• Sign up or login, and you'll have full access to opportunities of forum.

Stan and Barb in Quarantine

Go to CruxDreams.com

windar

Teller of Tales
Barb looked up from her phone, which she had been scanning for news, texts from friends, videos of cats playing the piano, anything to relieve the sheer boredom of the past four days of their quarantine, mandatory despite their apparent lack of symptoms, due to their recent travel to China and Italy to promote their latest book, “Lady Cop in Prison”.

Stan was staring listlessly at the TV. Even he was too dazed to laugh at the “jokes” and the antics of Jerry, Elaine, George and Kramer. “How many times do you think you’ve seen this ‘Seinfeld’ episode, Goldman?” she asked, adopting the tone of an exasperated mother with a troublesome toddler.

Stan looked over at Barb as she drained her glass of chardonnay. It was the episode, interestingly enough in view of their recent travel, where Jerry, Elaine and George are waiting for a table at their favorite Chinese restaurant before catching a movie and seeing party after party seated ahead of them.

“I dunno, Moore,” he said. “Low triple digits, if I had to guess. We could switch to ‘Law and Order-SVU, if you’d prefer. That Mariska Hargitay is one hot number.” He ducked as Barb tossed a sofa cushion half-heartedly in her general direction.

“So why do you keep watching these same old shows? You’re not even laughing at it.”

“I guess I’m bored stuck here at home. And we have ten more days ahead, and then who knows, they could extend it because no one knows anything about this damn coronavirus. I walked a beat in Corona back when I first joined the NYPD, and let me tell you it was no picnic back then.”

“Well, there are things we could do, Stan,” Barb said lifting her shirt and flashing him a quick view of her delectable boobs.

“Geez, Moore, we just fucked last night. I’m not 23 anymore. And neither are you.”

Barb stuck her tongue out as she rose from the sofa. “You’re a ton of fun, Goldman. Well, I’ll tell you what I’m going to do. That’s the last of the chard. I’m going to call the Budget Booze Boutique and order a case to be delivered.”

“Sure, Barb,” Stan said. “Would you have them throw in a couple of bottles of Dunsmuir?” That wasn’t his favorite Scotch, but with the market crashing because of this damn virus and their accounts rapidly depleting, he figured it might be a good idea to economize. He hoped Moore wasn’t going to order the expensive wine-the one with the kangaroo on it was perfectly fine-but he thought it best not to mention that. Maybe all these people around the world who were stuck at home like them would be looking for a hot erotic read about lesbian prison hijinx under the rule of sadistic Matrons and Wardens.

Barb nodded and headed towards the kitchen. Despite himself, Stan watched the episode to the end-the crew never did get seated. He wondered where Barb had gone. How long did it take to order some booze on the phone? “Barb!” he called. He was met with silence.

He got up and went into the kitchen, which was deserted. ‘Maybe she went upstairs to take a bath?’ he wondered. But the bedroom with its adjoining bathroom with the large soaking tub was empty as well. He peered out the large half-moon window that looked upon the long driveway that curved down the forested hill to the county highway that led to the small town where they did their shopping for essentials like food and liquor, or had before the quarantine hit. He saw the Toyota-Barb’s Toyota- pull off the highway and make its way up the grade.

“What the fuck is she doing?” he muttered as he headed downstairs to meet her at the kitchen door. He opened it to find her standing there holding a box with the logo of some over-priced Scandinavian vodka. “Moore, what the fuck are you doing?” he demanded. It’s always good to practice your lines.

“Lou said that his nephew didn’t show up today and so he couldn’t make deliveries. So, I went down to pick it up.”

“You know you’re not allowed to do that, Moore,” he said sternly.

“Oh, come on, Goldman,” she replied. “He had the order all prepared. I just ran in and grabbed it. I even opened the door with my elbow, like a good citizen trying not to spread germs. I didn’t touch the counter and no one came within six feet of me.”

Stan shook his head. “Still, it was wrong, Barb. We’re celebrities here. People look to us as role models.” Stan didn’t know whether that was true, but he supposed it was possible. “What if someone saw you and tells the press or the State Troopers. Do you really want to go back to prison?”

Barb laughed. “No one is going to send me to prison for breaking quarantine, Stan. Maybe the County Health Department will send me a nasty letter.” She unloaded four bottles of wine into the refrigerator.

He saw the gold lettering on the label-no kangaroo-and grabbed one of the bottles. “Chateau de Something or Other,” he read. “How much was this?

“Under $150 for all four, Stan,” she replied, cheerily.

“Geez, Moore, do you realize how much our accounts have dropped in the past two weeks? We have to economize.”

“Sure, Stan, but we’re stuck here, not going out. We’re saving a fortune.” She began crumpling the box for the recycling.

“Where’s my Scotch?” he demanded.

Barb looked at him, her mouth open. “Shit! I forgot to order that! Look, let me call them and I’ll go back and pick it up.”

Stan shook his head. “No, young lady, I’m not letting you break quarantine a second time in fifteen minutes. You are going one place and one place only, downstairs! And right now!”

A mix of fear and defiance crossed Barb’s face. “Come on. Don’t be ridiculous, Stan. I was careful. I didn’t infect anyone even if I am infected, which I doubt.”

“Look, Barb, after all that you’ve been through, anyone but you would have learned to respect the law even when it isn’t what they’d choose. I despair that it will do any good, but I feel it’s my duty to keep trying to get some discipline into your thick head by the only route that has any chance of working, your tight little ass. Now, downstairs, and on the double!”

Barb glared at him, but Stan made sure his face showed nothing but anger and determination. And to tell the truth, he was angry, angry at this virus and the money he’d lost and at Barb’s nonchalant attitude and, most of all, at the fact that she had remembered her chardonnay but forgotten his whisky. That was something up with which he could not put.
 
at the fact that she had remembered her chardonnay but forgotten his whisky. That was something up with which he could not put.
Goldman is right! After all, whisky is a germ killer (I tell myself):sidra_1:chardonnay not!:roto2nuse:

And she should order cigars! Our old family doctor, when asked how he could stay healthy during a flu epidemic, with all the ill people he encountered, replied :"When I have some time for myself, I smoke a cigar! That eradicates all bacteria and virusses I caught up underway!":sifone:

“You know you’re not allowed to do that, Moore,” he said sternly.
Barb missed the fine print of the quarantine rules?:facepalm:
 
“Look, Barb, after all that you’ve been through, anyone but you would have learned to respect the law even when it isn’t what they’d choose. I despair that it will do any good, but I feel it’s my duty to keep trying to get some discipline into your thick head by the only route that has any chance of working, your tight little ass. Now, downstairs, and on the double!”
Sure, Stan. Keep trying. One has to admire the force of your convictions and your undying optimism, I suppose.
I prefer a Riesling rather than a Chardonnay
Naturally. :cool:
 
“I wish I could say I’m surprised at your behavior,” Stan sighed as Barb turned to face him at the bottom of the stairs. “Disappointed, yes, because you couldn’t even make it halfway through the quarantine period, but surprised, nope.”

“Oh, get a grip, Goldman. I feel fine and you look fine, too. At least as good as a worn out old cop who spends too much time on the couch watching ‘Seinfeld’ reruns and drinking Scotch can be expected to look.”

“Watch it, Moore. That kind of talk will get you extra lashes. “

Barb stuck her tongue out. “The point is that I doubt either of us are infected.”

“The point is, Barb, that we were in, not one, but two hot spots, so the odds that we were exposed are very good and even if we don’t get sick, we could pass the virus on to some poor elderly person who could die. I spent my career trying to prevent people from killing each other and now I have Typhoid Mary, or Coronavirus Barb in my own house.”

“And beyond that,” he continued, “I thought that miserable time you had in prison, which would have killed you if yours truly hadn’t risked his butt to save you yet again, would have finally convinced you that sometimes you just should follow the rules even if you think they’re silly.”

Now it was Barb’s turn to sigh. “Yeah, Stan, you’re right. I don’t know why, but somehow when someone tells me I can’t do something, my first instinct is to do it. It’s like I just can’t help myself.”

“Well, Dr. Goldman has just the cure for you, Moore,” Stan said, fixing his sternest look on Barb.

“I was afraid of that,” she said. “I assume you want me naked, right?”

“You read my mind, Moore.”

“You’re as obvious as the jokes on your favorite show, Stan,” Barb said. But, as she spoke the words, her right hand reached for the front of her blouse and she began unbuttoning, starting at her most delightful breasts and ending at her cute little belly button. Slowly with a series of wiggles that Stan found most provocative, she slid the garment off and handed it to him.

Barb had neglected to put on a bra that morning, whether by accident or deliberately. Her nipples stood up proudly as the cool air of the basement stimulated them. Before Stan could react, Barb was right in front of him, rubbing her boobs against his chest, her hand straying down to stroke his cock, which was already getting hard.

“You sure you wouldn’t rather just fuck, Goldman? I promise to be good.”

“It’s a tempting offer, Moore, but I have a responsibility to the community to impress upon you the importance of obeying this quarantine. Now, let’s keep going.”

Barb backed away, pouting. “You’re no fun, Stan.” Nevertheless, she knelt and untied her running shoes and pulled them off, along with her socks, before undoing the button of her jeans, unzipping the fly and sliding the fabric slowly over her hips, before letting the jeans slide to the ground and stepping out of them.

Barb placed her hands on her still panty-clad hips and stood there challenging Stan, perhaps not the wisest move she had ever made. “So, what did you have in mind there boss?” she asked.

Stan thought for a moment, trying his best to look like all the judges he had testified in front of during his career. “This is a very serious offense, young lady. You put lives at risk,” he pronounced gravely. “You need to learn. I don’t think two dozen with the dragon cane would be out of line.”

Barb looked shocked. “No!” she protested. “That’s not right. I can’t take that many. I won’t be able to sit for a week at least.”

“You should have thought of that before you ran out.”

“Come on, Stan, be reasonable. If you give me a break, maybe I’ll do that thing you like,” she said, winking at him.

“You mean?” he asked.

She licked her lips lasciviously. “You know I’m not crazy about it, but under the circumstances…”

“And you’ll swallow?”

Barb glared at him. “Let’s not get carried away, Goldman. I’ll do enough to get you going and then we can fuck.”

“That’s not good enough, Barb. I’m still leaning towards two dozen with the cane.”

“Asshole!” she spat.

“Well, that isn’t going to help your case, Moore. But let me ask you, what do you think you deserve?”

“Look, I’m telling the truth. I didn’t touch anything in the liquor store. Not the door, not the counter, nothing. And I didn’t come near anyone. You’re being ridiculous with your cane. It was a minor lapse. Six with the prison strap would be more than enough to cover it.”

Stan thought for a moment. “OK, Barb, you have a point. I’m willing to be reasonable. How about eighteen with the cane and six with the strap?”

“No, Stan, that’s too much!” Barb protested, stamping her most attractive bare foot on the concrete floor.

“Alright, my final decision. You get six with the strap to warm your tight little up and then a dozen with the cane. You need to be taught a lesson.”

“Fine, Goldman, whatever. Let’s get it over with,” she said. She grabbed hold of the waistband of her panties and lowered them to the floor, stepping out of them and kicking them in Stan’s general direction.

“You missed, Moore,” Stan said. “Now get over the apparatus.” The apparatus was a solid wooden frame that a local handyman had built to Stan’s specifications modeled on the one at the Newtown State Correctional Facility for Women, where Barb had served her sentence.

It consisted of a platform on which the woman to be punished knelt. Straps would secure her ankles, which were spread shoulder length apart. She would bend at the waist, draping her torso over the padded top, her tits squashed against the rough leather surface. Her hands would grip the uprights on each side and straps would be affixed around her wrists to hold her in place, limiting her natural tendency to try to escape the bite of the implement of chastisement while allowing enough freedom of movement for her to wriggle and provide an erotic show for any spectators, which, in this case, was one Stan Goldman.

With only a limited litany of complaints, Barb knelt in position and allowed Stan to attach the straps. He stepped back to admire his handiwork. Most importantly, the prone position made her tight little ass into the perfect target for the strap or the cane. Hard, firm contact between leather and rattan and ass flesh was virtually assured, even with a less than perfect aim on the part of the disciplinarian.

Moreover, the spread legs displayed Barb’s considerable charms. Her pussy, inside which Stan’s cock had spent many delightful hours (or seconds to hear Barb tell of it) winked suggestively at him. Above it, he could see her rear hole which opened and closed as she nervously awaited her fate.

Stan had to abandon the delightful sight for a moment to retrieve the prison strap, two feet of supple cowhide attached to a solid wooden handle. He showed it to Barb, though he knew it wasn’t an unfamiliar object to her.

“Stan, really, I get it,” she pleaded. “I shouldn’t have done it. I’ll stay here at home for the rest of the two weeks, I promise.”

Stan chuckled. “Back when we were cops, did we let perps off if they said they were sorry and wouldn’t do it again?”

There wasn’t much Barb could say to that. Stan turned and walked behind her, back to the wonderful rear view, the mere sight of which made his erection grow even more. He draped the leather over her cheeks, adjusting his position. “Are you ready, Moore?”

“No,” she replied.

“Too bad,” Stan said, raising the strap over his shoulder and bringing it down onto the inviting target with a most satisfying smack that made the flesh jiggle for a moment as a bright red stripe rose up on the soft skin.

He heard Barb exhale twice. Stan knew that he probably didn’t hit as hard as Matron Bernice Armstrong at the state pen had, but it was certainly hard enough that Barb had felt it.

He struck again. Now she was panting, her ass wriggling enticingly as the nervous sensations flooded her brain.

On the third stroke, her head sprang up and she muttered, “Shit!”

“Am I getting through to you, Barb?” Stan asked. She didn’t reply. He hadn’t really expected her to.

Each of the remaining three lashes elicited a string of muttered oaths and gyrations of Barb’s tight little ass that Stan could have happily spent the rest of their quarantine watching. By the time he had delivered all six, the twin globes were glowing bright red.

Stan knelt to get a closer look. He couldn’t help noticing that her pussy lips were wide open and glistening moistly. He reached his index finger out to touch the delicate folds. They were wet. His finger slid easily inside of her.

Stan slid a second finger inside and reached his thumb up to stroke Barb’s clitoris. He could hear her panting as he stimulated her, her ass moving rhythmically, from pleasure now, though mixed with the residual pain from the inflamed skin.

Barb turned her head to look back at Stan. Her hair was matted against her forehead and her eyes were wet and red. “Please fuck me,” she said. “I’ve learned my lesson, Stan. Be a decent human being for once.”

Stan stopped his stimulation, leaving Barb on the edge of orgasm. “Nice try, sugar. You’ve still got a dozen cane strokes coming your way. A deal is a deal.”

Barb turned away. She muttered something that sounded like “Fuck you, Goldman” though he couldn’t be sure. It didn’t matter. She had earned her dozen with the cane and that’s what she would get.
 
Barb turned her head to look back at Stan. Her hair was matted against her forehead and her eyes were wet and red. “Please fuck me,” she said. “I’ve learned my lesson, Stan. Be a decent human being for once.”

HEY!!!

What I actually said was: “Don’t you dare fuck me yet. I want to be taught a lesson, Stan. Be a decent human and lay that cane on hard for once.”
 
3.

Barb braced herself for the worst, while Stan went off to get the cane. ‘Shit! I can’t take a dozen,’ she thought to herself, mind racing, and concluding that her best bet was to make good on her earlier offer to do to him what she so detested in return for a reduction in strokes.

“Look, Stan,” she began, purposely adding an element of huskiness to her voice. “Do you remember what I offered to do for you before we came down here?”

“You mean fellatio?”

“Yeah, that’s one of the nicer sounding words for it.”

“What about it, Barb?” he asked indifferently as he took a couple practice swings with the cane at thin air.

“I was thinking of offering you a deal, Stan.”

“A deal? That’s rich Babs. Here you are guilty as sin, strapped naked to the frame, already having confessed your guilt ... and your asking the prosecutor for a plea bargain?

“Well, yeah.”

“Get real!” Stan chuckled as he laid the cane across her reddened ass cheeks, and gave them a couple of taps ... not hard, just enough to make an indentation and a ripple of rebounding flesh.

“No, Stan! Wait! Listen to me. You’re going to like this.”

“Uh huh”

WHACK

“Owww!” Geeze, Stan! Stop for a second and listen to what I have to say!”

WHACK

“Owwwwwwee”

“Two down and ten to go Babs. Stop squirming so much. You’re throwing off my aim.”

“Listen Stan,” she pleaded breathlessly. “If you stop, I’ll ... I’ll ... s ... su ... suck you off every day for a w ... w ....week.”

WHACK

“Gahhhhhhhhhh!”

“An interesting offer. And you’ll swallow?”

”Welllll ... ummm ... yesh, ok. Maybe a little.” she allowed, secretly crossing her fingers.

WHACK

“OH GOD ... That one really hurt!”

“In the living room while I watch Seinfeld?”

“Well, ummmm ... there are limits .....”

WHACK

“Shiiiiiitttt! Ok, ok, in the living room, watching Seinfeld, and with a little swallowing!”

“That sounds like what one might say playing a game of CLUE! Once a cop, always a cop, eh? But okay. Deal, Barb! Just one more stroke to make six, though, alright? Then we go upstairs, turn on the tv and you deliver as promised. And for a whole week too! Agreed?”

“Ok.”

WHACK

“Aiyeeeeee!!!!”
 
Last edited:
3.

Barb braced herself for the worst, while Stan went off to get the cane. ‘Shit! I can’t take a dozen,’ she thought to herself, mind racing, and concluding that her best bet was to make good on her earlier offer to do to him what she so detested in return for a reduction in strokes.

“Look, Stan,” she began, purposely adding an element of huskiness to her voice. “Do you remember what I offered to do for you before we came down here?”

“You mean fellatio?”

“Yeah, that’s one of the nicer sounding words for it.”

“What about it, Barb?” he asked indifferently as he took a couple practice swings with the cane at thin air.

“I was thinking of offering you a deal, Stan.”

“A deal? That’s rich Babs. Here you are guilty as sin, strapped naked to the frame, already having confessed your guilt ... and your asking the prosecutor for a plea bargain?

“Well, yeah.”

“Get real!” Stan chuckled as he laid the cane across her reddened ass cheeks, and gave them a couple of taps ... not hard, just enough to make an indentation and a ripple of rebounding flesh.

“No, Stan! Wait! Listen to me. You’re going to like this.”

“Uh huh”

WHACK

“Owww!” Geeze, Stan! Stop for a second and listen to what I have to say!”

WHACK

“Owwwwwwee”

“Two down and ten to go Babs. Stop squirming so much. You’re throwing off my aim.”

“Listen Stan,” she pleaded breathlessly. “If you stop, I’ll ... I’ll ... s ... su ... suck you off every day for a w ... w ....week.”

WHACK

“Gahhhhhhhhhh!”

“An interesting offer. And you’ll swallow?”

”Welllll ... ummm ... yesh, ok. Maybe a little.” she allowed, secretly crossing her fingers.

WHACK

“OH GOD ... That one really hurt!”

“In the living room while I watch Seinfeld?”

“Well, ummmm ... there are limits .....”

WHACK

“Shiiiiiitttt! Ok, ok, in the living room, watching Seinfeld, and with a little swallowing!”

“That sounds like what one might say playing a game of CLUE! Once a cop, always a cop, eh? But okay. Deal, Barb! Just one more stroke to make six, though, alright? Then we go upstairs, turn on the tv and you deliver as promised. And for a whole week too! Agreed?”

“Ok.”

WHACK

“Aiyeeeeee!!!!”
Only goes to prove that everyone has his(or her) price.
 
Most amazing! Talk about a story 'ripped from the headlines'? Bravo for hoping on this so fast (or do you just need the money?
Even he was too dazed to laugh at the “jokes” and the antics of Jerry, Elaine, George and Kramer
OK, What did you do with the real Stan?
we just fucked last night. I’m not 23 anymore. And neither are you.
But she looks 23 and they are real and spectacular!
He hoped Moore wasn’t going to order the expensive wine-the one with the kangaroo on it was perfectly fine
Love that Aussie Rotgut!
“You know you’re not allowed to do that, Moore,” he said sternly.

“Oh, come on, Goldman,”
Come on Goldman, when did Moore last follow a rule?
anyone but you would have learned to respect the law
Learn? Barb? Learn? Barb? Does not compute!
 
Last edited:
:confused:
I didn’t touch the counter and no one came within six feet of me.”
Keep at least six feet distance! Quarantine rules!:mad:
(Remember! Six feet, that's about the depth of a grave!):confused:
Listen Stan,” she pleaded breathlessly. “If you stop, I’ll ... I’ll ... s ... su ... suck you off every day for a w ... w ....week.”
Sucking from six feet distance!?:facepalm:

Otherwise : Another breaking of the quarantine rules! Twelve more for Moore!:azote:
 
I am pleased to report that Barbara kept her part of the bargain. Of course, she complained the whole time. Stan expected that and perhaps it even added to the experience for him. He reminded her that failure to swallow would get her the full twenty four with the cane that her breaking quarantine richly deserved. Besides, he told her, the extra protein might boost her immune system. And, after all, she had a very nice chardonnay to wash it down with.

The week passed quickly and, before they knew it, our two lovebirds were able to resume their "normal" lives.

Like many tales, this one has a moral. Two, in fact.

#1-Obey your local public health officials. Don't be a Coronavirus Barb.
#2-If your significant other is foolish enough to disobey #1, make sure she pays a price for it of your choosing.
 
Back
Top Bottom