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Barb Behind Bars

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Stan tried hard not to appear too obviously to be looking down her blouse.
I can honestly say that in that picture I am not looking down her blouse. Which is not easy, because she is very well endowed.:rolleyes:

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An amazing sequence depiction by SkatingJesus of Deb Morton and Barb Moore being scourged. Wow1

Yes these are very powerful. Thank you SJ. And I'm not looking down their blouses either.;)
 
32.

All was quiet when they pulled up in front of the Newtown State Correctional Facility for Women shortly after one in the afternoon. “Looks like we have an exclusive, so far,” Jeff said, taking a seat at a control panel towards the rear of the van. The cameraman/driver hit a button that raised the dish on the roof of the van so they would be in constant contact with the studio back in the City.

Candy smiled sweetly at Stan. “Thanks, Detective, I owe you one,” she said.

The older cameramen scrambled out to set up his camera so they would have a good shot of the prison behind Candy when she gave her spiel. The other cameraman took a handheld and strolled around the perimeter for some supplemental footage.

Madiosi-2019-068-BBB-Ch32-tv reportage.jpg

Candy got out of the van and took her place in front of the camera. Stan marveled at how, despite the fairly stiff breeze, her hair kept its perfect shape. Jeff invited Stan to sit beside him at the control panel so that he could watch Candy’s report without being seen by anyone in the prison.

Madiosi-2019-067-BBB-Ch32-tv van.jpg

The cameraman clipped a small wireless microphone to the lapel of the blue News 7 blazer she had slipped on over her blouse after doing up a couple of the buttons she had undone during their ride.

Candy was nodding wisely at Jeff’s instructions that were coming through the small earpiece she wore. “Gotcha, Jeff. Don’t worry, I’m a pro,” she assured him. The cameraman gave her the thumbs up and she took a deep breath and began.

“Tonight, we bring you a Channel 7 exclusive, very possibly the most shocking story we have ever covered. Behind me is the Newtown State Correctional Facility for Women. Certainly, no one would ever confuse this place with a luxury resort-the women in there are criminals, who deserve to be punished.”

Stan wasn’t sure that applied to Barb, but it certainly did to Buckner, Morton, Chao and most of the inmates.

Candy went on. “But no matter their crimes, they don’t deserve what we have learned they are subjected to, according to a very reliable source who has worked in this prison, backed up by clandestine video our source has provided exclusively to Channel 7, New York’s Best News Team. This video documents, beyond any doubt, that last evening, a brutal and perverted orgy, to rival anything that happened in the most decadent days of Rome, was staged right inside those walls behind me.”

Stan had to admit that she was good. With no script, she was nailing her presentation, which she had obviously planned during their drive up. Stan wondered idly what she looked like naked and what it would be like to nail her.

“During the course of this evening, as our video will show, female inmates were made to fight each other with whips, like gladiators of old, for the entertainment of guests, who, our source assures us, are some of our wealthiest and most influential citizens. While watching these contests, these very important men were provided sexual services by other inmates, a demand the women were not in a position to refuse.”

“Most shockingly of all, the losing team in the gladiator fights was subjected to a real Roman crucifixion. They were scourged with vicious whips, then nailed to wooden crosses. One of the women so abused, our source tells us, was former NYPD Detective Barbara Moore, whom many of you may remember was crucified once before during the case known as The Bronx Crux Murders.”

“We are going to show you some scenes filmed by our informant. I must caution our viewers that these are shocking and disturbing scenes, containing nudity, violence and sex.”

“OK, Candy, that’s a wrap,” Jeff said into the microphone. Candy relaxed and took several deep breaths. “The studio will splice in some selected scenes,” he explained to Stan. “They’ll have to blur the boobs and genitals for broadcast, of course. Hopefully, the lawyers will let it go on our web site uncensored. This is basic First Amendment stuff-the people’s right to know and all that.” He winked at Stan.

“I hope the site doesn’t crash,” Stan said.

“You and me both, brother,” Jeff replied.

Stan watched as Candy, accompanied by the cameraman with the handheld, strode purposefully to the guard booth just outside the gate. A female C.O. whom Stan vaguely recognized poked her head out. “Candy Stevens, Channel 7, New York’s Best News Team. We need to speak with the Warden.”

“I’m sorry,” the guard replied. “All press interviews need to be cleared through the Department of Corrections Headquarters.”

“We have reliable information that inmates in this prison are being abused.”

The guard laughed. “These bitches are trouble. Sometimes they have to be sent to the Disciplinary Unit, but I wouldn’t call it abuse. More like well-deserved punishment.”

“What happens in the Disciplinary Unit?”

The guard seemed to be about to speak, then realized she had already said too much and had best shut up. “I’m sorry, as I told you, any press has to be approved by the DoC.”

“We are told that there was a real Roman orgy here last night. What can you tell me about it?”

“Nothing. I told you, I can’t talk to reporters.” She scowled menacingly.

“Some inmates were crucified, we’ve been told” Candy said. “Can you tell me what happened to them? Are they OK now?”

“Sorry,” the guard replied, shaking her head. “You’ll have to take that up with the DoC. Now, I have to ask you to leave. If you don’t, I’ll call the State Police to have you removed. This is State property and this is your final warning.”

Candy and the cameraman made their way back to the van. Jeff gave each of them a high five as they got inside. “Great work, guys! Pulitzers all around!” he shouted.

Candy sat back on the second row bench and Stan got up to sit next to her. Miraculously, though he hadn’t seen her apply any perfume while out there doing her story, she seemed as fragrant as ever.

“So where to now, Jeff?” she asked.

“We gotta lay low until the story airs this evening. We don’t want to tip off the competition. Our capital reporters will be knocking on the door of the DoC, the Governor’s Office, the Attorney General and the Legislature within 10 seconds of the story hitting. But for now, we should get lunch and find somewhere to get a bit of rest until the shit hits the fan.”

Stan thought that sounded good, since the last non-donut food he’d had was yesterday’s dinner, much of which he’d regurgitated, and he hadn’t slept a wink in over 36 hours. He was worried about Barb, but he didn’t see what he could do other than hope that the story’s airing would lead to her rescue.

“I stayed at a motel out on highway 20, a few miles away. It’s not the Pierre, but it’s decent,” he volunteered. “There’s a diner just down the road that I ate at a couple of times and lived to tell the tale.”

Stan directed them to the diner and then to a liquor store. He stayed in the van while the crew went inside, not wanting to be seen. He was exhausted and didn’t need any additional stimulation anyway.

When they reached the motel, Jeff went in to pay for rooms for each of them. “This is on the station,” he assured Stan.

Stan lay on the bed, too wired to sleep, despite his exhaustion. He heard a knock at the door and went to answer it. It was Candy, her shirt buttons undone again. She held a bottle of what looked like a very nice single malt Scotch in her left hand. “I really do owe you big time for giving me this scoop, Detective Goldman. Would you join me in a drink?” Stan stepped out of the way and let her in. There was something about that perfume that was hard to resist.
 
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Stan lay on the bed, too wired to sleep, despite his exhaustion. He heard a knock at the door and went to answer it. It was Candy, her shirt buttons undone again. She held a bottle of what looked like a very nice single malt Scotch in her left hand. “I really do owe you big time for giving me this scoop, Detective Goldman. Would you join me in a drink?” Stan stepped out of the way and let her in. There was something about that perfume that was hard to resist.

Men are so easily led astray ... geeze, Goldman!!!!! :confused:
 
2.

“Fifty big ones,” Stan Goldman muttered as he drove away from the County Courthouse in the formerly decrepit Hudson River town, the abandoned factories now converted to art galleries and loft apartments, the old store fronts now housing expensive farm-to-table restaurants, including one owned by his son Marty.

Barb turned to glare at him. “I’m worth a lot more than that, Goldman, don’t you think?” she asked, undoing another button so that Stan could peer down her shirt. “Besides, you cheap bastard, it’s bail. You’ll get every penny back when I show up for trial.”

They were stopped at a red light on the edge of town, where the highway began climbing into the mountains. He turned to look at her. “You are planning to show up for your trial, Moore, aren’t you?’

“Why wouldn’t I?” she replied. “I’m innocent.”
 
03.
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“It’s only $ 59.99, Barb. My going away present to you. We can warm you up for your time inside.”

Looks like a bargain price :p

Thanks, Madi ... I see you have already inserted your latest in the appropriate chapters. Nice work!
 
I can honestly say that in that picture I am not looking down her blouse. Which is not easy, because she is very well endowed.:rolleyes:
Stan looks very stoic on the pic, but still waters run deep, they say!:cool:

Stan had to admit that she was good. With no script, she was nailing her presentation, which she had obviously planned during their drive up. Stan wondered idly what she looked like naked and what it would be like to nail her.
I rest my case!:D
 
32.
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Madiosi-2019-068-BBB-Ch32-tv reportage.jpg
Candy got out of the van and took her place in front of the camera. Stan marveled at how, despite the fairly stiff breeze, her hair kept its perfect shape. Jeff invited Stan to sit beside him at the control panel so that he could watch Candy’s report without being seen by anyone in the prison.
Madiosi-2019-067-BBB-Ch32-tv van.jpg
 
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32.
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View attachment 675914
Candy got out of the van and took her place in front of the camera. Stan marveled at how, despite the fairly stiff breeze, her hair kept its perfect shape. Jeff invited Stan to sit beside him at the control panel so that he could watch Candy’s report without being seen by anyone in the prison.
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You gotta admit, Moore, she's not bad. And she will probably manage not to drag me into some caper at risk of life and limb. Although who knows.

Fantastic work, Madi. Just perfect...
 
32.
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View attachment 675914
Candy got out of the van and took her place in front of the camera. Stan marveled at how, despite the fairly stiff breeze, her hair kept its perfect shape. Jeff invited Stan to sit beside him at the control panel so that he could watch Candy’s report without being seen by anyone in the prison.
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Wow, Madi !!!!
 
33.

An awkward stillness had spread over the arena. The “lock down” klaxon had ceased to wail. The Warden’s last words, “Now let's be sensible! Put down those guns and let's forget the whole thing”, hung heavy in the air. The clients, guards, Matron, Warden and the inmates knelt motionless on the hot sand, hands clasped behind their heads.

All eyes were on Buckner. What would she do?

To my right, Deb moaned as she struggled to shift position on her cross. I decided to make a fresh attempt to push myself upward, but collapsed before making it even part way. Deb and I had by that time been nailed to our crosses for quite a while, and had all but exhausted any reserves of strength we still possessed.

“I’m not agreeing to anything until I see who these fuckers are,” snapped Buckner, sweeping the business end of her gun over those kneeling before her. “Off with the masks, NOW! Show us who you are!”

No one moved at first, but another bullet in the ceiling sparked a flurry of activity.

One by one, faces were revealed. I was amazed at how many I recognized. These guys really were the elite of the New York establishment. If only Goldman were still here to see this, I thought!

“We need to rescue Morton and Moore!” implored Cindy Chao, rushing over to our crosses. “They can’t be left up there much longer.”

“Like I said,” snorted Buckner. “Get Deb down but leave Detective Moore hanging!”

“Do it!” barked Matron, gesturing at a couple of the guards, who warily rose to their feet, crossed over to Deb and began working at the task of lowering her cross to the sand.

“Well?” said Warden. “How ‘bout it Buckner? Drop the guns and we’ll forget the whole thing. You have my word.”

“Not so fast, Warden. I have a few conditions.”

“Which are?”

“First, you see that Cindy Chao’s friend Morton goes straight to the infirmary and gets the very best medical care! Looks to me like you’ve damn near killed her with that crucifixion stunt.”

“And inmate Moore?”

“I don’t give a shit about her. Once a cop always a cop, I say. She’ll never be one of us. Let her die up there and call it an accidental death. Cover it up any way you want, like you always do. She’ll die from one in this place sooner than later anyway.”

I looked immediately to Deb, who had by then been lowered to the arena floor, expecting her to come to my defense ... but the poor thing had passed out from the excruciating pain of having nails extracted one-by-one from wrists and feet.

“And the other conditions?” murmured Warden guardedly.

“Less work, better food and early paroles for me and my pals. Oh, and a nice cut in the profits from any future ‘parties’ ... shall we say fifty percent, deposited in secret offshore accounts ... I’m sure some of your party pals here are quite good at arranging such accounts.”

“Are you sure you weren’t convicted of blackmail, Buckner?” retorted Warden drily. “No, that’s way too much. How about five percent? Still a lot of cash?”

“Fifty it is, or we start taking cell phone pics of you and each of your high rolling buddies ... sans-masks ... standing below a crucified Detective Moore ... hanging naked, bloodied and half-conscious from her cross ... and texting them to every news media outlet in the state of New York.”

“Ok, ok. You win. Here is the agreement: My guests get safe and discreet exit from here. Offshore accounts to be established. You and all the inmates return to your cells. Morton and Moore both go to the infirmary... the eventual fate of inmate Moore to be arranged at my discretion later. You drive a tough bargain, Buckner. Do we have a deal?”

“One more thing, Warden. For insurance purposes, we’ll still take those pics of everyone standing under Moore’s cross. Someone lend me a phone!”

Warden stared, blinked twice, then waved his hand. “You heard the lady. Everyone over to Moore’s cross for a group pic.”

One of the guards handed Buckner a phone.

Slowly, sullenly, and not without a certain amount of flat-out grumbling, Warden and his high-rolling chums assembled at the foot of my cross.
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“Say cheese!” quipped Buckner as she snapped a series of pictures.

“Yeah,” added Rodriguez.

While this was going on I tried to push myself up but failed and was undoubtedly caught in the photograph hanging with knees spread.

“Satisfied?” said Warden.

“Ok. I think so,” allowed Buckner as she thumbed through the pics on the phone she was holding.

Warden retrieved his phone from the sand and began barking orders into it. Moments later the doors to the arena flew open and a phalanx of guards crowded through.

Matron took immediate charge, ordering the new arrivals to escort Buckner and the other inmates to the cell blocks. She sent two others off to the infirmary to fetch a pair of stretchers, and ordered the others to take my cross down and extract the nails from my wrists and feet.

Warden’s clients were meanwhile busying themselves with discreetly withdrawing from the scene by the crosses and heading pellmell for the exit.

At that point I must have blacked out, because the next thing I remember was waking to find myself lying naked on a gurney in the infirmary, my wrists and feet swathed in big fat layers of gauze and bandages. My head hurt and my vision was blurred.

But outside the door I could plainly hear Warden and Matron discussing in hushed tones just how they planned to rid themselves of me.

Matron was saying, “Let’s keep it simple ... ‘shot trying to escape’ should do the trick. The coroner is one of your clients, right? We’ll just have him fix the autopsy report so that there’s no mention of the nail holes in her wrists or of her smashed feet.”
 
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