Suggestions ... if the current didn't work, maybe this will break her.
More likely it would puncture her from the looks of it.
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Assignment: Zilawe
- Thread starter windar
- Start date
More likely it would puncture her from the looks of it.
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
Considering their mutual eager to see Barb being whipped naked, I think Goldman and Tuma will find each other soon and will enjoy more than one beer together!Buy him a beer, Jerry. You can sort most things out over a beer. Or a frothy coffee.
Considering their mutual eager to see Barb being whipped naked, I think Goldman and Tuma will find each other soon and will enjoy more than one beer together!
Reading ahead again, Lox?
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
I will only drink every times beer out bottles with you!Buy him a beer, Jerry. You can sort most things out over a beer. Or a frothy coffee.
Especially if it happens to contain cyanide!
toxidomaskjr
Magistrate
Windar/Barb you both are doing a hell of a team. I hope we could see a couple of days of the hard labor sentence.
Madiosi excellents manips, especially in the flogging scene. How do you achieve it?
Madiosi excellents manips, especially in the flogging scene. How do you achieve it?
windar
Teller of Tales
Thank you very much. It's great fun working with Barb and Madi. As for a couple of days of hard labor, I think we can do that.. Meghan has 10 years and I doubt Barb will get away with much less.
But who knows, maybe Jerry can work a miracle.
13.
Molabayo Detention Center, December 13, 2017.
By the time they had shocked me a third time, I had all but lost it. Lying on that hard metal table, panting with exhaustion, I wondered how I could ever endure much more. It didn't seem right that I should confess to something I didn't do, but I was beginning to realize that acquiescing to their demands was more or less inevitable. Still I was determined to hold out for as long as possible, just to frustrate them.
It occurred to me to try Jiggling my breasts in the hope that the alligator clamps might come loose. I gave it a try, but of course they didn't. My ill-considered attempt to rid myself of them just caused me more pain.
Through the fog of my dulled senses, I heard one of my tormentors demanding that I sign a confession. I shook my head in defiant refusal.
Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw movement off to my right. The door through which Tuma had departed earlier, with my cell phone in hand, was opening. He was back, my phone held out in his hand, scanning the length of my nude body with the camera function. The bastard!!!!
Then, much to my surprise and shock he purred, “)h, Ms. Moore, I have your editor in New York on the line. Perhaps, you would like to say hello.”
Could it be? How? Why?
"Jerry?" I groaned.
“Barb, what have they done to you? I know you didn’t shoot that video and we are going to prove it. Stay firm and don’t confess to anything you didn’t do.”
He sounded upset. He damn well should have been! I was about to tell him so, but before I could say anything they turned the current on again and my sensory system went into immediate overload. All I could do was twist, writhe, shudder, and scream my head off until they turned it off. And when they did, the torture resumed before I could collect my thoughts.
I endured shock treatment after shock treatment, each one more powerful than those before. But I still refused their demands for a confession.
After a while their frustration began to show. They withdrew for a little discussion and when they returned, it was to switch tactics. my arms and legs were stretched out and my wrists and ankles chained to iron rings in the floor. When they were done, I was laid out fully over the table and stretched so tight I was unable to move.
Then a cloth was tossed over my face and someone began pouring water on it. I had heard of waterboarding, and in fact had read some journalistic pieces decrying it. Now it was happening to me! I gasped and squirmed as the soaking wet cloth closed off my ability to breath. And then, to make matters worse, they shocked me!
The shock sent me totally rigid, the water seeped into my nose and open mouth. I shook my head from side to side in a vain effort to throw off the cloth, but the sodden material was stuck fast to my face. I felt like I was drowning and totally panicked. I screamed in pain, choked, gurgled and gasped seemingly all at once.
When the current was finally turned off, they removed the cloth and ordered me once again to confess. I looked up at them wide-eyed and croaked some kind of barely coherent refusal.
The torture continued. This time they didn't even bother with the cloth, pouring water straight down my throat as I screamed my head off.
I have no idea how many times they waterboarded and shocked me before I finally gave in. I am sure it was a good many, because I am by nature willful and stubborn. But I do remember finally nodding agreement to the demand that I sign something. They released my right wrist and rolled me on my side. A statement of confession was placed on the table, and someone took hold of my wrist and helped me shakily sign the document.
Having signed away my freedom, I rolled back and stared up at the glaring light bulb overhead, relieved that the ordeal was over at last.
Slowly my senses began to return, and I began to take inventory. I was till bound to that metal table top. Under my butt and thighs, I could feel a large wet puddle spreading out in all directions. I realized that I must have peed at some point during the electro-torture, probably during the most recent part. I noted that my heart was still pounding, but not as much as before. My breathing was returning to normal. I thought for a moment they might get me off the table and take me away, but instead they re-bound my right wrist, which had been freed to sign the confession document, over my head.
Tuma's face appeared over mine, blocking the light. "Your bullheaded stubbornness was for nothing, wasn't it, Ms. Moore? It would have been so much easier on you if you had just admitted to your crime right away!"
"Fuck you!" I hissed.
Turning to his men, he growled. "Such bad manners! Give Ms. Moore another jolt, and turn up the current! She needs to learn that from now on, such displays of insolence will not be tolerated here. When you are finished with that, do as you please with her ... then throw her in a cell. The prosecutor is eager to put her on trial first thing tomorrow."
He stomped out of the room, and slammed the door. I looked to the faces of the two toughs remaining in the room. They had a gleam in their eyes that bode no good. A moment later I was convulsing and screaming again.
That time they must have really dialed things up because I blacked out ... and when I came around I was slow to grasp where I was and what was happening. I struggled to situate myself but my vision was blurred and I felt numb all over. Willing myself to focus, I tried to pull my arms free but found them still bound above my head. I knew that I was still on the table, because I was aware of the hard metal under my back and shoulders ... I also knew that my whole body was bouncing about ... and then it hit me ... I was being raped!
Those monsters had released my ankles and loosened my wrist bonds enough to slide my butt to the very edge of the table. And one of them, having spread my legs and thrown them over his shoulders, was busily engaged in pumping his engorged shaft in and out of my vagina. At the same time, his companion was up on the table, squatting over my head, dangling his erection over my face while squeezing my breasts with his massive hands.
My nervous system was kicking in and I was suddenly keenly aware of the spasms of pain that accompanied what they were doing to me. Pinned to the table as I was, there was precious little I could do. At least the one fucking me, judging by the expression on his face, appeared to be nearly finished. His strokes now were long and deep, each one powerful enough to move my body and elicit an intense stab of pain. His partner, sensing his finish, chose that moment to grab me by the hair, lift my head, and order me to watch!
Looking down over my body, past the alligator clips and wires still attached to my jiggling breasts ... and down my rippling belly ... I witnessed my assailant's final thrust and the tell-tale stiffening of his body ... and heard from his mouth his thunderous roar of release as he filled me with his vile seed. He immediately pulled out ... I watched it slide from within me ... incredibly long ... and thick as a post ... dark ... shiny dripping juices and dripping thick gobs of cum.
A flood of wetness flowed from me as he dropped my legs and stood back to admire his handiwork. And then, much to my dismay, the two of them promptly exchanged places. This was not over yet! And my second assailant looked even more bigger and powerful than the first! I shuddered and closed my eyes, determined not to look as my legs were lifted and spread again ... my ass scooted closer to the edge of the table.
The penetration was swift and painful. He literally rammed himself in, driving deep. I screamed. And then the pounding began. His partner came around and grabbed me by the hair and ordered me to lick his. I looked at him with wide eyes, and clammed up. I was not going to take that thing in my mouth! He laughed, shrugged, and stepped back to watch the show.
Luckily my second assault didn't last very long. It only took him a short time to climax and ejaculate, and it was over. Panting and feeling degraded in the worst possible way, I waited to see what horror might be coming next. But they seemed satisfied as they recovered their clothing and jabbered happily to one another in the local tongue.
Eventually they turned to me, released my wrists and ripped those hated alligator clips from my nipples, which hurt beyond belief. Then one of them lifted me off the table and threw me, belly down, over one of his shoulders. He carried me down a corridor. Howls and screams could be heard from behind some of the closed doors. We turned a corner and proceeded into a quieter area, presumably a cell block because ... draped over his back upside down and bleary-eyed as I was ... I could make out the barred lower portions of cell doors as we passed by.
At the end of the corridor, we came to a halt. There was a rattling of keys and a loud creak as the other goon opened a cell door. A moment later he set me down and tossed me in with a boot applied to my bottom. I sprawled face down on the hard concrete. Behind me, I heard the door slammed shut with a loud clank.
Slowly I raised my head to take in my new surroundings. The cell was dimly lit, small and oblong. There was no furniture other than some filthy bedding on the floor and a bucket in which to relieve oneself.
I wasn't alone. Two other figures sat hunched against the far wall. I got up on my hands and knees and crawled toward them. I instantly recognized one of them as Meghan Shanahan! The other was a man, an African. His head was down. Then he looked up. I gasped in astonishment. It was Mr. Masippa, the prosecutor!
I crawled forward the rest of the way, turned and squeezed myself between the two of them, resting my bare back against the wall.
"Meghan!" Do you recognize me?" I whispered to her.
She turned to look at me, a blank expression on her face. Slowly a sign of recognition appeared.
"Yes, you're that newspaper woman, aren't you? What are you doing here?"
"She's here because she's stupid or foolish, or both," interjected Masippa.
"I'm totally innocent!" I shot back at him. "I'm here because of Tuma, and because your government is corrupt and odious in the extreme!"
"Sadly, that is correct." he replied, in a more subdued tone.
"So they've sacked you, because of me?"
"Worse. I go on trial tomorrow for treason. They've managed to frame me just as the did you, Ms. Moore."
"And what about you?" I said, turning back to Meghan.
"I'm to be shipped off to the prison farm on the next available transport to serve my sentence of ten years at hard labor," she responded in a resigned and dry matter-of-fact tone.
"Well, I go on trial in the morning as I understand it. Hopefully, my editor can do something to help me. I know he is aware of my plight."
"I wouldn't get my hopes up if I were you," said Masippa, dropping his head to his knees again as a signal that this conversation was over as far as he was concerned.
My belly growled. The sound seem magnified in the small cell. I remembered that my last meal was the night before.
"Do they serve any food in this hell-hole?" I asked.
Masippa raised his head, again. "Of course, they do. There is a full buffet of savory delights to choose from." he said, smirking at his sarcasm.
"It's just a slice of stale bread and a cup of water," said Meghan. "But you missed it. They came around with it about an hour or so ago."
We all lapsed into silence. I pulled my knees up under my chin and closed my eyes, my spirits as dark as the gloom in the cell.
Molabayo Detention Center, December 13, 2017.
By the time they had shocked me a third time, I had all but lost it. Lying on that hard metal table, panting with exhaustion, I wondered how I could ever endure much more. It didn't seem right that I should confess to something I didn't do, but I was beginning to realize that acquiescing to their demands was more or less inevitable. Still I was determined to hold out for as long as possible, just to frustrate them.
It occurred to me to try Jiggling my breasts in the hope that the alligator clamps might come loose. I gave it a try, but of course they didn't. My ill-considered attempt to rid myself of them just caused me more pain.
Through the fog of my dulled senses, I heard one of my tormentors demanding that I sign a confession. I shook my head in defiant refusal.
Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw movement off to my right. The door through which Tuma had departed earlier, with my cell phone in hand, was opening. He was back, my phone held out in his hand, scanning the length of my nude body with the camera function. The bastard!!!!
Then, much to my surprise and shock he purred, “)h, Ms. Moore, I have your editor in New York on the line. Perhaps, you would like to say hello.”
Could it be? How? Why?
"Jerry?" I groaned.
“Barb, what have they done to you? I know you didn’t shoot that video and we are going to prove it. Stay firm and don’t confess to anything you didn’t do.”
He sounded upset. He damn well should have been! I was about to tell him so, but before I could say anything they turned the current on again and my sensory system went into immediate overload. All I could do was twist, writhe, shudder, and scream my head off until they turned it off. And when they did, the torture resumed before I could collect my thoughts.
I endured shock treatment after shock treatment, each one more powerful than those before. But I still refused their demands for a confession.
After a while their frustration began to show. They withdrew for a little discussion and when they returned, it was to switch tactics. my arms and legs were stretched out and my wrists and ankles chained to iron rings in the floor. When they were done, I was laid out fully over the table and stretched so tight I was unable to move.
Then a cloth was tossed over my face and someone began pouring water on it. I had heard of waterboarding, and in fact had read some journalistic pieces decrying it. Now it was happening to me! I gasped and squirmed as the soaking wet cloth closed off my ability to breath. And then, to make matters worse, they shocked me!
The shock sent me totally rigid, the water seeped into my nose and open mouth. I shook my head from side to side in a vain effort to throw off the cloth, but the sodden material was stuck fast to my face. I felt like I was drowning and totally panicked. I screamed in pain, choked, gurgled and gasped seemingly all at once.
When the current was finally turned off, they removed the cloth and ordered me once again to confess. I looked up at them wide-eyed and croaked some kind of barely coherent refusal.
The torture continued. This time they didn't even bother with the cloth, pouring water straight down my throat as I screamed my head off.
I have no idea how many times they waterboarded and shocked me before I finally gave in. I am sure it was a good many, because I am by nature willful and stubborn. But I do remember finally nodding agreement to the demand that I sign something. They released my right wrist and rolled me on my side. A statement of confession was placed on the table, and someone took hold of my wrist and helped me shakily sign the document.
Having signed away my freedom, I rolled back and stared up at the glaring light bulb overhead, relieved that the ordeal was over at last.
Slowly my senses began to return, and I began to take inventory. I was till bound to that metal table top. Under my butt and thighs, I could feel a large wet puddle spreading out in all directions. I realized that I must have peed at some point during the electro-torture, probably during the most recent part. I noted that my heart was still pounding, but not as much as before. My breathing was returning to normal. I thought for a moment they might get me off the table and take me away, but instead they re-bound my right wrist, which had been freed to sign the confession document, over my head.
Tuma's face appeared over mine, blocking the light. "Your bullheaded stubbornness was for nothing, wasn't it, Ms. Moore? It would have been so much easier on you if you had just admitted to your crime right away!"
"Fuck you!" I hissed.
Turning to his men, he growled. "Such bad manners! Give Ms. Moore another jolt, and turn up the current! She needs to learn that from now on, such displays of insolence will not be tolerated here. When you are finished with that, do as you please with her ... then throw her in a cell. The prosecutor is eager to put her on trial first thing tomorrow."
He stomped out of the room, and slammed the door. I looked to the faces of the two toughs remaining in the room. They had a gleam in their eyes that bode no good. A moment later I was convulsing and screaming again.
That time they must have really dialed things up because I blacked out ... and when I came around I was slow to grasp where I was and what was happening. I struggled to situate myself but my vision was blurred and I felt numb all over. Willing myself to focus, I tried to pull my arms free but found them still bound above my head. I knew that I was still on the table, because I was aware of the hard metal under my back and shoulders ... I also knew that my whole body was bouncing about ... and then it hit me ... I was being raped!
Those monsters had released my ankles and loosened my wrist bonds enough to slide my butt to the very edge of the table. And one of them, having spread my legs and thrown them over his shoulders, was busily engaged in pumping his engorged shaft in and out of my vagina. At the same time, his companion was up on the table, squatting over my head, dangling his erection over my face while squeezing my breasts with his massive hands.
My nervous system was kicking in and I was suddenly keenly aware of the spasms of pain that accompanied what they were doing to me. Pinned to the table as I was, there was precious little I could do. At least the one fucking me, judging by the expression on his face, appeared to be nearly finished. His strokes now were long and deep, each one powerful enough to move my body and elicit an intense stab of pain. His partner, sensing his finish, chose that moment to grab me by the hair, lift my head, and order me to watch!
Looking down over my body, past the alligator clips and wires still attached to my jiggling breasts ... and down my rippling belly ... I witnessed my assailant's final thrust and the tell-tale stiffening of his body ... and heard from his mouth his thunderous roar of release as he filled me with his vile seed. He immediately pulled out ... I watched it slide from within me ... incredibly long ... and thick as a post ... dark ... shiny dripping juices and dripping thick gobs of cum.
A flood of wetness flowed from me as he dropped my legs and stood back to admire his handiwork. And then, much to my dismay, the two of them promptly exchanged places. This was not over yet! And my second assailant looked even more bigger and powerful than the first! I shuddered and closed my eyes, determined not to look as my legs were lifted and spread again ... my ass scooted closer to the edge of the table.
The penetration was swift and painful. He literally rammed himself in, driving deep. I screamed. And then the pounding began. His partner came around and grabbed me by the hair and ordered me to lick his. I looked at him with wide eyes, and clammed up. I was not going to take that thing in my mouth! He laughed, shrugged, and stepped back to watch the show.
Luckily my second assault didn't last very long. It only took him a short time to climax and ejaculate, and it was over. Panting and feeling degraded in the worst possible way, I waited to see what horror might be coming next. But they seemed satisfied as they recovered their clothing and jabbered happily to one another in the local tongue.
Eventually they turned to me, released my wrists and ripped those hated alligator clips from my nipples, which hurt beyond belief. Then one of them lifted me off the table and threw me, belly down, over one of his shoulders. He carried me down a corridor. Howls and screams could be heard from behind some of the closed doors. We turned a corner and proceeded into a quieter area, presumably a cell block because ... draped over his back upside down and bleary-eyed as I was ... I could make out the barred lower portions of cell doors as we passed by.
At the end of the corridor, we came to a halt. There was a rattling of keys and a loud creak as the other goon opened a cell door. A moment later he set me down and tossed me in with a boot applied to my bottom. I sprawled face down on the hard concrete. Behind me, I heard the door slammed shut with a loud clank.
Slowly I raised my head to take in my new surroundings. The cell was dimly lit, small and oblong. There was no furniture other than some filthy bedding on the floor and a bucket in which to relieve oneself.
I wasn't alone. Two other figures sat hunched against the far wall. I got up on my hands and knees and crawled toward them. I instantly recognized one of them as Meghan Shanahan! The other was a man, an African. His head was down. Then he looked up. I gasped in astonishment. It was Mr. Masippa, the prosecutor!
I crawled forward the rest of the way, turned and squeezed myself between the two of them, resting my bare back against the wall.
"Meghan!" Do you recognize me?" I whispered to her.
She turned to look at me, a blank expression on her face. Slowly a sign of recognition appeared.
"Yes, you're that newspaper woman, aren't you? What are you doing here?"
"She's here because she's stupid or foolish, or both," interjected Masippa.
"I'm totally innocent!" I shot back at him. "I'm here because of Tuma, and because your government is corrupt and odious in the extreme!"
"Sadly, that is correct." he replied, in a more subdued tone.
"So they've sacked you, because of me?"
"Worse. I go on trial tomorrow for treason. They've managed to frame me just as the did you, Ms. Moore."
"And what about you?" I said, turning back to Meghan.
"I'm to be shipped off to the prison farm on the next available transport to serve my sentence of ten years at hard labor," she responded in a resigned and dry matter-of-fact tone.
"Well, I go on trial in the morning as I understand it. Hopefully, my editor can do something to help me. I know he is aware of my plight."
"I wouldn't get my hopes up if I were you," said Masippa, dropping his head to his knees again as a signal that this conversation was over as far as he was concerned.
My belly growled. The sound seem magnified in the small cell. I remembered that my last meal was the night before.
"Do they serve any food in this hell-hole?" I asked.
Masippa raised his head, again. "Of course, they do. There is a full buffet of savory delights to choose from." he said, smirking at his sarcasm.
"It's just a slice of stale bread and a cup of water," said Meghan. "But you missed it. They came around with it about an hour or so ago."
We all lapsed into silence. I pulled my knees up under my chin and closed my eyes, my spirits as dark as the gloom in the cell.
windar
Teller of Tales
You didn't expect him to miss his turn did you?
I hope that works out for you
Good advice...
I suppose that's a step up from a shit-hole
I hope the State Department guy can do something for Ms. Moore...
Well... never mind...
Tree
Well... never mind...
Tree
Tuma is pretty good at a set up, and the picture he paints has a lovely frame.
Good man, Goldman!
Everyone in with their helpful ideas, I see.Suggestions ... if the current didn't work, maybe this will break her.
So, the whole cast is back together for a nice little prison reunion before trials and hard labour. Goldman has his work cut out for him, although he's hardly likely to have much sympathy for Masippa. Tuma seems to be angling for a promotion.
That was an intense chapter, Barb.
You do tend to get yourself into some interesting assignments. I bet you're dreaming of the good old days on the police force, when all you had to worry about was a couple of religious loonies crucifying you, eh?Never mind, Goldman's on the way.
He's usually got a better plan than the characters in my stories. 
Never mind, Goldman's on the way.
but your stories at least end well
IT REALLY DEPENDS ON YOUR PERSPECTIVE, DOESN'T IT? THIS MAY BE THE STORY WHERE I FINALLY GET TO MEET MS. MOORE, THE INTREPID REPORTER. I'VE READ ALL YOUR WORK. BIG FAN, ME.
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
A man, a plan, Goldman!Never mind, Goldman's on the way.
(although I cannot recall one Goldman plan that did not bring Barb into trouble)
A man, a plan, Goldman!
(although I cannot recall one Goldman plan that did not bring Barb into trouble)
With bosses like Goldman, who needs enemies? Try to get on the right plane, Jerry. I’m being held against my will in Zilawe, not Zimbabwe! And I fear I will be sentenced to a public whipping and hard labor! Call out the Marines! Do something! Fast!!!!
windar
Teller of Tales
You want me to call out the Marines? I'm a newspaper editor, not the President. All I can do is pen another editorial. And you know how much that helped Meghan, right? As for your fears about your sentence-no reason to fear-it's virtually certain
As for your fears about your sentence-no reason to fear-it's virtually certain
OH SHIT !!!!!
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
He is doing something fast! He tries to outrun Spike Sharp for the scoop of your trial, sentence and flogging!
Extra! Extra! Read al about it
: 'Zilawe justice flogs US female reporter!' and in smaller print : 'Illegally transmitted video'.These headlines sell, you know, and only that matters for the status (and bonus) of the chief editor (the world is not fair, I know).
Sure it is, but it is all based on bananas!
