Sharkman
Governor
Men are so easily led astray ... geeze, Goldman!!!!!
Not all of them ...
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Barb Behind Bars
- Thread starter Barbaria1
- Start date
Not all of them ...
Sharkman
Governor
... it's done. Alone. At the end Barb hangs exhausted head sunken between her breasts from her nailed wrists at the cross.
Kathy
Terra Nova Tramp
Well done
windar
Teller of Tales
Things really look bad for Barb. This time it may be curtains. On the other hand, SJ and Madiosi have made some terrific pictures. So we hope everyone is having fun. Well, except for Barb of course. And Deb Morton. But they lost the contest, so what do they expect?
Anyway, please keep reading. This story will come to an end soon (maybe) and we'll just have to see what happens.
Anyway, please keep reading. This story will come to an end soon (maybe) and we'll just have to see what happens.
Crux-Emperor Baracus X
Rectidolor
EXCELLENT pics.....
Sharkman
Governor
Things really look bad for Barb. This time it may be curtains. On the other hand, SJ and Madiosi have made some terrific pictures. So we hope everyone is having fun. Well, except for Barb of course. And Deb Morton. But they lost the contest, so what do they expect?
Anyway, please keep reading. This story will come to an end soon (maybe) and we'll just have to see what happens.
I missed the crown of thorns. Absolute must-have for an ancient like execution.
connoisseurs
Senator
One can only hope that Stan and Candy find time to rest and relax before the trouble with getting Barbs cold body starts.
connoisseurs
Senator
I've yet to see a man succeed at that ... especially Goldman
Barb, don´t be to harsh with him. He is only following Mother Natures guidelines.
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
Don't worry! Something tells me, they are having their own little orgy!
windar
Teller of Tales
34.
The Warden stared out at the prison gate before picking up the phone. “Bernie, would you come up here please?” he spoke into the receiver. When she appeared, a few minutes later, he directed her to the window. “You see the satellite dish on the roof?” he asked. “Channel 7 from down in the city,” he told her.
Matron Armstrong nodded. “So Porter, I mean Goldman, went to the media,” she said.
He nodded. “Yes. That isn’t good. Who’s on the gate now?” he asked.
“Smith,” she replied. “Louise Smith.” The Warden knew her to be someone who wasn’t that bright, but followed orders. He picked up the phone and dialed the gate. “Smith, don’t say a word to the press. Tell them all press contact needs to be approved by DoC HQ. You got that? Good,” he said, replacing the receiver.
He and Bernie watched the blond reporter give her spiel and then approach the gate. He heard her on the closed circuit camera introduce herself. “Candy Stevens? You know her, Bernie?” The Matron shook her head. “Probably local news down in the city that we don’t get up here. Peter will know her.”
“I don’t see Porter,” Matron said.
“He could be in the van. I can’t see inside. We need to know where they go. Have a couple of guards follow them when they leave. Discretely, of course.”
“Yes, Warden,” she replied. “I’ll go and arrange it.”
As soon as she had left, the Warden picked up the phone and dialed. “Hello, Peter,” he said.
“That was some party, last night,” Peter replied. “I know I’ll remember it the rest of my life, and I’m sure everybody else feels the same. A real goddamn Roman crucifixion, with nails! Damn that was hot! Makes a man feel like Caesar.”
“Yes, it was a great party. I’m glad you enjoyed it. Sorry about that little disturbance at the end. I’ve suspended the guard in charge of the armory for his carelessness. But the main thing is that we got you guys out.”
“I’m worried about the pictures that Buckner woman took of us without masks.”
“Well, don’t be, Peter. That Buckner is dumb as a rock and her accomplice, Rodriguez, is even dumber. They actually believed all those promises I made them. Well, they’re both in the hole right now and will be for the rest of their sentence or as long as they live. And that phone with the pics has been smashed into a thousand little pieces. I gave that guard a little extra to buy himself a brand new one with all the latest features.”
“Good work, my friend,” the man replied. “So to what do I owe the honor of this call?”
The Warden hesitated for a moment. “There is one small problem.”
“Shit!” Peter said. “I can’t afford a scandal right now. I’ve got a merger to close in the next few weeks. By the way, you might want to buy a few shares before the news goes public. Just accumulate them slowly, so the SEC doesn’t see any red flags.”
“I will do that, Peter,” the Warden replied.
“But what’s this small problem?”
“You remember the guard who wouldn’t nail Moore’s wrist and ran out?”
“Porter, that was his name, right? A new guy?”
“It turns out that wasn’t his real name. His real name is Stan Goldman and he’s a retired NYPD detective. He got in here under the false identity of David Porter. He must have had some help from someone in DoC.”
“Fuck!” Peter exclaimed.
“It gets worse,” the Warden continued. “He was the partner and boyfriend of Barbara Moore, one of the ones who was crucified last night. They worked that crucifixion case in the Bronx and she was crucified there, too, if you can believe that.”
Peter laughed. “Crucified twice! Imagine!”
“Anyway, it appears Goldman went to the media, because a van from one of the stations down there in your neck of the woods is here in front of the main gate.”
“Which station?”
“Channel 7.”
“Shit, I don’t own any shares in their parent company, otherwise I could probably kill the story. Do you know who the reporter is?”
“Some blond bimbo named Candy Stevens.”
“I’ve seen her. Nice looking. Probably slept her way into the job. Here’s what you do. Deny everything. Call it ‘Fake news!’. Tell the world that this Goldman got into Newtown under false pretenses and cooked up this ridiculous story with this reporter who is nothing but a scandalmonger. We need to make everyone believe they are both liars.”
“My plan exactly,” the Warden replied, somewhat less than truthfully.
“Do you know if Goldman is there with the news crew?”
“We don’t know, but I have a couple of the guards following the news van. Hold on a second, one of them is on the other line.”
The Warden switched lines and listened, nodding. “Stay with them,” he said.
He switched back to the other line. “They’re at a motel nearby. And guess what? That reporter went into Goldman’s room. And they got video to prove it. He’s still in there.”
“Good!” Peter exclaimed. “Anything we can use to discredit them is valuable. The public is going to have a hard enough time believing that a Roman orgy went on in one of our state prisons, and if we can make the sources seem shady, it should all pass. I’ll have my people dig up any dirt they can on Goldman, Moore, Stevens, the whole bunch.”
“I like that,” the Warden said.
“You get ready to call a presser for as soon as they break the story on the air. I’m sure the whole media universe will be on this once Channel 7 runs it. But we’ll dig up enough dirt on them that if they said it gets cold up there in January, everyone would pack their bathing suits for a visit.”
“I hope so,” the Warden replied. “No one knows who you and your pals are, but they all know I run this place.”
“Don’t worry. A lot of important people owe me favors and I can call them in. Just stay strong and deny the whole thing.”
“OK, Peter, I’ll let you know if anything comes up.” The Warden hung up and began pacing his office. Everything had been going so well. Peter and his friends were loaded and happy to pay for the privilege of exploring their fantasies. The Warden had a nice little nest egg sitting offshore. And Peter’s stock tips were gravy on top. He’d done very nicely following them.
Not to mention the fringe benefits, the personal interviews the Warden got to hold with the inmates to ensure they were willing and able to perform for the paying guests. And Bernie was happy, getting to use her strap and cane whenever the desire to thrash a woman’s hindquarters came over her, which was pretty frequently.
Yes, it was a very nice little scheme, rewarding for all involved. Except for the inmates, of course, but they were criminals, the dregs of society, so no one cared-at least not so far.
He dialed one of the guards detailed to follow the news van. “Nothing’s happening. The blond reporter is still in Porter’s room,” he reported.
“Don’t let them out of your sight,” the Warden said. “You let me know the moment they move.”
It was late afternoon when the surveillance team called. “They just came out and they’re getting in the van,” the guard reported. “We got some good footage of her and Porter coming out of the room together. The van is hitting the road. They’re not headed to the city. It looks like they’re heading back to the prison.”
The Warden glanced at his watch. It was a bit after 5:30 in the afternoon. He imagined the story would run on the 6 PM newscast. He checked Channel 7’s web site. Nothing. Waiting was hard, watching the minutes tick away.
It was about five minutes after 6, when the phone rang. It was Peter. The Warden picked it up nervously. It was Peter. “Goddamn it, they got video!” he shouted.
“Damn, Goldman must have somehow snuck a camera in!” the Warden replied. Then it hit him. “The glasses! He never wore glasses before. I asked him about that and he claimed he lost his contacts.”
“You moron!” Peter exclaimed. “You fucked this up badly! You just better not name me or any of my friends if you know what’s good for you!” Then the line went dead.
The Warden checked the web site again. It took a while for the page to come up, but there it was. The quality wasn’t great, but it was good enough to make out what was going on-the whip fight, the orgy in the stands, Moore and Morton toting their crosses, the scourging, the men fucking them. At least it went dead before the first nail was driven into Moore’s wrist, but what it showed was more than enough.
The Warden clicked onto one of the travel sites. ‘Mexico is nice this time of year,’ he thought.
The Warden stared out at the prison gate before picking up the phone. “Bernie, would you come up here please?” he spoke into the receiver. When she appeared, a few minutes later, he directed her to the window. “You see the satellite dish on the roof?” he asked. “Channel 7 from down in the city,” he told her.
Matron Armstrong nodded. “So Porter, I mean Goldman, went to the media,” she said.
He nodded. “Yes. That isn’t good. Who’s on the gate now?” he asked.
“Smith,” she replied. “Louise Smith.” The Warden knew her to be someone who wasn’t that bright, but followed orders. He picked up the phone and dialed the gate. “Smith, don’t say a word to the press. Tell them all press contact needs to be approved by DoC HQ. You got that? Good,” he said, replacing the receiver.
He and Bernie watched the blond reporter give her spiel and then approach the gate. He heard her on the closed circuit camera introduce herself. “Candy Stevens? You know her, Bernie?” The Matron shook her head. “Probably local news down in the city that we don’t get up here. Peter will know her.”
“I don’t see Porter,” Matron said.
“He could be in the van. I can’t see inside. We need to know where they go. Have a couple of guards follow them when they leave. Discretely, of course.”
“Yes, Warden,” she replied. “I’ll go and arrange it.”
As soon as she had left, the Warden picked up the phone and dialed. “Hello, Peter,” he said.
“That was some party, last night,” Peter replied. “I know I’ll remember it the rest of my life, and I’m sure everybody else feels the same. A real goddamn Roman crucifixion, with nails! Damn that was hot! Makes a man feel like Caesar.”
“Yes, it was a great party. I’m glad you enjoyed it. Sorry about that little disturbance at the end. I’ve suspended the guard in charge of the armory for his carelessness. But the main thing is that we got you guys out.”
“I’m worried about the pictures that Buckner woman took of us without masks.”
“Well, don’t be, Peter. That Buckner is dumb as a rock and her accomplice, Rodriguez, is even dumber. They actually believed all those promises I made them. Well, they’re both in the hole right now and will be for the rest of their sentence or as long as they live. And that phone with the pics has been smashed into a thousand little pieces. I gave that guard a little extra to buy himself a brand new one with all the latest features.”
“Good work, my friend,” the man replied. “So to what do I owe the honor of this call?”
The Warden hesitated for a moment. “There is one small problem.”
“Shit!” Peter said. “I can’t afford a scandal right now. I’ve got a merger to close in the next few weeks. By the way, you might want to buy a few shares before the news goes public. Just accumulate them slowly, so the SEC doesn’t see any red flags.”
“I will do that, Peter,” the Warden replied.
“But what’s this small problem?”
“You remember the guard who wouldn’t nail Moore’s wrist and ran out?”
“Porter, that was his name, right? A new guy?”
“It turns out that wasn’t his real name. His real name is Stan Goldman and he’s a retired NYPD detective. He got in here under the false identity of David Porter. He must have had some help from someone in DoC.”
“Fuck!” Peter exclaimed.
“It gets worse,” the Warden continued. “He was the partner and boyfriend of Barbara Moore, one of the ones who was crucified last night. They worked that crucifixion case in the Bronx and she was crucified there, too, if you can believe that.”
Peter laughed. “Crucified twice! Imagine!”
“Anyway, it appears Goldman went to the media, because a van from one of the stations down there in your neck of the woods is here in front of the main gate.”
“Which station?”
“Channel 7.”
“Shit, I don’t own any shares in their parent company, otherwise I could probably kill the story. Do you know who the reporter is?”
“Some blond bimbo named Candy Stevens.”
“I’ve seen her. Nice looking. Probably slept her way into the job. Here’s what you do. Deny everything. Call it ‘Fake news!’. Tell the world that this Goldman got into Newtown under false pretenses and cooked up this ridiculous story with this reporter who is nothing but a scandalmonger. We need to make everyone believe they are both liars.”
“My plan exactly,” the Warden replied, somewhat less than truthfully.
“Do you know if Goldman is there with the news crew?”
“We don’t know, but I have a couple of the guards following the news van. Hold on a second, one of them is on the other line.”
The Warden switched lines and listened, nodding. “Stay with them,” he said.
He switched back to the other line. “They’re at a motel nearby. And guess what? That reporter went into Goldman’s room. And they got video to prove it. He’s still in there.”
“Good!” Peter exclaimed. “Anything we can use to discredit them is valuable. The public is going to have a hard enough time believing that a Roman orgy went on in one of our state prisons, and if we can make the sources seem shady, it should all pass. I’ll have my people dig up any dirt they can on Goldman, Moore, Stevens, the whole bunch.”
“I like that,” the Warden said.
“You get ready to call a presser for as soon as they break the story on the air. I’m sure the whole media universe will be on this once Channel 7 runs it. But we’ll dig up enough dirt on them that if they said it gets cold up there in January, everyone would pack their bathing suits for a visit.”
“I hope so,” the Warden replied. “No one knows who you and your pals are, but they all know I run this place.”
“Don’t worry. A lot of important people owe me favors and I can call them in. Just stay strong and deny the whole thing.”
“OK, Peter, I’ll let you know if anything comes up.” The Warden hung up and began pacing his office. Everything had been going so well. Peter and his friends were loaded and happy to pay for the privilege of exploring their fantasies. The Warden had a nice little nest egg sitting offshore. And Peter’s stock tips were gravy on top. He’d done very nicely following them.
Not to mention the fringe benefits, the personal interviews the Warden got to hold with the inmates to ensure they were willing and able to perform for the paying guests. And Bernie was happy, getting to use her strap and cane whenever the desire to thrash a woman’s hindquarters came over her, which was pretty frequently.
Yes, it was a very nice little scheme, rewarding for all involved. Except for the inmates, of course, but they were criminals, the dregs of society, so no one cared-at least not so far.
He dialed one of the guards detailed to follow the news van. “Nothing’s happening. The blond reporter is still in Porter’s room,” he reported.
“Don’t let them out of your sight,” the Warden said. “You let me know the moment they move.”
It was late afternoon when the surveillance team called. “They just came out and they’re getting in the van,” the guard reported. “We got some good footage of her and Porter coming out of the room together. The van is hitting the road. They’re not headed to the city. It looks like they’re heading back to the prison.”
The Warden glanced at his watch. It was a bit after 5:30 in the afternoon. He imagined the story would run on the 6 PM newscast. He checked Channel 7’s web site. Nothing. Waiting was hard, watching the minutes tick away.
It was about five minutes after 6, when the phone rang. It was Peter. The Warden picked it up nervously. It was Peter. “Goddamn it, they got video!” he shouted.
“Damn, Goldman must have somehow snuck a camera in!” the Warden replied. Then it hit him. “The glasses! He never wore glasses before. I asked him about that and he claimed he lost his contacts.”
“You moron!” Peter exclaimed. “You fucked this up badly! You just better not name me or any of my friends if you know what’s good for you!” Then the line went dead.
The Warden checked the web site again. It took a while for the page to come up, but there it was. The quality wasn’t great, but it was good enough to make out what was going on-the whip fight, the orgy in the stands, Moore and Morton toting their crosses, the scourging, the men fucking them. At least it went dead before the first nail was driven into Moore’s wrist, but what it showed was more than enough.
The Warden clicked onto one of the travel sites. ‘Mexico is nice this time of year,’ he thought.
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connoisseurs
Senator
old slave
FELIS RESPICIENS
I did credit Buckner with a bit more savvy than that, just mail the pic to some of her mates.
"Yeah"
Friends in time of need.
And Stan and Candy spent the afternoon reviewing footage, I presume.
At least they not alone in that hole. They have each other to cuddle.
Cool gifs! Nice find!
connoisseurs
Senator
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
Sounds like you envy them and regret you cannot join them!?
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
It could go in pulps, but since it was the inspiration for this story:
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
A commentator on the artwork
Barye Phillips's paintings could be beautiful. Could be. Then again, they could be hot (mustard) messes.
That's not a tear. It's a tear tattoo—you get one every time you kill an (inevitably) handsy matron.
I love how the defining horror of prison, the impetus for complete social breakdown, is the absence of men. This way, men can thrill to the soft-core lesbian action they will (inevitably) find inside, while reassuring themselves that what women really need is ... them.
Honestly, is her head resting on a pillow? A block of cheese? A pile of sand topped with a cat's paw? What the hell, Barye Phillips?
-Rex Parker
It was a wonderful scene in the story and this series by SJ has brought it to life brilliantly.
And this, their suffering stark in grey scale tones.
Great manip Madi. That has to be Buckner front left, she's a hard looking woman. Did the story specify that they staged the raid in their underwear??
“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.”
While this was going on I tried to push myself up but failed and was undoubtedly caught in the photograph hanging with knees spread.
Poor Barb, left in agony on her cross, and exposed most shamefully in the blackmail photo.
It's terrible, I hope rescue is on its way.
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The bars hold Moore's arms and legs splayed wide with her breasts and belly sticking to the vinyl pad of the bench. Her bottom is the perfect target for the guard's cane. And the guard knows how to use the cane...