by Livia Grant
Melting Silver
The Red Petticoat Saloon
By
Livia Grant
2016© Blushing Books® and Livia Grant
All rights reserved.
No part of the book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Published by Blushing Books®,
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Livia Grant
Melting Silver
EBook ISBN: 978-1-68259-818-4
Cover Art by ABCD Graphics & Design
This book is intended for adults only. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults. Nothing in this book should be interpreted as Blushing Books’ or the author’s advocating any non-consensual spanking activity or the spanking of minors.
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Table of Contents:
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
About the Author
EBook Offer
Blushing Books Newsletter
Blushing Books
Chapter One
San Francisco, California
August, 1850
“Hey. You there! How did you break in here?”
The gruff shout came at Emelie from stage right. She looked down in time to see a portly man with the longest beard she’d ever seen huffing as he bee lined through the tall-backed plush seats towards her. She’d been so caught up in awe admiring the crystal chandeliers, she’d gotten careless.
She shouldn’t have been there.
Emelie turned and took off running up the thick red carpet of the center aisle towards the main entrance of the brand new theater, vowing she’d be back again one day—on the grand stage instead of sneaking peeks like the trespasser she was today.
She didn’t stop running until she was able to lose herself in the hustle and bustle of California Street, blending in with the dozens of people, horses, carriages and even cows and chickens crowding one of the bustling city’s popular streets. She had to watch her feet to avoid stepping in piles of smelly deposits as she weaved through the commotion, noting how low the sun was to the west.
She’d lost track of time again. Albert wasn’t going to be happy. Despite the stifling heat, a shiver slithered through her at the thought of an unhappy Albert.
What a fool she’d been to trust him. Familiar regret crushed her as she forced her feet to move faster towards her doom. With any luck, he’d got caught up in his poker game and would be delayed long enough for her to beat him to the rundown shambles of a building he called a theater.
The Eagle Theater, where she was currently performing daily, was nothing like the grand Dramatic Museum she’d just left. The seats were old pallets or chairs scrounged from castoffs. The stage was a rickety platform made of old crates. She felt lucky it hadn’t collapsed yet under the jarring weight of the scandalous dancers surrounding her each performance.
Emelie caught a glimpse of her likeness as she passed the glass window of a rowdy saloon. Her rosy cheeks flushed hot from the sweltering summer heat and burning shame that consumed her every minute of her life. She couldn’t meet her own eyes in the reflection; unable to bear the reproach she’d see there.
Her life hadn’t been so bad. Why had she thrown it away on a whim to trust vermin like Albert Snyder?
Two blocks later, she turned down the narrow alley. The smell of rotting garbage mingled with horse dung, and she pressed her scented handkerchief to her nose in an attempt to keep from gagging. She was soaked in perspiration by the time she burst through the back door of the brick building, rushing through the narrow hall to make her way backstage to the open room, which doubled as a dressing room and storage for props.
A sigh of relief escaped as she found herself alone. She’d beat the troupe there. She allowed herself to relax slightly, wrapping her arms around her thin waist, taking gulps of air to try to catch her breath from her dash across town. Sweat trickled down her neck, pooling between her heavy breasts as she reached to remove her damp bonnet.
What she’d give for a real bath.
A pile of paper stacked on a table near the door to the stage caught Emelie’s attention. She crossed the room to pick up the top playbill and read:
Eagle Theater Presents
Angel’s Follies
Don’t miss the fun and games
Featuring the talented Angel Dixon and her troupe of well-endowed friends
Sponsored by Albert Snyder, Esquire
Corner of Californ
ia and Gold Streets—Nightly Shows at Dusk and 11:00 pm
The worst part was the drawing of a busty woman in a scandalous gown, her face painted, her hair stacked on her head and her bosom almost spilling from the bodice. She was surrounded by four equally tawdry showgirls. The image reminded Emelie of the playbills she’d seen passed out in Union Square advertising the wares available at the local whorehouses.
“How do you like our new advertisement? I have Moses out posting them all over town. We’ll be packing them in soon, exactly like I promised you.”
She jumped at the sound of Albert’s calculated voice. She’d heard this tone before. His words didn’t match the evil lurking just under the surface of the rumpled suit he wore—his attempt at portraying himself as the savvy businessman he liked to pretend he was. Emelie knew the truth. He was a liar—a cheat and… a rapist.
She took a step away from his malevolent anger, conditioned to fear him. She was tempted to turn and run, but like usual as the thought crossed her mind, reality consumed her. She had nowhere to go and no money to get there.
“Where have you been, Emelie? I went back to the hotel to pick you up and Mrs. Johnson said you left hours ago.” Grateful for the dim lighting, her eyes focused on his feet, too afraid to look up to see the anger in his eyes. “Did you meet another man? Is he fucking you?”
Her startled gaze flew to meet his at his crude comment. As horrific as the things were he did to her, he’d never spoken to her in such a scandalous manner. His accusation was insane.
“Excuse me? How dare you speak to me with such vulgarity?”
“How dare I?” His voice raised with rancor; his fake facade crumbling. “What else am I to think? You pretend you’re this prim and proper lady, but I know the truth. You may try to fight the feelings I’ve awakened, but your body doesn’t lie, Emelie. You love everything I do to you.”
God, she hated him. For what he’d done to her against her will, of course. But especially for speaking the truth about how her own body had betrayed her time and again at his abuse.
She didn’t answer him. There was nothing she could say to change what was going to happen. In the four months since she’d left the safety of her home and family in Waukesha, Wisconsin, to travel across the wilderness chasing her dream of singing on stage with the devil in front of her, she’d learned one thing very well.
Albert was a bully and he would take what he wanted from her.
“Come closer.”
He’d been hidden in the shadows of the dark room, lit only with the rays seeping in from the one small window facing the setting sun to the west.
She took reluctant steps towards the corner, moving slowly in an attempt to delay long enough so the rest of the troupe would arrive—not that their presence would stop him. She’d just learned that having the whole troupe there at least helped spread his crazy across more unfortunates and no one person took the brunt of his anger.
This was her worst nightmare. They were alone.
“Look at me.” He sat in front of her, his legs casually stretched out, crossed at the ankle as if he were relaxed. His locked jaw and daggers in his eyes were the true reflection of his current state of mind.
She was in real trouble.
“You disobeyed me. You left your room without me and without permission. You did not leave a note and you caused me worry. This city is not safe for a woman alone, Emelie.” Excitement danced in his eyes as his pupils dilated in anticipation. “You’ve earned a punishment.”
Like that was anything new. She could have been perfect and he’d still find a reason to hurt her. It was his favorite thing in the world—well except abusing her body sexually. Unlucky for her, the two things were one and the same to Albert.
Emelie raised her chin, refusing to let him break her. It worked until he moved his right hand to his hip, pulling the two-foot long thick leather strop from the hook on his belt. He habitually wore the implement, ready to mete out lashes to any member of the troupe who dared displease him.
“Take that hideous gown off. I’ve told you to start dressing for the part of an entertainer. You insist on looking like a preacher’s daughter,” he spat.
Her anger flared. “I am a preacher’s daughter.”
“Not any more. Your family disowned you, remember?”
Oh boy, did she ever. She lived with that regret every moment of her life.
“We’re running out of time. Unless you want the whole troupe to witness your shameful reaction to your coming discipline, I suggest you disrobe and assume the position.” When she stood frozen, he shouted, “Now!”
Emelie scrambled into motion, her trembling fingers working to unbutton the last gown she owned from her days as the youngest daughter of Reverend Gustaf Svensson. As much as she dreaded the coming pain, she hurried, knowing from past experience that Albert would rip the gown from her body if she didn’t move to his satisfaction. Even her experienced seamstress skills could no longer repair the damage done to her other dresses. She needed to protect her one remaining piece of attire for when she left.
And she would leave. She’d already decided. She only needed to find a way of getting some money of her own.
When she stood in her thin chemise and drawers, Albert pushed to his feet. His six-foot stature dwarfed her five-foot, three-inch frame. She’d thought him handsome when she’d met him, but knowing the truth of his nature had transformed him to the devil incarnate. The predatory gaze he poured over her as he approached turned her stomach. She swore she could feel the skin of her bottom crawling, knowing it was about to pay the price for her afternoon adventure.
It had been worth it. Seeing a real theater only a few blocks away gave her renewed hope that she would find her dream after all. It gave her strength to face an angry Albert.
“I said assume the position. Do I need to tie you down again?”
Oh God, not that. She hated losing control of her body by being bound. “No.”
“Excuse me?”
She didn’t understand what he was waiting for. She remembered in a rush. “No, sir.”
The position. It was bent over the nearest piece of furniture that would support her while the strop did its vile job. She moved slowly to the nearby high-backed wooden chair, which sat in front of the small table covered in rouge, lipstick and other cosmetic items used by the women to prepare for their time on stage. Too late, she realized it also put her directly in front of the large mirror they used to apply the make-up. She would now have a front-row view to the sadistic glee on his face as he pummeled her ass.
Her stomach folded across the wooden slat at the top of the chair while her sweaty palms reached forward to grip the sides of the flat seat. She focused on the whiteness of her knuckles as she held on for dear life, saying a small prayer it would be over quickly.
Albert stepped up behind her, pressing his overweight body and his already hard erection against her as he hugged her from behind, reaching to her front to untie the string holding her drawers up.
She’d graduated to bare-bottom punishments promptly after he’d got her far enough away from her family that he knew she was completely at his mercy. Heated humiliation filled her as she realized she stood in front of a man who was not her husband, naked from the waist down—well, save her shoes and stockings.
Albert allowed his hands to linger, stroking her smooth globes before starting. She imagined he liked to inspect her before his correction began because he would usually do the same at the end of a punishment, as if he were admiring his handy work.
Today, he took the time to lift her chemise up her back to pool near her neck. She made the mistake of looking up; catching the hungry glee in his eyes as his gaze devoured her nude body. Emelie snapped her eyes closed, trying to shut out what was happening to her.
She hated to feel him step away from her body, knowing it meant the pain was near. She let her mind wander, trying valiantly to think of something that would distract her from her plight. The swish of the he
avy implement in the air as it connected with her delicate skin refused to let her think of anything else but pain. The line of fire lighting her bottom demanded her full attention.
Tears filled her eyes, but she fought hard to keep them from falling to the chair seat below, knowing her tears enhanced Albert’s domination over her.
The second thud landed a bit lower and this time, the small leather loop at the tip of the strop flicked against her right hip, snapping her so hard she was sure it had to break her skin. An unwanted cry burst from her lips as the agony sunk into her deeper.
The third and fourth licks came quickly—so fast they left her breathless as she struggled to maintain her composure. Two more. He usually stopped at six lashes with the damnable device. She could take two more. She repeated it like a mantra in her mind as she waited for the next strike.
When the fifth lash connected low across the back of both thighs, her hands released of their own accord. Her howling cry filled the space. Their eyes met in the mirror as she reached back to rub her injured legs. The glee she was met with was added injury. The man in front of her loved to hurt her.
“You broke position. You know what that means.” His words were jovial. He was having fun.
No. Not more. “Please. I’m sorry. I promise. It won’t happen again.”
His smile told her he loved driving her to beg about as much as he loved to see her cry.
“I’m afraid I have no choice. You know the rules. You broke them. You’ll pay the consequences.” When she stood frozen, he barked his next order. “Return to your position, and this time you will look up into my eyes as you take your licking.”
The bastard.
Emelie moved back into position as slowly as she thought she could get away with, giving her body as much time as possible to swallow the current pain, making room for the next bite coming soon.
It terrified her to watch. He pulled his arm back so far, gathering all his strength to deliver the most pain he could muster as the next stroke landed on her thighs for a second time. He was testing her—trying to make her break position so he could add even more strokes. The disappointment in his eyes when she failed to let go of the chair was a small consolation for her flaming skin.