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London Calling

Discussion in 'Mainly Poems and Stories' started by Barbaria1, Sep 5, 2017.

  1. Barbaria1

    Barbaria1 Rebel Leader Staff Member

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    Stan Goldman and Barb Moore of "Bronx Crux Murders" and "Roman Holiday" are back again ... this time in a new adventure called ...

    LONDON CALLING

    Barb 1

    I squeezed myself gingerly into my window seat. We had just boarded our 11:05 am EasyJet flight from Rome to London Gatwick.

    My tight little was still red and sore from the beating it had taken the night before at the hands of Goldman and his oversexed Italian pal, Roberto ... or Bob as he liked to be called. My posterior discomfort was hard to ignore. Sitting anywhere, much less on an airplane seat, was not very pleasant.

    As a birthday surprise, Goldman and Roberto had taken me on a private after-hours tour of Rome's ancient Mamartine Prison. And although privately I had to admit to myself that being locked against my will in an old Roman dungeon cell, stripped naked, ass-whipped and forcibly fucked from behind had been erotically exciting, there was no way I would ever give Goldman the satisfaction of knowing that. I was mad, and as far as he was concerned, he was in the proverbial doghouse.

    To vent my still smoldering anger, I viciously kicked my carry on bag beneath the seat in front of me, belted myself firmly in place, and made a point of glaring sullenly at Goldman as he plopped himself down beside me. I was giving him the total cold silent treatment, and offering no quarter. I had even made the man sleep in a hotel room chair on our last night in Rome. I refused to share the bed with him.

    Over breakfast, I played with his iPhone (having broken mine the night before in a fit of frustration over being left locked in a dark cell while he and Bob went out for dinner and drinks) and pointedly restricted all responses to his pathetic attempts to make conversation to nothing more than a series of grunts and frowns. In short, I was ignoring the man's very existence and didn't give a damn how he felt about that.

    And, I figured the treatment was getting to him, 'cause he was looking downright glum and downcast. I was smiling inwardly and feeling rather pleased with myself until I suddenly remembered that Goldman had arranged for us to meet up in London with another of his cop acquaintances. Probably some condescending stuffed shirt, I imagined ... with a name like Bill Pritchard, what else could he be?

    Well!!!! I figured I already had enough of Goldman's friends. The revolting memory of how, in that Roman dungeon cell, Bob had taken advantage of my helplessness and forced me to suck his prick, raced through my mind. The very thought made me shudder and feel angry all over again, which in turn prompted me to elbow Goldman sharply in the ribs and feign innocence when he turned to look at me.

    Ohhhh, there were so many ways I was going to get even! Goldman didn't know it yet, but that morning I had surreptitiously re-booked us into the swankiest, most expensive hotel I could find in London ... the Dorchester. I could already imagine his eyes bulging when he saw the room charge. And little did he know that he would be spending his nights there in a chair, rather than the bed!

    But then I had another, even more wicked, idea. Goldman may have planned to foist this Bill Pritchard on me, but I could play that game too. I decided I would introduce him to my old college roommate, Georgiana Merriweather. If anyone could help me turn the tables and transform our London visit into a nightmare for Goldman, Georgie could! I resolved to contact her from the Dorchester as soon as we had checked in.

    With that in mind, I actually shot Goldman a smile, albeit one with a fiendish edge to it.

    He looked perplexed.

    "You're smiling at me," he said tentatively.

    "I'm not."

    "Yes you are. I saw you."

    "When pigs fly, Goldman!"

    As if on cue, the pilot opened the jet's throttles. The engines roared, the plane leapt forward, and we were airborne.

    TO BE CONTINUED
     
    Last edited: Sep 6, 2017
  2. thehangingtree

    thehangingtree Proconsul Staff Member

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    Let's hope barb isn't losing her head in the fit of revenge...
    behead 044.jpg
     
  3. Barbaria1

    Barbaria1 Rebel Leader Staff Member

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    Stop reading ahead!!!! :rolleyes:
     
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  4. Jon Smithie

    Jon Smithie Spectator

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    Good to see Stan and Barb again! I hope there will be multiple opportunities for them to discover why caning was referred to as "The English Vice."
     
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  5. Wragg

    Wragg Chronicler of Crux Staff Member

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    She's passed the research test. EZY8252, if you're interested! ;)

    Especially not an EasyJet seat... :rolleyes:

    Boy, do I know that feeling.... :(

    She can bear a grudge for a while, Stan. :rolleyes:

    He'll forgive you

    the-dorchester-hotel-belgravia-suite-room.jpg

    when he sees the room! :)

    EasyJet_G-EZIR_Airbus_A319_takeoff_from_Polderbaan,_Schiphol_(AMS_-_EHAM)_at_sunset.JPG

    First officer: Funny... it's flying all squiffy! The starboard wing keeps dipping. :confused:

    Captain: That's 'cos Barb's luggage is on that side of the hold. :rolleyes:

    First officer: But I ordered that Stan's should go on the opposite side, to balance it out? :confused:

    Captain: That's what you think. She's had his luggage sent to Kuala Lumpur! :D
     
  6. windar

    windar Governor

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    I cannot sit idly by and read this one-sided biased fake news account.

    Stan 2.

    Stan Goldman didn’t think he was an idiot. At least not generally. His old boss Reginald Jones had always said “You da man, Stan” and seemed to have meant it. There were plenty of guys sitting in prison cells upstate for the rest of their lives because Stan had pinned their crimes on them. And he was the co-author of an international best seller.

    But one thing Stan would have to confess he wasn’t that smart about was women. Not his ex-wife who might not have the ex in her title if Stan had understood her better. And certainly not his partner in solving the Bronx Crux Murders and the co-author of that international best seller, the maddeningly hard to understand Barbara Moore.

    Stan had thought he was giving her something she really would enjoy for her birthday, a night of fun and games in the ancient Mamartine Prison, where so many Roman prisoners had spent their last night before being executed by crucifixion or some other gory means. Despite her complaints (for would she really be Barb without her complaints?) she had played along with the fun and games, fun and games that had taken Stan countless emails back and forth with his Italian contact, Roberto, or Bob as he liked to be called, to arrange. Her arousal when Stan had taken her from behind was undeniable, and afterwards, she had told him, “That was the best present ever,” and really seemed to mean it.

    But once Roberto had left them alone in the basement cell, Barb had turned all sullen. When Stan tried to kiss her, she had pushed him away “Knock it off, Goldman,” she spat, scowling at him. Then she had begun putting on the clothes that she had removed in a sultry striptease that had gotten both Stan and Bob hard as rocks. “Can we just go back to the hotel right now? OK?” Women!

    They dressed silently and left the cell, climbing the stairs to the street level and exiting by the main gate, locking it behind them as Bob had instructed. Since Barb had smashed her phone against the rock walls of the dungeon, Stan extracted his and summoned an Uber car.

    Back at the hotel, Barb had barely looked at Stan as she undressed. Watching her sashaying to the bathroom, Stan couldn’t help noticing that her tight little looked even cuter than usual striped from the whipping he and Bob had applied to its succulent flesh. Stan followed her into the bathroom like a dog in heat, surprised that at his age he could actually contemplate a second round of action so soon after the first.

    He reached out to stroke her bottom cheeks, gently, so as not to cause her more than momentary distress. However, before his fingers could make contact, she had slapped them away. “Keep your paws to yourself, Goldman,” she had said, looking like she meant it. Then she had turned the water on and, moving gingerly so that the jets wouldn’t fall directly on her ass, ducked into the shower.

    A bit at a loss over her behavior, Stan got undressed and layed down in the large queen size bed, pulling the covers up so that only his eyes showed. Eventually, Barb emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in a towel, looking quite lovely, at least in Stan’s opinion. She glowered at him. “What do you think you’re doing, Goldman?”

    “Going to sleep, Moore. I’m tired.”

    “Not there, you’re not.”

    Stan looked around the room. “I only see one bed here.”

    “Too bad,” Moore retorted. “You should have thought of that before you arranged that little stunt.” She pointed at the armchair at the far end of the room. “Go!” she ordered.

    “Oh come on, sweet cheeks,” Stan pleaded, “It’s a big bed. I’ll stay on my side, I promise. And no monkey business. Cop’s honor.”

    “Sweet cheeks?” she replied. “These sweet cheeks have had quite enough of you for one night. If you think I’m sharing a bed with you, Goldman, you can think again. I don’t care how big the bed is or how much you beg. Now, out! Or I’ll call the Roman cops, and I don’t mean your friend Bob. I’m not kidding!”

    Stan had to admit, she didn’t look like she was kidding. So he got out of bed, taking a pillow and one of the duvets and tried to make himself as comfortable as he could in the chair, as Barb lay luxuriously in the bed.

    And the next morning, as he eased himself into the minuscule EasyJet seat, Stan took little comfort from the pained look on Barb’s face as she lowered her tight little onto the skimpy cushion, because he had little doubt that his back hurt him almost as much as her butt hurt her.
     
  7. windar

    windar Governor

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    Not when he sees the price!!:mad::mad::mad:
     
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  8. Barbaria1

    Barbaria1 Rebel Leader Staff Member

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    :duke::duke::duke::duke::duke::duke:
     
  9. Wragg

    Wragg Chronicler of Crux Staff Member

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    Oh, I know... :rolleyes:

    That's his last chance for a comfortable night gone for a Burton! :eek:

    That comment should lead to debate!

    :popcorn:
     
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  10. LittleSiss

    LittleSiss Sorceress

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    AC's ... just can't help themselves ...

    Can they?


    :doh:
     
    Last edited: Sep 6, 2017
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  11. Barbaria1

    Barbaria1 Rebel Leader Staff Member

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    maxresdefault.jpg Publish or Perish ;)
     
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  12. LittleSiss

    LittleSiss Sorceress

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  13. windar

    windar Governor

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    I can just see our c.v.s Barb:

    PUBLICATIONS:
    American Journal of Blah, Blah, Blah
    Journal of Useless Crap
    Presentation at Conference of the Society for the Study of Useless Crap
    US Patent #xxxxxxx (invention of useless crap)
    A shitload of stories on CruxForum:cool:
     
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  14. Barbaria1

    Barbaria1 Rebel Leader Staff Member

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    Wonder if that last one won't do better than all the others in the citation indices? :rolleyes:
     
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  15. thehangingtree

    thehangingtree Proconsul Staff Member

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    I dare to differ with you, Windar. She has posed for the ASE (American Society of Engineers) at their symposium sponsored by THT, Inc. and these usually staid affairs rarely attract 3 scientists per 100 seats available. The 1000 seat lecture hall is overflowing!!!

    bar in 092.jpg

    Make science interesting and they will cum come!!!

    Tree
     
  16. LittleSiss

    LittleSiss Sorceress

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    Sorry!

    But you know! :D
     
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  17. Jollyrei

    Jollyrei Angelus Mortis

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    Off to a good start here, I see. Can't people just get along?

    :duke:
    I'm sure Barb's friend Georgie will help with that. She sounds fun. :confused::devil:
     
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  18. Barbaria1

    Barbaria1 Rebel Leader Staff Member

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    Barb 3

    We passed the rest of the flight in silence. After gathering our bags and standing in line to show our passports, we boarded the Gatwick Express to Victoria. From there we took the Underground to Hyde Park Corner and then walked to the Dorchester. I led the way and left Goldman to struggle with our bags in my wake.

    "Are we there yet?" he whined, all red-faced and puffing as we approached the clean lines of the Dorchester's elegantly curved Art Deco facade.

    "Almost," I responded curtly.

    "I don't see why we didn't take a taxi?"

    "Watch the curb and look right!" I warned.

    I led the way into the hotel and up to the reception desk.

    "Good afternoon Madam" purred the clerk as he approvingly eyed the shortness of my tan skirt, stared for a moment or two too long at the cleavage I was showing with three buttons open at the front of my dark blue shirt, and looked down his nose at Goldman's bedraggled and sweat-soaked appearance.

    "Reservation for Goldman," I chirped gaily, eying the carnation in the clerk's lapel and admiring the pleasantly handsome high-cheek-boned aristocratic-looking face.

    "I see," the clerk said, sucking in his breath as he scrolled down the computer screen.

    "Ahh, here it is. Goldman, S. Our standard deluxe suite for two. You will be staying with us for three nights, yes?"

    I smiled knowingly and nodded affirmatively.

    "Please fill in the blanks and sign, Sir," he said silkily, sliding a card and a pen under Goldman's nose.

    Goldman squinted at it, paused and looked up at me, his face a pale shade of white.

    I was making a point of looking away.

    Goldman sighed loudly, withdrew a credit card from his well-worn wallet and signed.

    A porter deftly relieved Goldman of our bags and led us to the lift. We stood in silence on the ride to the third floor, and followed the porter down a thickly carpeted corridor to our room.

    "I trust you will find everything agreeable," he intoned after depositing our bags on the floor in front of the room's double bed.

    Goldman grunted.

    I went to check out the window view over Hyde Park, leaving Goldman to dig around in his pockets for a tip.

    As soon as we were alone, he gasped, $650 a night, Barb!!!!!! What the fuck were you thinking?????"

    "I need to borrow your phone, Goldman. I want to call my old college friend, Georgie," was all I said in reply, holding out my hand expectantly.
     
  19. Wragg

    Wragg Chronicler of Crux Staff Member

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    EasyJet? Gatwick Express? Tube? There's not that much wrong with your bottom! You have to be fit for a trip like that! ;)

    Which Stan evidently is not. :rolleyes: You need to work on that, Barb! ;)

    Ah, she's worth it, Stan. You need to buy her flowers, apologise, and get your money's worth!

    flower3
     
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  20. Jollyrei

    Jollyrei Angelus Mortis

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    Better get those flowers soon, before you're either dead or in debt. :confused::doh:
    I wonder if Goldman gets to sleep in the bed now. :devil:
     
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