. As delighted, as events soon proved, as she was to see him, for they immediately fell into one another’s arms and ended up engaged in some of the wildest and most impassioned love making he could recall. And that was saying something for someone with his natural good looks and sex appeal in the eyes of the opposite sex.
“Tell me, Mario,” she purred as she lay prone on top of him, gently planting little kisses on his neck and shoulders, “What of our dear friend, Barbara? Does she still like you to use my old dildo on her?”
“No, she’s no longer here. Her father has sent her away.”
“Really, är det så? Because of what happened in Saratoga Springs? That was sad … så …olyckligt.”
“Yes, I believe so,” he allowed, as the trail of her kisses descended slowly downwards until it reached his spent member, which she began to tease to erection again with an artful combination of licking and sucking.
“You do know where Barbara was sent, don’t you?” she posited as she she straddled his hips and eased his tool inside her.
“That’s Mr. Moore’s closely regarded secret.”
“But you know, don’t you?”
“Well, perhaps I do. I may have seen it on a telegram he had me send. What’s it to you, Kristina?”
“Ummmm …,” she replied, bouncing vigorously up and down on him, before leaning forward to place her hands on either side of his head and dangle her large breasts in his face. “I miss Barbara very much and wish to know of where she is. Perhaps I then visit her, no?”
“And what would … oh, my God, Kristina … ahhhh … you say to her?”
“I would … gahhhhh … say that … ohhhhhh ….”
“Santo Dio!!! Now Kristina, Now!”
“Ja … Nu … Nu … Knulla mig!” She cried, collapsing on top of him.
“So, you’re saying that …,” he began after the effects of coitus had subsided.
“Ja, I love her.”
“More than you do me?”
“No, not exactly that … but … Ja … I … uh.”
“I think I see. I’m very sorry, Kristina. I’d like to, but I cannot help. It’s my duty … part of my job … you must understand … to keep such things that I may see and know private. I simply cannot tell anyone of Barbara’s whereabouts, not even you.”
*********
Early on Monday morning, as James Moore was finishing his breakfast in the Plaza dining room, young Archibald Vandergrift suddenly appeared, pulled out the chair opposite Moore and sat down.
“Why Archibald, what a surprise!” said Moore, folding and setting down his newspaper.
“I had to come see you this morning, Sir. Please excuse me for giving you no advance notice.”
“Of course. It’s good to see you. May I assume this visit is in response to the letter I posted to you last week?”
“It is indeed, Sir. I’ve thought long and hard about what you had written over the past week, and have come to the conclusion that you are quite right. I believe I do love your daughter, Barbara, and might well be prepared to overlook what happened in Saratoga Springs, provided I can reassure myself that she feels the same towards me.”
“I’m quite certain she does.”
“Then I must see her immediately. If you tell me where she is, I will go to her at once to profess my love and my forgiveness of her unfortunate moment of … um … indiscretion.”
“Whoa! Not so fast, son. As you know, I have placed Barbara in a place where she can be treated and restored to normal health of mind and body. She cannot be disturbed until her treatments are successfully completed.”
“Where is she being treated?”
“I’m sorry, but I cannot say. It’s a delicate matter, as surely you can understand. She must be secluded and left to her treatment if the therapies being employed are to work. I cannot have you going there. Again, as I wrote in my letter to you, I ask now only for your forgiveness and forbearance. Do that for me and you shall be rewarded in good time.”
“Yes, I suppose you’re right,” allowed Vandergrift, rising from his chair and offering his hand. “I’ll respect your wishes and await developments as you suggest. Good day. Sir.”
And with that he left the dining room, but his mind was awhirl. He wasn’t sure he could wait. If only he could see her! There had to be a way!
And then he spotted Mario standing at the lobby reception desk, and a thought occurred to him.
Glancing cover his shoulder, he saw Mr. Moore disappear into the elevator. Reassured, he approached the reception desk.
“Good morning, Sir. May I help you,” said Mario solicitously.
“I hope so “ replied Archibald. “I wonder if you might tell me whether Miss Barbara Moore is in residence? I’d like to have a word with her.”
“Sorry. I’m afraid she is away from our establishment for an extended period of time, as I understand it.”
“What a pity. Can you tell me, in that case, where I might find her?”
To which Mario, said nothing while he took a moment to appraise the earnest young gentleman with a knowing and calculating eye.
Barbara was inclined to protest as she was led into the garden, after returning from the woods where Matron Marston had taken her to collect a number of branches to be bound into what Marston informed her was “a good supple birch.”
“This really isn’t fair at all,” she griped loudly. “No one warned us beforehand that that naked wrestling business was a test of our therapy progress! I thought it was just an innocent Sunday diversion … a means of releasing tension.”
“One does as one is told here at the Institute,” lectured Darwin, wagging a forefinger in front of her face. “The rule here is that you accept treatments as they are given to you without resistance or complaint. In this case your treatment requires an associational remedy of a dozen strokes of the birch for your unseemly arousal in the course of a nice clean wrestling workout. You must learn to resist stimulation of the libido, no matter what the source may be.”
Barbara could hear tittering and whispering from behind her back where the girls … now returned from their swim … had gathered to witness her birching.
“So kindly shut up and lay down on the bench,” instructed Darwin, pointing to a long, stout-looking, wooden bench that Max had dragged out from somewhere and positioned on the flagstoned area in front of the garden whipping post.
Barbara did nothing but continue to stand exactly where she was, gaping at the contraption, festooned on one end with a stock-like apparatus with cutout holes for neck and wrists, and on the other end with ankle irons. In between was a padded leather-covered square to cushion the victim’s pelvis.
An impatient Marston gave the immobilized girl a good shove forward.
“It’s a replica of one I’d seen in Germany years ago,” pronounced Darwin proudly to the assembled.
The matrons were by then maneuvering Barbara onto the bench, positioning her face down, pelvis on the padded cushion. Her wrists and neck were locked into the stock, the cutout holes of which were positioned so as to require her to arch her back and rest her upper torso on her elbows. Her breasts thus hung freely, nipples just grazing the wood.
“I had Max construct it according to my exact specifications. Barbara will have the honor today of being the first to try it out.” continued Darwin as these preparations were carried out.
“I think as the most senior girl present, I would be honored to be the one to administer the bench’s maiden birching,” Gwendolyn offered.
“No, please, not her!” gasped Barbara as her legs were forced apart and ankles cuffed to the lower corners of the bench. A strap cinched down tightly over the small of her back completed the preparations.
“An excellent suggestion. Of course you shall have the honor, Gwendolyn dear.”
“Thank you, Dr. Darwin.”
“Quite welcome. Now, if all is ready, let us proceed. Marston, please hand the birch over to Gwendolyn.”
“This is cruel and unwarranted. It’s fiendish! I vehemently protest!” grumbled Barbara.
“Let’s make it thirteen strokes rather than a dozen, shall we? Such insolence is not tolerated here at the Darwin Institute.”
“Thirteen it is, Dr. Darwin.”
“What makes you think that my … uh … libido, as you call it … will necessarily associate this birching with what it was feeling when I was grappling about out on the lawn with Hazel? Where is the proof?”
“Silence! We don’t question the scientific methods employed at the Institute. Indeed, for that bit of unwelcome insolence, we shall now raise the number of strokes to fifteen!”
“Fifteen it is, Dr. Darwin,” chirped Gwendolyn cheerily.
“Now Gwendolyn, take care to lay all fifteen strokes here on her buttocks, nowhere else, is that understood?” instructed Darwin. To demonstrate he bent over Barbara to outline the bounds of the target area, drawing imaginary lines with the flat of his hand, which he then … ostensibly for added emphasis … used to gently pat and jiggle, each in turn, the raised curves of Barbara’s cheeks.
“Yes, Dr. Darwin.”
“Right then, do proceed with the birching, on my count … Ready … One!”
Gwendolyn reared back and brought the birch down hard and swift. There was a fiendish swishing sound as the bundle of birch shoots sliced through the air, followed by the snap-smack report of impact on bare flesh.
“Owwww!” Barbara cried, squirming about and struggling futily against her restraints. A red flush appeared almost instantly across her bottom as it bounced and quivered in reaction to the force of the blow.
“My God!” cried Barbara as Gwendolyn laid her arm into delivering a second stroke with even greater force than the first, placing it in nearly the exact the same place.
A few tiny flecks of blood appeared.
“Vary where you place the birch,” admonished Dr. Darwin, “spread them out over her entire derrière, please! We don’t wish to draw blood if it can be avoided.”
“Right!” grunted Gwendolyn as she aimed her third stroke at the crease that defined where Barbara’s buttocks met the backs of her thighs.
The searing pain from the stroke caused the poor girl to twist and buck in her bonds and to moan and sob pitifully.
Darwin stood back and watched as the birching continued without pause. Being a ‘breast man’ his eyes were glued to the bouncing and swaying of Barbara’s dangling breasts as much, if not more, than they were to the jiggling and shaking of the poor girl’s lusciously tight little rear end. And as time passed, and stroke followed stroke, his much vaunted professionalism fell easy prey to his very own libido … quite evident by the growing bulge in the front of his pants … a condition that did not go unnoticed, to the good doctor’s profound embarrassment, by the gaggle of tittering girls across the way.
And then it was over. Gwendolyn, having delivered all fifteen strokes, stood at rest over Barbara, the birch held at her side, her naked body bathed in perspiration.
Barbara lay perfectly still.
Matron Jones, stepped forward to raise the poor girl’s head by the hair. Her eyes were closed, her mouth gaped open. She had apparently passed out.
“That’s enough,” said Darwin. “Well done, Gwendolyn. Matrons! Kindly revive Miss Moore and remove her from the bench. Then take her to the infirmary and apply some healing salve to her butt. Everyone else indoors. Dinner is at 8. Then off to bed to get plenty of rest. We have a full schedule of treatments planned for the coming week.”
**********
Around noon on that Sunday morning, Mario was lying naked with Kristina in the bed of the Plaza hotel room he enjoyed as a privileged perk to his employment there as head desk clerk. It was his day off and he had plans to do very little that day, but Kristina’s sudden appearance at his door had changed all that.
He hadn’t heard from her since she had been sacked from her job as a chambermaid at the insistence of James Moore. And he was delighted to see her. As delighted, as events soon proved, as she was to see him, for they immediately fell into one another’s arms and ended up engaged in some of the wildest and most impassioned love making he could recall. And that was saying something for someone with his natural good looks and sex appeal in the eyes of the opposite sex.
“Tell me, Mario,” she purred as she lay prone on top of him, gently planting little kisses on his neck and shoulders, “What of our dear friend, Barbara? Does she still like you to use my old dildo on her?”
“No, she’s no longer here. Her father has sent her away.”
“Really, är det så? Because of what happened in Saratoga Springs? That was sad … så …olyckligt.”
“Yes, I believe so,” he allowed, as the trail of her kisses descended slowly downwards until it reached his spent member, which she began to tease to erection again with an artful combination of licking and sucking.
“You do know where Barbara was sent, don’t you?” she posited as she she straddled his hips and eased his tool inside her.
“That’s Mr. Moore’s closely regarded secret.”
“But you know, don’t you?”
“Well, perhaps I do. I may have seen it on a telegram he had me send. What’s it to you, Kristina?”
“Ummmm …,” she replied, bouncing vigorously up and down on him, before leaning forward to place her hands on either side of his head and dangle her large breasts in his face. “I miss Barbara very much and wish to know of where she is. Perhaps I then visit her, no?”
“And what would … oh, my God, Kristina … ahhhh … you say to her?”
“I would … gahhhhh … say that … ohhhhhh ….”
“Santo Dio!!! Now Kristina, Now!”
“Ja … Nu … Nu … Knulla mig!” She cried, collapsing on top of him.
“So, you’re saying that …,” he began after the effects of coitus had subsided.
“Ja, I love her.”
“More than you do me?”
“No, not exactly that … but … Ja … I … uh.”
“I think I see. I’m very sorry, Kristina. I’d like to, but I cannot help. It’s my duty … part of my job … you must understand … to keep such things that I may see and know private. I simply cannot tell anyone of Barbara’s whereabouts, not even you.”
*********
Early on Monday morning, as James Moore was finishing his breakfast in the Plaza dining room, young Archibald Vandergrift suddenly appeared, pulled out the chair opposite Moore and sat down.
“Why Archibald, what a surprise!” said Moore, folding and setting down his newspaper.
“I had to come see you this morning, Sir. Please excuse me for giving you no advance notice.”
“Of course. It’s good to see you. May I assume this visit is in response to the letter I posted to you last week?”
“It is indeed, Sir. I’ve thought long and hard about what you had written over the past week, and have come to the conclusion that you are quite right. I believe I do love your daughter, Barbara, and might well be prepared to overlook what happened in Saratoga Springs, provided I can reassure myself that she feels the same towards me.”
“I’m quite certain she does.”
“Then I must see her immediately. If you tell me where she is, I will go to her at once to profess my love and my forgiveness of her unfortunate moment of … um … indiscretion.”
“Whoa! Not so fast, son. As you know, I have placed Barbara in a place where she can be treated and restored to normal health of mind and body. She cannot be disturbed until her treatments are successfully completed.”
“Where is she being treated?”
“I’m sorry, but I cannot say. It’s a delicate matter, as surely you can understand. She must be secluded and left to her treatment if the therapies being employed are to work. I cannot have you going there. Again, as I wrote in my letter to you, I ask now only for your forgiveness and forbearance. Do that for me and you shall be rewarded in good time.”
“Yes, I suppose you’re right,” allowed Vandergrift, rising from his chair and offering his hand. “I’ll respect your wishes and await developments as you suggest. Good day. Sir.”
And with that he left the dining room, but his mind was awhirl. He wasn’t sure he could wait. If only he could see her! There had to be a way!
And then he spotted Mario standing at the lobby reception desk, and a thought occurred to him.
Glancing cover his shoulder, he saw Mr. Moore disappear into the elevator. Reassured, he approached the reception desk.
“Good morning, Sir. May I help you,” said Mario solicitously.
“I hope so “ replied Archibald. “I wonder if you might tell me whether Miss Barbara Moore is in residence? I’d like to have a word with her.”
“Sorry. I’m afraid she is away from our establishment for an extended period of time, as I understand it.”
“What a pity. Can you tell me, in that case, where I might find her?”
To which Mario, said nothing while he took a moment to appraise the earnest young gentleman with a knowing and calculating eye.
Last edited:
A note to chapter 29
The birching bench that the matrons maneuvered Barbara onto probably looked something like this one from Germany, which has all the features described in our story. It has a stock at one end into which her wrists and neck could be locked, with the cutout holes raised enough to require her to arch her back and rest her upper torso on her elbows. There’s a strap to cinch over her waist to further immobilize her, and straps at the foot of the bench to secure her ankles. The padded cushion for under her pelvis is missing in the photo, but would have been present.
Darwin said that he had Max fashion the Institute’s bench after one he had once seen in Scotland, where procedures used to administer the birch preferred the bench, as opposed to England and Wales where a frame that favored a bent-over positioning was the norm.
The birching bench that the matrons maneuvered Barbara onto probably looked something like this one from Germany, which has all the features described in our story. It has a stock at one end into which her wrists and neck could be locked, with the cutout holes raised enough to require her to arch her back and rest her upper torso on her elbows. There’s a strap to cinch over her waist to further immobilize her, and straps at the foot of the bench to secure her ankles. The padded cushion for under her pelvis is missing in the photo, but would have been present.
Darwin said that he had Max fashion the Institute’s bench after one he had once seen in Scotland, where procedures used to administer the birch preferred the bench, as opposed to England and Wales where a frame that favored a bent-over positioning was the norm.
twonines
LIMERICUS
Now, that`s a vision to stir the senses!
Love this. Could you possibly do it in a garden setting as in the story,
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
I think my mind's auto-fantasy must have simply imagined young Barbara inside a cell at Darwin's Institute, when of course she was being disciplined in the Birch Garden ...
windar
Teller of Tales
That could be a while. Just keep writing the checks...
Is there such a thing as desk clerk-client confidentiality???
And remember, I'm a doctor!
Thanks, 99. We are both hoping that it's as much fun to read as it was to write.
twonines
LIMERICUS
It certainly is, the excellent and finely detailed writing, exactly placed in context, really enhances the descriptions of Barb`s sexual adventures and frequent floggings.
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
Firm, versatile German furniture, made of massive wood! Lasts for generations.!
Not the kind of assemble-yourself chipboard furniture from a today's Swedish retailer!
Migoz2
Senator
Quite.................