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Against All Odds: A Gilded Age Romance
- Thread starter Barbaria1
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- humour punishment romance sex
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montycrusto
Guest
Barb Moore was a skittish young hottie,
She had an affair with a Scottie;
But her tryst had a twist,
He was not on the list,
So her dad spanked her tight little bottie.
She had an affair with a Scottie;
But her tryst had a twist,
He was not on the list,
So her dad spanked her tight little bottie.
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Knowing from practice that patience is rewarded, Barbara waited until the wee hours. With the train rocking rhythmically and her father asleep and snoring, she was able to quietly slip down from the upper berth. After pausing for several seconds to make certain that she had not disturbed him, she wrapped her robe around herself and stole out into the empty passageway beyond their compartment.
And looking rather smug about it too. Girl on a mission!
twonines
LIMERICUS
In writing her new commission,
Barb proves she`s a girl on a mission.
For some sex outside marriage,
She exits her carriage,
To indulge in some secret coition.
Doragon
Tribune
She understands men very well - we usually just show a bulge to show we are interested. I mean, who needs conversation or flowers or (other) compliments.
Marcius
Tribune
With Barbara, it's an eastward shipment of groin...
windar
Teller of Tales
Chapter 2.
Stan couldn’t take his eyes off the young Irish red head’s tits. They made the most delightful little circles as her hips slowly rose up, almost letting his rampant cock slip out, before they slid down, enveloping him in her moist warmth.
Brigid was her name. She had been recommended to him by Rose Callahan, the forty year old owner of this establishment just off Canal Street that Stan favored whenever he was flush with folding cash, as he was right now.
The third race at Morris Park that afternoon had been very good to Stan. Somehow, the favorite had petered out in the stretch and, rather mysteriously, the second horse had been scratched at the last minute, leaving the race to be won by a 12-1 longshot, Prince Albert, on which Stan, as though he somehow had been counselled by the equine winner himself, had placed $50.
“Who is looking good tonight, Rose?” Stan had asked, after being warmly greeted by the doorman, a hulking cousin of Rose’s from Hell’s Kitchen, and by the proprietress herself. He slipped a $20 bill into her cleavage and squeezed a bit of the flesh for good luck.
“Well, Mr. Goldman,” she had replied, brushing his hand away and pocketing the bank note. “A breast man such as yourself will be wanting to give Brigid a whirl.”
“Brigid,” he had repeated. “Please do tell me more, Rose.”
“There isn’t much to tell,” she had replied. “I found her huddled in a doorway on the Bowery. She’s not long off the boat from County Cork, just nineteen years old. She found out that nothing is free in The Land of the Free.”
“Except for your loving hospitality, Rose,” he had replied.
She laughed. “I treat my girls well, Mr. Goldman. And they treat my customers well.”
“I know that Rose. That’s why I keep coming back.”
“Let me go get her,” Rose replied, winking at Stan. She returned shortly with a red-haired girl, her eyes as blue as the Irish Sea. “May I present Brigid O’Malley, Mr. Goldman.”
Stan couldn’t help staring at her breasts. After all, the low cut bodice that she wore made it almost impossible not to. “You may indeed, Rose. What a lovely young woman!” he exclaimed. Stan could see Brigid blushing at the complement, her lovely pale skin reddening.
“So what do you think of her?” Rose asked.
Stan smiled. “She is absolutely delightful. You do know my tastes, Rose. In honor of this special occasion and to celebrate your homeland and Brigid’s, the birthplace of the most beautiful women this side of Paradise, would you send a bottle of Bushmills whisky to the room?”
“With pleasure, Mr. Goldman,” Rose had replied.
Later, in the room, as Brigid was undressing him, she had stared curiously at his male organ. “I’ve never seen one that looked so neat and smooth,” she had exclaimed, stroking it. His cock responded to the gentle stimulation by standing up to attention.
‘Ah, yes,’ he thought. ‘It was quite likely she had never seen a circumcised penis before, almost certainly not in Ireland and likely not in her brief time here.’
She knelt in front of him and extended the tip of her tongue, licking gently around the head. “It tastes very clean,” she said, taking more of the throbbing flesh into her mouth.
“It certainly will be clean now,” he replied. “That feels wonderful, Brigid,” he said.
Conversation was rather difficult when one party has their mouth full, so Stan looked up at the ceiling and thought about the long journey that had brought him to this little locus of earthly delight. The journey his father, Isaac, had made from Hungary, where the Jews had fought with their fellow countrymen against the Hapsburg oppressors only to have their emancipation endlessly deferred.
Finally, tiring of waiting, Isaac had left for an America about to enter a Civil War of its own, a war to free Negro slaves, a cause that Isaac could certainly sympathize with to the extent that he had enlisted in the Union Army even before he could be drafted.
He had survived the mass slaughter of Antietam and Gettysburg, emerging a fully-formed American, as much of the country as anyone born there. Taking the savings from his Army pay, he had established a small store in Toledo, Ohio, Goldman’s Emporium, selling clothing, pots and pans and other assorted essentials to the laborers in the factories that were sprouting like weeds in the rapidly growing city.
The store prospered and grew with the city and soon Isaac found a wife, a fellow immigrant, from Poland rather than Hungary, with the very appropriate name of Rebecca. Soon, there followed two sons, David, and, a year and a half later, Stan. While David, a placid child, was perfectly content to help their father in the store and had no desire to do anything beyond running it himself one day, Stan had always been restless. So, as soon as he could, he had left to make his way in New York.
There, he had quickly fallen in with a group of stockjobbers, young men of humble backgrounds like himself, making their way in the big city. Fortuitously, his surname, shared with that of a famous firm on Wall Street with whom Stan had absolutely no connection, was helpful in these endeavors, which was a first for anyone in his family so far as he knew.
Stan’s member was now at full alert. He wanted to be inside the girl now. “That’s good Brigid, but we’re celebrating a win at the track, so perhaps a ride would be appropriate?”
Brigid let his cock fall out of her mouth. “Certainly, my good sir,” she said looking up at him with a wicked grin. “What girl wouldn’t like to ride a handsome stallion such as yourself?” And that was how Stan came to be lying on the bed watching Brigid slowly moving up and down on his member, like Prince Albert’s jockey on the home stretch.
There was no question that the young minx’s cunny was tight, gripping his cock in the most delightful way as she lowered herself onto it, letting her breasts caress his face. She might not be quite as innocent as Rose had implied, but she was still in the first bloom of youth.
Soon, Stan felt that tingling in his balls that could only mean one thing-that the finish line was fast approaching. “Brigid, darling, I’m going to…” he gasped. The girl rose up off him, slid down his body and took him firmly in hand. Stan groaned loudly and emptied himself in almost a dozen spurts of joy all over Brigid’s milky white breasts.
After she had cleaned them both off with a washcloth, they lay in bed sipping some of Ireland’s second finest product (after Brigid herself, of course). ‘This sure beats the hell out of selling tea kettles in Toledo,’ he thought to himself.
Stan couldn’t take his eyes off the young Irish red head’s tits. They made the most delightful little circles as her hips slowly rose up, almost letting his rampant cock slip out, before they slid down, enveloping him in her moist warmth.
Brigid was her name. She had been recommended to him by Rose Callahan, the forty year old owner of this establishment just off Canal Street that Stan favored whenever he was flush with folding cash, as he was right now.
The third race at Morris Park that afternoon had been very good to Stan. Somehow, the favorite had petered out in the stretch and, rather mysteriously, the second horse had been scratched at the last minute, leaving the race to be won by a 12-1 longshot, Prince Albert, on which Stan, as though he somehow had been counselled by the equine winner himself, had placed $50.
“Who is looking good tonight, Rose?” Stan had asked, after being warmly greeted by the doorman, a hulking cousin of Rose’s from Hell’s Kitchen, and by the proprietress herself. He slipped a $20 bill into her cleavage and squeezed a bit of the flesh for good luck.
“Well, Mr. Goldman,” she had replied, brushing his hand away and pocketing the bank note. “A breast man such as yourself will be wanting to give Brigid a whirl.”
“Brigid,” he had repeated. “Please do tell me more, Rose.”
“There isn’t much to tell,” she had replied. “I found her huddled in a doorway on the Bowery. She’s not long off the boat from County Cork, just nineteen years old. She found out that nothing is free in The Land of the Free.”
“Except for your loving hospitality, Rose,” he had replied.
She laughed. “I treat my girls well, Mr. Goldman. And they treat my customers well.”
“I know that Rose. That’s why I keep coming back.”
“Let me go get her,” Rose replied, winking at Stan. She returned shortly with a red-haired girl, her eyes as blue as the Irish Sea. “May I present Brigid O’Malley, Mr. Goldman.”
Stan couldn’t help staring at her breasts. After all, the low cut bodice that she wore made it almost impossible not to. “You may indeed, Rose. What a lovely young woman!” he exclaimed. Stan could see Brigid blushing at the complement, her lovely pale skin reddening.
“So what do you think of her?” Rose asked.
Stan smiled. “She is absolutely delightful. You do know my tastes, Rose. In honor of this special occasion and to celebrate your homeland and Brigid’s, the birthplace of the most beautiful women this side of Paradise, would you send a bottle of Bushmills whisky to the room?”
“With pleasure, Mr. Goldman,” Rose had replied.
Later, in the room, as Brigid was undressing him, she had stared curiously at his male organ. “I’ve never seen one that looked so neat and smooth,” she had exclaimed, stroking it. His cock responded to the gentle stimulation by standing up to attention.
‘Ah, yes,’ he thought. ‘It was quite likely she had never seen a circumcised penis before, almost certainly not in Ireland and likely not in her brief time here.’
She knelt in front of him and extended the tip of her tongue, licking gently around the head. “It tastes very clean,” she said, taking more of the throbbing flesh into her mouth.
“It certainly will be clean now,” he replied. “That feels wonderful, Brigid,” he said.
Conversation was rather difficult when one party has their mouth full, so Stan looked up at the ceiling and thought about the long journey that had brought him to this little locus of earthly delight. The journey his father, Isaac, had made from Hungary, where the Jews had fought with their fellow countrymen against the Hapsburg oppressors only to have their emancipation endlessly deferred.
Finally, tiring of waiting, Isaac had left for an America about to enter a Civil War of its own, a war to free Negro slaves, a cause that Isaac could certainly sympathize with to the extent that he had enlisted in the Union Army even before he could be drafted.
He had survived the mass slaughter of Antietam and Gettysburg, emerging a fully-formed American, as much of the country as anyone born there. Taking the savings from his Army pay, he had established a small store in Toledo, Ohio, Goldman’s Emporium, selling clothing, pots and pans and other assorted essentials to the laborers in the factories that were sprouting like weeds in the rapidly growing city.
The store prospered and grew with the city and soon Isaac found a wife, a fellow immigrant, from Poland rather than Hungary, with the very appropriate name of Rebecca. Soon, there followed two sons, David, and, a year and a half later, Stan. While David, a placid child, was perfectly content to help their father in the store and had no desire to do anything beyond running it himself one day, Stan had always been restless. So, as soon as he could, he had left to make his way in New York.
There, he had quickly fallen in with a group of stockjobbers, young men of humble backgrounds like himself, making their way in the big city. Fortuitously, his surname, shared with that of a famous firm on Wall Street with whom Stan had absolutely no connection, was helpful in these endeavors, which was a first for anyone in his family so far as he knew.
Stan’s member was now at full alert. He wanted to be inside the girl now. “That’s good Brigid, but we’re celebrating a win at the track, so perhaps a ride would be appropriate?”
Brigid let his cock fall out of her mouth. “Certainly, my good sir,” she said looking up at him with a wicked grin. “What girl wouldn’t like to ride a handsome stallion such as yourself?” And that was how Stan came to be lying on the bed watching Brigid slowly moving up and down on his member, like Prince Albert’s jockey on the home stretch.
There was no question that the young minx’s cunny was tight, gripping his cock in the most delightful way as she lowered herself onto it, letting her breasts caress his face. She might not be quite as innocent as Rose had implied, but she was still in the first bloom of youth.
Soon, Stan felt that tingling in his balls that could only mean one thing-that the finish line was fast approaching. “Brigid, darling, I’m going to…” he gasped. The girl rose up off him, slid down his body and took him firmly in hand. Stan groaned loudly and emptied himself in almost a dozen spurts of joy all over Brigid’s milky white breasts.
After she had cleaned them both off with a washcloth, they lay in bed sipping some of Ireland’s second finest product (after Brigid herself, of course). ‘This sure beats the hell out of selling tea kettles in Toledo,’ he thought to himself.
Stan is a both a big spender and squeezer
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
A nice little earner of around $1,400 in today's money ...
No wonder he could afford to tuck a handsome $500+ tip into the whore's clothing ...
Excellent narrative, fast-paced, erotic and the civil war playing a part to boot! Can't wait for Moore!
M
montycrusto
Guest
Brigid certainly seemed to get him over the finishing-lineQuizz for the day: how many references to horses and horse races did Windar manage to squeeze into that chapter? A portent of things tocumcome?
windar
Teller of Tales
My Father Was a Jockey-John Lee HookerBrigid certainly seemed to get him over the finishing-line
M
montycrusto
Guest
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Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
Quizz for the day: how many references to horses and horse races did Windar manage to squeeze into that chapter? A portent of things tocumcome?
Well, the chapter starts with a longshot and ends with one?
She knelt in front of him and extended the tip of her tongue, licking gently around the head. “It tastes very clean,” she said, taking more of the throbbing flesh into her mouth.
“It certainly will be clean now,” he replied. “That feels wonderful, Brigid,” he said.
“It certainly will be clean now,” he replied. “That feels wonderful, Brigid,” he said.
On that score, I make it breasts 6, horses 4Quizz for the day: how many references to horses and horse races did Windar manage to squeeze into that chapter? A portent of things tocumcome?
With 5 references to his todger....
