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Barb Behind Bars
- Thread starter Barbaria1
- Start date
Sharkman
Governor
28.
...
“Don’t just take my word for it, Reggie. See for yourself.” Stan opened his laptop and clicked on the video file. They sat in stunned silence as the scene unfolded-the whip fight, the rampant sex between the guests and various inmates, the strapping of the inmate Stan held down.
...
“Don’t just take my word for it, Reggie. See for yourself.” Stan opened his laptop and clicked on the video file. They sat in stunned silence as the scene unfolded-the whip fight, the rampant sex between the guests and various inmates, the strapping of the inmate Stan held down.
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
Sounds like a plan to me ... would you guys stop talking about it and do it, please. I'm dying up here on this fucking cross!!!
Complicated, but could work. Bottleneck is to get enough donuts for underway!
The prime suspect is the guy banging the gavel on the closing bell!?
And already the first who hanged twice either!
windar
Teller of Tales
A shortage of donuts? Now THAT's a national emergency!!!
Barb breaks all the records for surviving executions by various means. It's possible she is immortal
. like vampires or the undead...
Sharkman
Governor
A shortage of donuts? Now THAT's a national emergency!!!
Barb breaks all the records for surviving executions by various means. It's possible she is immortal
Undead, immortal? ... it must checked out if she's a witch. Ordeal by water. Strip her, tie her and throw her in the water. If she goes down she is innocent.
Shit, Stan, not so fast! Not in the deep lake!
... Hold on! ... No! We forgot to tie a rope around her 
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
No problem! Unless it's an alligator I spot, it looks like she floats!Undead, immortal? ... it must checked out if she's a witch. Ordeal by water. Strip her, tie her and throw her in the water. If she goes down she is innocent.
Shit, Stan, not so fast! Not in the deep lake!neckbody to pull her out again.
Sharkman
Governor
No problem! Unless it's an alligator I spot, it looks like she floats!
connoisseurs
Senator
Breaking news - attack on our judicial system!Once again there is a attack against our judicial system. This time headed by two over-the-hill retired detectives, who a few month ago had to leave the NYPD under odd circumstances. Ex-detectiv Barbara Moore, known to be involved in quite a few bizarre sex-scandals and her pussy-whipped lover, Ex-Detective Stan Goldman, known only for his bravery in combats at cold buffets, claim that among others, highranking judges and prison wardon have abused our judicial system to operate a perverted and brutal brothel!
For insider it is more than blatant, that those unconscionable two amateur-authors are only desperately trying to promote a new book.
But the only conclusion can be to re-investigate their latest cases. Even now, two years later, it is not forgotten that this shabby couple are the very ones who made sure that Professor Alan Donnelly and Father Gerhart, the Cardinal’s personal secretary, long standing members of many groups of upright Americans, are sentenced for alleged crimes against this pervert tramp!
Sorry, to imitate a typical fake-news in a foreign language isn´t easy...
29.
It took Matron but two mighty swings of the hammer to drive the nail straight through my left wrist and bury it deep in the wood.
The pain was indescribable. To each each ringing blow, I reacted by throwing my head back and screaming to the rafters above. Meanwhile, totally unfazed by my distress, Pennyworth was leaning into me and rhythmically thrusting and grunting his way to orgasm ... at the moment of which, he bellowed his pleasure.
And no sooner had Pennyworth withdrawn than another of Warden’s high-rolling clients ... this one muscular and sandy-haired ... settled himself down on top of me.
Moments later, Matron, who had re-positioned herself so that she was hovering over my other wrist, brought her hammer smashing down to pierce my flesh and shatter my wrist. Crushed under the sandy-haired guy's considerable bulk and fully impaled on his rigid member, I could only flinch and scream ... and scream again ... as Matron’s second blow finished the cruel task of pinning my wrists in place.
With a self-satisfied snort, Matron rose from her haunches and, gathering her sack of nails in one fist, moved on to Deb. The sharp clang of metal on metal and Deb’s anguished cries soon rang in my ears.
Meanwhile my second assailant lost no time in shooting his wad inside me. And before I knew it a third of Warden's overweight and oversexed cronies was lowering himself over me and jabbing at my wet pussy with his rigid prick. One after another the assaults continued until at long last there was no longer anyone waiting in line at the foot of either Deb’s or my crosses.
Free, at last, of any of Warden's clients still eager to rape me, I attempted to shift my battered body to a more comfortable position. But my efforts caused my ass to slide on the slimy pool of cum that had accumulated on the wood beneath it. I ended up twisted awkwardly to one side with one cheek on the hot sand. Looking up, I could see Pennyworth gazing thoughtfully down on me, ominously clutching Matron’s discarded bag of nails in one hand. My immediate thought was to regard his corpulent naked figure as repulsive, but there was also something about the look on his face ... even, half hidden, as it was, behind his mask ... that sent a chill through me.
“Shouldn’t we be nailing their feet as well?” he asked to no one in particular. “There are, after all, still four nails left in this bag. Just enough to do the job. Pity to let such fine nails go unused.”
“No, we’ve already agreed. Just their wrists, not their feet!” intervened Warden.
“I’m not so sure that was ever actually agreed. Perhaps we should take a vote on it. I say nail the bitches! Crime doesn’t pay! They're both criminals, aren't they? Why shouldn’t they suffer? It's a matter of law and order. Are we Romans, or are we not? All in favor of completing the nailing of these two miserable cunts to their crosses, say Aye!”
Murmurs of support were expressed amongst the party-goers gathered around. Not a single voice of dissent was heard.
“I can’t allow it,” declared Warden, attempting to stand his ground, although a note of uncertainty had crept into his voice.
“What if we sweeten the deal?” declared Pennyworth. “How does an extra five thousand on tonight’s entrance fee grab you, Warden? I’m willing. And I'll wager the others are too. If we all chip in, that's at least an extra $75,000 or so. How about the rest of you gents? What do you say? Agreed?"
Murmurs of assent. The atmosphere had become electric.
“Alright, alright. These two will be worthless to me afterwards with injured feet, mind you ... but if you all insist ... well ... ok ... what can I say? ... we’ll do it ... Matron?”
On cue, Matron appeared from somewhere behind the eager throng surrounding us to snatch the bag of nails from Pennyworth’s grasp.
“Let’s get on with it then,” she shouted. “Gibbons! Porter! Get some rope and tie their ankles together ... ... ... wait a minute ... ... where the devil did Porter go?”
“Headed for the john a while ago,” replied the heavy-set guard named Gibbons. “Looking mighty sick, he was.”
“Go fetch him, Gibbons!"
“Yes ma’am.”
“Carter and Hudson! Get over here and tie those ankles together. Time’s a wasting!”
The two guards hastened forward at her bidding to grab our ankles and press them together for binding. Deb and I both decided to put up a fight. We kicked with both feet, twisted our hips about and cursed ... only to be subdued when Matron called for reinforcements.
Overpowered, Deb and I had no choice but to watch in terror as they bound our ankles together, forced our knees up into a bent position, placed and held the soles of our feet firmly against the wood, and waved Matron over with her hammer and bag of nails.
That time, she started with Deb. I couldn't watch. But there was no way to avoid hearing that fateful ring of metal striking metal, accompanied by the crunch of broken bone and cartilage, and Deb's tormented shrieks of pain and pleas for mercy.
Then it was my turn.
Matron assumed her position over my feet. The guards tightened their grip. I felt the point of a nail positioned over and jabbed down against the top of my right foot. The overhead lights glinted off the head of the hammer as it was raised.
I shook my head from side to side, and cried, "Nooooooo!!!"
To no avail. The same fate befell me as did poor Deb. My head exploded with shock as the nail was driven into my foot. A few more swings of the hammer ... more screams accompanied by frantic but useless struggles ... and both my feet were nailed to the wood. I lay moaning, turning my head from side to side as though I was denying the whole thing.
Thunderous applause, and high fives, from all around.
"Okay, raise the condemned on their crosses," commanded Warden, this time with less exuberance than in the past. A note of quiet resignation had crept into his voice. This wasn't going quite as he had planned, but he had no intention of giving up on it ... especially as the whole enterprise had become more lucrative. Money talks.
"Where the fuck is Gibbons?" groused Matron. "Didn't he go off to fetch Porter?"
"He's probably mopping Porter up ... happens with newbies 'till they acquire the stomach it. They'll be back soon," replied a guard.
My cross shook as a cable was attached to a metal ring bolted to the wood well above above my head, and a whirring electric motor mounted on the ceiling began to pull up the slack until the cable was taut. Then with a creak, shudder and a groan, my wooden cross parted from the sand and began to rise in a gentle arc. As the angle increased, gravity pulled me downwards and I cried out as my ravaged back slid against the wood.
A quick sideways glance told me that Deb and her cross were on their way up as well. The poor thing was covered in sweat. Her hair was sodden and matted in place over her face and shoulders. Glistening gobs of cum covered her dark bush and and the soft flesh of her inner thighs. Blood oozed from her wrists and smashed feet. She looked a total mess, and I imagined that I must have looked just as wretched.
As our crosses approached being fully raised, eager hands skidded the bases to waiting holes in the sand, where they were dropped into place ... landing with a bone-jarring thud as they struck bottom. I was thrown by the impact, swinging out from my cross and twisting to one side ... feeling for the first time the extreme agony of hanging from my nailed wrists.
My cross shuddered and shook as it was secured in place. I fell back against it, and slid down ... coming to rest with knees bent and arms stretched ... and remained there until the need to fill my lungs with fresh air, forced me to begin the so-called 'dance' of the crucified.
Focusing my effort on my legs, I pushed up ... enduring the searing pain in both feet of metal grating on shattered bone and raw nerves ... and pulled with my arms until I could lock my knees and stand upright. Fresh trickles of warm blood ran down the wounds in my wrists, snaking down the insides of my arms to meander their way down my raised ribs. I took in several hurried gasps of air, and held myself in place as long as my shaking legs would allow. Then I collapsed and slid back down the wood to my former ... arms extended, semi-squatting ... resting place.
Again and again, I repeated this maneuver, each time more shakily than before, with more twisting and writhing ... at times swinging wildly out and away from the wood. Deb was doing exactly the same. It all brought back vivid memories of my dance on the cross years ago in the Bronx Crux Murders case.
Warden's guests and the other inmates stood at our feet, gathered together in a tight semi-circle, eyes raised ... fully entranced and visibly aroused by the sight of our desperate struggles.
Guards circulated amongst them, offering drink. Some of the men were masturbating, others were fondling the breasts and asses of the girls at their sides ... many of whom seemed as breathlessly turned on by our plight as the men.
As time passed Deb and I grew weaker and weaker. We hung listlessly for longer and longer periods of time, eyes closed, heads lolling from side to side, before attempting another rendition of the 'dance'. Some of the onlookers grew restless or bored, wandering off to lie in sexual embrace on the warm sand. Others continued the vigil, conversing quietly and making appreciative comments about what a great show the Warden had put on that evening ... about how hot Deb and I looked, naked and sweat-sheened under the overhead lights. Occasionally one of them would poke one or the other of us in order to get us moving.
Off to one side Matron was quizzing Gibbon, who had returned to report that Porter was missing. She seemed concerned, and signaled Warden to her side. I tried to listen in on what was being said, but the need to put fresh air in my aching lungs forced me to focus instead on pushing myself up that hard wooden beam.
It took Matron but two mighty swings of the hammer to drive the nail straight through my left wrist and bury it deep in the wood.
The pain was indescribable. To each each ringing blow, I reacted by throwing my head back and screaming to the rafters above. Meanwhile, totally unfazed by my distress, Pennyworth was leaning into me and rhythmically thrusting and grunting his way to orgasm ... at the moment of which, he bellowed his pleasure.
And no sooner had Pennyworth withdrawn than another of Warden’s high-rolling clients ... this one muscular and sandy-haired ... settled himself down on top of me.
Moments later, Matron, who had re-positioned herself so that she was hovering over my other wrist, brought her hammer smashing down to pierce my flesh and shatter my wrist. Crushed under the sandy-haired guy's considerable bulk and fully impaled on his rigid member, I could only flinch and scream ... and scream again ... as Matron’s second blow finished the cruel task of pinning my wrists in place.
With a self-satisfied snort, Matron rose from her haunches and, gathering her sack of nails in one fist, moved on to Deb. The sharp clang of metal on metal and Deb’s anguished cries soon rang in my ears.
Meanwhile my second assailant lost no time in shooting his wad inside me. And before I knew it a third of Warden's overweight and oversexed cronies was lowering himself over me and jabbing at my wet pussy with his rigid prick. One after another the assaults continued until at long last there was no longer anyone waiting in line at the foot of either Deb’s or my crosses.
Free, at last, of any of Warden's clients still eager to rape me, I attempted to shift my battered body to a more comfortable position. But my efforts caused my ass to slide on the slimy pool of cum that had accumulated on the wood beneath it. I ended up twisted awkwardly to one side with one cheek on the hot sand. Looking up, I could see Pennyworth gazing thoughtfully down on me, ominously clutching Matron’s discarded bag of nails in one hand. My immediate thought was to regard his corpulent naked figure as repulsive, but there was also something about the look on his face ... even, half hidden, as it was, behind his mask ... that sent a chill through me.
“Shouldn’t we be nailing their feet as well?” he asked to no one in particular. “There are, after all, still four nails left in this bag. Just enough to do the job. Pity to let such fine nails go unused.”
“No, we’ve already agreed. Just their wrists, not their feet!” intervened Warden.
“I’m not so sure that was ever actually agreed. Perhaps we should take a vote on it. I say nail the bitches! Crime doesn’t pay! They're both criminals, aren't they? Why shouldn’t they suffer? It's a matter of law and order. Are we Romans, or are we not? All in favor of completing the nailing of these two miserable cunts to their crosses, say Aye!”
Murmurs of support were expressed amongst the party-goers gathered around. Not a single voice of dissent was heard.
“I can’t allow it,” declared Warden, attempting to stand his ground, although a note of uncertainty had crept into his voice.
“What if we sweeten the deal?” declared Pennyworth. “How does an extra five thousand on tonight’s entrance fee grab you, Warden? I’m willing. And I'll wager the others are too. If we all chip in, that's at least an extra $75,000 or so. How about the rest of you gents? What do you say? Agreed?"
Murmurs of assent. The atmosphere had become electric.
“Alright, alright. These two will be worthless to me afterwards with injured feet, mind you ... but if you all insist ... well ... ok ... what can I say? ... we’ll do it ... Matron?”
On cue, Matron appeared from somewhere behind the eager throng surrounding us to snatch the bag of nails from Pennyworth’s grasp.
“Let’s get on with it then,” she shouted. “Gibbons! Porter! Get some rope and tie their ankles together ... ... ... wait a minute ... ... where the devil did Porter go?”
“Headed for the john a while ago,” replied the heavy-set guard named Gibbons. “Looking mighty sick, he was.”
“Go fetch him, Gibbons!"
“Yes ma’am.”
“Carter and Hudson! Get over here and tie those ankles together. Time’s a wasting!”
The two guards hastened forward at her bidding to grab our ankles and press them together for binding. Deb and I both decided to put up a fight. We kicked with both feet, twisted our hips about and cursed ... only to be subdued when Matron called for reinforcements.
Overpowered, Deb and I had no choice but to watch in terror as they bound our ankles together, forced our knees up into a bent position, placed and held the soles of our feet firmly against the wood, and waved Matron over with her hammer and bag of nails.
That time, she started with Deb. I couldn't watch. But there was no way to avoid hearing that fateful ring of metal striking metal, accompanied by the crunch of broken bone and cartilage, and Deb's tormented shrieks of pain and pleas for mercy.
Then it was my turn.
Matron assumed her position over my feet. The guards tightened their grip. I felt the point of a nail positioned over and jabbed down against the top of my right foot. The overhead lights glinted off the head of the hammer as it was raised.
I shook my head from side to side, and cried, "Nooooooo!!!"
To no avail. The same fate befell me as did poor Deb. My head exploded with shock as the nail was driven into my foot. A few more swings of the hammer ... more screams accompanied by frantic but useless struggles ... and both my feet were nailed to the wood. I lay moaning, turning my head from side to side as though I was denying the whole thing.
Thunderous applause, and high fives, from all around.
"Okay, raise the condemned on their crosses," commanded Warden, this time with less exuberance than in the past. A note of quiet resignation had crept into his voice. This wasn't going quite as he had planned, but he had no intention of giving up on it ... especially as the whole enterprise had become more lucrative. Money talks.
"Where the fuck is Gibbons?" groused Matron. "Didn't he go off to fetch Porter?"
"He's probably mopping Porter up ... happens with newbies 'till they acquire the stomach it. They'll be back soon," replied a guard.
My cross shook as a cable was attached to a metal ring bolted to the wood well above above my head, and a whirring electric motor mounted on the ceiling began to pull up the slack until the cable was taut. Then with a creak, shudder and a groan, my wooden cross parted from the sand and began to rise in a gentle arc. As the angle increased, gravity pulled me downwards and I cried out as my ravaged back slid against the wood.
A quick sideways glance told me that Deb and her cross were on their way up as well. The poor thing was covered in sweat. Her hair was sodden and matted in place over her face and shoulders. Glistening gobs of cum covered her dark bush and and the soft flesh of her inner thighs. Blood oozed from her wrists and smashed feet. She looked a total mess, and I imagined that I must have looked just as wretched.
As our crosses approached being fully raised, eager hands skidded the bases to waiting holes in the sand, where they were dropped into place ... landing with a bone-jarring thud as they struck bottom. I was thrown by the impact, swinging out from my cross and twisting to one side ... feeling for the first time the extreme agony of hanging from my nailed wrists.
My cross shuddered and shook as it was secured in place. I fell back against it, and slid down ... coming to rest with knees bent and arms stretched ... and remained there until the need to fill my lungs with fresh air, forced me to begin the so-called 'dance' of the crucified.
Focusing my effort on my legs, I pushed up ... enduring the searing pain in both feet of metal grating on shattered bone and raw nerves ... and pulled with my arms until I could lock my knees and stand upright. Fresh trickles of warm blood ran down the wounds in my wrists, snaking down the insides of my arms to meander their way down my raised ribs. I took in several hurried gasps of air, and held myself in place as long as my shaking legs would allow. Then I collapsed and slid back down the wood to my former ... arms extended, semi-squatting ... resting place.
Again and again, I repeated this maneuver, each time more shakily than before, with more twisting and writhing ... at times swinging wildly out and away from the wood. Deb was doing exactly the same. It all brought back vivid memories of my dance on the cross years ago in the Bronx Crux Murders case.
Warden's guests and the other inmates stood at our feet, gathered together in a tight semi-circle, eyes raised ... fully entranced and visibly aroused by the sight of our desperate struggles.
Guards circulated amongst them, offering drink. Some of the men were masturbating, others were fondling the breasts and asses of the girls at their sides ... many of whom seemed as breathlessly turned on by our plight as the men.
As time passed Deb and I grew weaker and weaker. We hung listlessly for longer and longer periods of time, eyes closed, heads lolling from side to side, before attempting another rendition of the 'dance'. Some of the onlookers grew restless or bored, wandering off to lie in sexual embrace on the warm sand. Others continued the vigil, conversing quietly and making appreciative comments about what a great show the Warden had put on that evening ... about how hot Deb and I looked, naked and sweat-sheened under the overhead lights. Occasionally one of them would poke one or the other of us in order to get us moving.
Off to one side Matron was quizzing Gibbon, who had returned to report that Porter was missing. She seemed concerned, and signaled Warden to her side. I tried to listen in on what was being said, but the need to put fresh air in my aching lungs forced me to focus instead on pushing myself up that hard wooden beam.
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29.
...
Warden's guests and the other inmates stood at our feet, gathered together in a tight semi-circle, eyes raised ... fully entranced and visibly aroused by the sight of our desperate struggles. Guards circulated amongst them, offering drink. Some of the men were masturbating, others were fondling the breasts and asses of the girls at their sides ... many of whom seemed as breathlessly turned on by our plight as the men.
As time passed Deb and I grew weaker and weaker. We hung listlessly for longer and longer periods of time, eyes closed, heads lolling from side to side, before attempting another rendition of the 'dance'. Some of the onlookers grew restless or bored, wandering off to lie in sexual embrace on the warm sand. Others continued the vigil, conversing quietly and making appreciative comments about what a great show the Warden had put on that evening ... about how hot Deb and I looked, naked and sweat-sheened under the overhead lights. Occasionally one of them would poke one or the other of us in order to get us moving.
...
Warden's guests and the other inmates stood at our feet, gathered together in a tight semi-circle, eyes raised ... fully entranced and visibly aroused by the sight of our desperate struggles. Guards circulated amongst them, offering drink. Some of the men were masturbating, others were fondling the breasts and asses of the girls at their sides ... many of whom seemed as breathlessly turned on by our plight as the men.
As time passed Deb and I grew weaker and weaker. We hung listlessly for longer and longer periods of time, eyes closed, heads lolling from side to side, before attempting another rendition of the 'dance'. Some of the onlookers grew restless or bored, wandering off to lie in sexual embrace on the warm sand. Others continued the vigil, conversing quietly and making appreciative comments about what a great show the Warden had put on that evening ... about how hot Deb and I looked, naked and sweat-sheened under the overhead lights. Occasionally one of them would poke one or the other of us in order to get us moving.
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windar
Teller of Tales
Please, I would never fight at a cold buffet!
Now a hot buffet, that's different
Such a considerate guy. Stan at least would ask, "You OK, Barb?"
The man has a point
Good question...
Why? Can't they still give blow jobs with injured feet?
That's a bit of a lame excuse, Moore. A trained officer shouldn't be distracted by such things, but OK...
connoisseurs
Senator
When Barb suggested a new story with a prison-theme, windar had spontaneus a pic before his mind´s eye
I think so...When Barb suggested a new story with a prison-theme, windar had spontaneus a pic before his mind´s eye
If you were really a considerate guy, Goldman ... you would turn off Seinfeld when I am trying to get your attention ... just saying!
connoisseurs
Senator
Stan, I had a long counterblast prepared. I wanted Barb to know that men - unlike females, who can for hours on end chat about something absolut irrelevant like fashion, makeup, jewelry or womans lib - regularly need witty conversations about the really important things in life - often on examples from sport, cars or sex -, profound and philosophical conversation, and that - as you are the only male in your household - you need to resort to tv.
But - Seinfeld?!
Can´t you pick something a bit smarter like Buster Keaton or Stan Laurel and Oliver Hardy or Donald Duck?