Yet another cautionary tale on workplace romance–or perhaps merely workplace D/s.

“Costly Credit, or No Charge at All?”

Whoever had named the iron town of Cool, Ohio had clearly been deranged. The heat was bad enough in summer, but the humidity trapped in the creek valley was what really made things miserable. And all that before the iron furnace and charcoal pit began to fire each day.

Louisa wiped the sweat from her brow before it could slide into her eyes, taking in the busy scene of the furnace compound. The smelting furnace was fifty feet of granite blocks and looked like one of the Egyptian pyramids that had its top third sliced off. The smaller, sandstone furnace they used to burn the local forest into charcoal to fire the smelting furnace seemed almost an afterthought—but Louisa knew from George that without charcoal no pig iron would ever be shipped by the men of the Cool Iron Company.

Louisa smiled, focusing on those men scurrying around the structures. Well-built and sculpted from years of hard work they made a fine sight, stripped to the waist and coated in a sheen of sweat. She would never admit it, but Louisa took every opportunity to come down from her post at the company store and watch the men shovel, chop, and otherwise strain at their duties. Seeing the men artlessly practicing their craft—yes, even brute force could be a craft—always made her think delicious, carnal things.

George was the foreman of the charcoal operation, second only to the furnace master himself. Catching sight of him strutting toward her, Louisa pushed her musings aside. She took in the ash marks on his face and arms, as well as what appeared to be a fresh burn on his left bicep. “George Phillips! Are you unaware that you have laborers to pull the charcoal out by hand?”

George shrugged, failing to suppress the grin that started when he first saw Louisa on the site. “It was a laborer who put too much on his cart. It tipped, and someone had to dig the poor lad out before he roasted.” He cut his eyes to a young man, maybe fourteen years old, dabbing at far worse burns with a rag.

A moment of silence, before George asked, “And to what do I owe the pleasure of a visit from the store mistress?”

“Bad news, I’m afraid. The script for this month has arrived in full, but sadly we’re a little short on the coin.” Script was similar to the paper note currency issued by the government and some local banks, but this far into the hills of southern Ohio it was really only accepted at the Cool Iron Company Store. It was convenient for the men, and even more convenient for the company—very hard to pick up stakes for greener pastures if your month’s pay became worthless 5 miles from camp. The more important men—foremen like George, for instance—were paid in coin minted by the Treasury.

“Again? Usually they’re much better at accounting in Cincinnati.” George seemed almost excited at this news, something that warmed Louisa. “How much?”

“Well let me put it this way—either the furnace master will be shorted, or you’ll be getting nothing.” Louisa leaned forward, pulling on the front of her dress to smooth it as she did. “Of course, I know your reputation. A man like you shouldn’t have trouble getting credit in my store.”

Even through the ash and sunburn, Louisa could see the flush creeping up from his neck as George realized just how low her neckline had suddenly dipped. A smile danced across Louisa’s lips as she noticed the change in his breathing when George finally replied. “But two months in debt to the store, on my salary…”

Abruptly Louisa straightened. She needed him distracted, not frantic. “Well Mr. Phillips, that’s the situation. If you’re obliged, please stop by whenever you’re able to discuss terms further.”

***

Later that night, with the soft glow of the banked furnace just visible through the cracks in Louisa’s wallboards, she played with George’s hair as he rested his head against her thigh. Taking a moment to catch her breath, Louisa idly played her toes over George’s erection. “I think that just earned you enough credit for two days’ worth of beans, darling.”

George groaned, burying his face into her slick lips. “That’s beans only for a fortnight now, my love—do I not please you?”

Louisa shivered at the pressure and practically purred. “Oh, you please me very much, Mr. Phillips. You please me even more by abiding by our agreement.”

“But Louisa, love,” George pleaded, playing his fingertips over her belly and breasts lightly. “Beans grow tiresome, especially when I see and smell the meat and stews around town—“

Louisa cut him off with a sharp nudge to the testes with her foot—he gasped more from the shock than any pain. “George Phillips, do you have the coin or script to pay for meat, and potatoes, and carrot, and onions?”

George’s mind went back to earlier in the evening, when Louisa had dutifully counted out all the minted coin she had received from the Home Office in Cincinnati—exactly short George’s allotment. A moment of fear—surely Louisa wouldn’t actually steal the money from him, but in a month of asking her and searching he’d yet to find where the money had been stashed. Part of him cursing his playful observation that he’d be even more under Louisa’s sway then the men using script were his pay to not arrive, part of him hardening with excitement. George had agreed to her terms of credit.

“No, Louisa—you know that.”

“Then I guess you’ll just have to take what I can spare on credit, now won’t you?” Louisa slid down the bed, putting her mouth in reach of his still-hard cock. “After all, I have to make sure you don’t forget I own you.”

If George objected it was lost in groans as Louisa set her tongue to soothing his erection.