bobinder
ARTISAN
It deserves , at least, 20 strokes of this "prison strap " !!!
This prison is staffed by members of the Royal Military Police circa 1990...?
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Barb Behind Bars
- Thread starter Barbaria1
- Start date
This prison is staffed by members of the Royal Military Police circa 1990...?
4.
My heels clicked on the worn tile floor of the County Courthouse hallway that led to the Judge's chamber. I was flanked by Stan on my left and my attorney, Martin van Buren, on my right. It was a few minutes to nine. We were on time. It paid to be punctual, I always said. And, I was dressed appropriately ... knowing that a good impression was also important. I was wearing a dark blue suit over a light blue satiny blouse, buttoned to my neck. The hemline on my skirt came to just above my knees ... enough to show a little thigh when I sat down, but not enough to get me into trouble.
I was feeling both determined and glum. Determined to do the right thing. At least it was the right thing in my mind, though Stan disagreed vehemently. Glum because I knew I was probably facing a year's time in a correctional facility.
I hadn't slept much the night before, and had resisted Stan's early morning attempts to cheer me up as well as any sexual advances. I wasn't in the mood. Besides, I had let him have his jollies with his $59.99 prison strap the previous evening and my tight little was still smarting from that. To cheer myself up I had tried imagining that I might uncover some wrong doings by snooping around once I was inside the prison and do the women there some good by bringing such misdeeds to light, but deep down I knew that was just a fantasy. The reality was that I was likely facing a year of tedium and boredom.
On reaching the door to the Judge's chambers, Martin stepped in front of us and knocked gently. After hesitating for a few seconds, he opened the door, stepped aside and ushered Stan and me through. The Judge's chamber was luxuriously paneled in dark wood, and centered on a large antique desk, behind which sat his Honor.
A frowning balding man with wire-rimmed glasses, circa the 1960s, was seated to the left of the Judge. I gathered he was probably the County DA. He fixed me in his gaze. his lips curled slightly in a sign of contempt.
The Judge looked to be in his sixties ... totally gone to seed, with sagging jowls and deep circles under steely gray eyes. I knew from looking him up on my laptop the night before that his name was 'Pennyworth", and that he had a reputation for being fair but tough.
"Have a seat," he said tonelessly, nodding at the three vacant chairs before his desk. I settled into the middle one, began to cross my legs and then thought better of it. Stan took the chair to my left and Martin the one to my right.
I fidgeted as Judge Pennyworth silently leafed through the file the DA placed before him on his desk. Every now and then he would glance up at me and then return to his reading. As he finished the DA leaned over and whispered something in his ear, to which he nodded affirmatively. I decided to cross my legs after all.
“Soooo,” he said, drawing out the vowel as his eyes wandered down to my knees. “It’s my understanding that the defendant, Ms. Moore, wishes to plead guilty to the charges rendered by the DA.”
“Yes, your Honor,” replied Martin smoothly. “And she respectfully wishes that her full cooperation, along with her sincere regret over said actions to which she is admitting sole responsibility, be taken into full account in her sentencing.”
“Does Ms Moore have anything to add on her own behalf?”
I started to open my mouth, but stopped as Stan shot me a meaningful look that said, ‘keep quiet!’
“No, your Honor,” I murmured meekly and tugged the hem of my skirt a bit closer to my knee.
The DA leaned over again to whisper something new in Pennyworth’s ear, to which he again nodded affirmatively.
Clearing his throat and straightening up in his chair, the Judge declared, “It is my duty as the chief officer of the court to render a verdict in this case. After careful consideration, I find Ms. Barbara A. Moore guilty by her own admission of the felony of which she has been charged. Under the penal code of the State of New York, the usual sentence imposed is one to two years incarceration in a state correctional facility with no option for parole, plus a fine of up to $25,000. Given Ms. Moore’s commendable cooperation and shouldering of responsibility for her own criminal acts, I am inclined to look with favor on exercising leniency in her sentencing.”
I broke out in a big smile, and both Stan and Martin reached over to pat my clasped hands. I even re-crossed my legs!
“However,” the Judge continued, “County DA Stenson has dutifully reminded the Court of the fact that this is a crime that took place within the purview of law enforcement, and given the extreme media attention directed these days at the actions and morals of the law enforcement community, I am forced to take into account how any leniency granted in this case might appear to the general public. Therefore I feel I am constrained. I must go against my tendency to grant leniency, and regretfully sentence you, Ms. Moore, to the maximum penalty of two years in prison and a fine of $25,000.
What a shock that was! I sat stunned, staring in total silence at the shelves of leather-backed law tomes behind Judge Pennyworth’s head and ignoring the insidious smirk on the DA’s face.
Stan squeezed my hand. I felt anger rising within me ... I had a sudden insane urge to leap to my feet and take the Judge by the throat and throttle him. But I held it back.
Quietely and with forced dignity, I eventually asked, "And what about Jack Davis?"
"Oh, he made a separate plea deal," replied the DA. Davis admitted to turning over data to you, but he also claimed ... corroborated by your own admission of guilt ... that you employed sexual enticement to get him to do it. So, he was guilty of being gullible and human. But it was you, Ms. Moore, who willfully and knowingly sought to break the law. Davis received an official reprimand that goes on his permanent record with NYPD, but will not be prosecuted."
I took that in silence too. What else could go wrong this day?"
“Transport has been arranged and waiting outside,” announced the DA, looking very smugly pleased with himself.
“Call the bailiff in to take Ms Moore into custody, and have her taken immediately to the Newtown State Correctional Facility for Women,” ordered the Judge, rising from his seat. “I wish you the all the best, Ms. Moore, I sincerely do.”
Stan hugged me as a uniformed officer cuffed my hands behind my back.
"I'll visit you in the klink as soon as I am allowed to do so," he promised.
I nodded, eyes brimming with tears. Then I was led away, turning right outside the Judge's chambers and down a flight of stairs to the rear of the building where a white van was waiting with the words, 'Newtown State Correctional Facility for Women' stenciled on its side.
I was shoved into the back of the van, which was separated from the driver by a heavy-wire mesh screen, and seated alongside two other women ... one aged around 50, I would have guessed, who looked hard as nails ... the other young and rather frightened looking.
The driver climbed in, announcing cheerily through the mesh that the trip would take about an hour and a half. He pulled out into traffic and made his way through town and out onto the highway. After a while, I closed my eyes and tried to shut down my racing mind. I was headed into the unknown.
An hour and a half later we arrived at the main gate to the correctional facility that would be my new home. The driver exchanged pleasantries with the gatekeeper, and drove on through to an unloading dock behind one wing of an ominous-looking multi-story gray brick building.
I was escorted inside, separated from the other two women, and deposited in a room, tiled in white and equipped with a drain in the floor, a toilet, a low wooden bench and a shiny metal table. The room had an antiseptic smell to it. A moment later a severe-looking matron entered, flanked by two burly-looking uniformed men.
"Welcome to the Newtown State Correctional Facility for Women," the matron muttered, looking down at the clipboard in her hand. "Barbara Moore ... two years, no parole ... correct?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Kindly strip!"
"What? ... Everything?"
"Naked!"
"In front of them?" I croaked, nodding at the two male guards.
"Yes, and make it snappy or I’ll have them do it for you!”
One of the guards removed the cuffs from my wrists and stepped back expectantly, a leer on his face.
I blinked, sighed, and began to slowly remove my clothes, shedding my jacket first ... which was immediately snatched away by one of the male guards ... then my skirt, which I allowed to fall to the floor at my feet. It too was quickly confiscated. Hesitating for a moment ... uncertain of what to do next. ... I decided to kick off my shoes, then begin working on the buttons of my blouse.
"Faster!" barked the matron. "We ain't got all day!"
I opened the front of my blouse, undid the buttons at my wrists, and slipped it from my shoulders.
"The bra and the panties! Now!" she screamed in my ear.
I undid my bra and pulled it away, keeping a wary eye on the men who were staring intently at my bared breasts as they fell free. Then I bent forward, slipped my thumbs under the band of my kinis and slipped them down over my hips. I let them slide down my legs while instinctively covering my crotch with both hands.
"Bend forward and run your fingers through your hair," commanded the Matron.
I did as I was told, and then stood in place while she looked in my ears, and in my mouth.
"Over to the table and lie on your back!" she commanded.
I did. The table was cold. I shivered as she grabbed my ankles to spread my legs, bending them upward and away. The two guards came forward to hold them in position while she donned a pair of latex gloves, and proceeded to rigorously explore both of my holes ... vaginal first and anus second ... with a thick index finger.
"Ouch!" I said, as she roughly penetrated and stretched my anus. "That hurt!"
"Shut up! ... “
“What did you expect to find? ... a hacksaw or a file?” I quipped.
“Shut up I said. On your feet, bitch. You’re clean. Go over to that toilet now and piss in this cup."
I slid off the table, glared at her, but did as I was told, trying not to notice the amused look on the guards' faces.
Returning the cup, I said, "Are we finished here?"
"Yes, get dressed," she replied, handing me a threadbare and faded gray t-shirt with the initials NSCFW for Newtown State Correctional Facility for Women, stenciled on the front and back.
"Is this all?" I said incredulously, holding it up and noting that it was scarcely long enough to cover my bottom. "Don't I get one of those orange jump suits."
"Nope that's it. You can keep your panties, though."
My heels clicked on the worn tile floor of the County Courthouse hallway that led to the Judge's chamber. I was flanked by Stan on my left and my attorney, Martin van Buren, on my right. It was a few minutes to nine. We were on time. It paid to be punctual, I always said. And, I was dressed appropriately ... knowing that a good impression was also important. I was wearing a dark blue suit over a light blue satiny blouse, buttoned to my neck. The hemline on my skirt came to just above my knees ... enough to show a little thigh when I sat down, but not enough to get me into trouble.
I was feeling both determined and glum. Determined to do the right thing. At least it was the right thing in my mind, though Stan disagreed vehemently. Glum because I knew I was probably facing a year's time in a correctional facility.
I hadn't slept much the night before, and had resisted Stan's early morning attempts to cheer me up as well as any sexual advances. I wasn't in the mood. Besides, I had let him have his jollies with his $59.99 prison strap the previous evening and my tight little was still smarting from that. To cheer myself up I had tried imagining that I might uncover some wrong doings by snooping around once I was inside the prison and do the women there some good by bringing such misdeeds to light, but deep down I knew that was just a fantasy. The reality was that I was likely facing a year of tedium and boredom.
On reaching the door to the Judge's chambers, Martin stepped in front of us and knocked gently. After hesitating for a few seconds, he opened the door, stepped aside and ushered Stan and me through. The Judge's chamber was luxuriously paneled in dark wood, and centered on a large antique desk, behind which sat his Honor.
A frowning balding man with wire-rimmed glasses, circa the 1960s, was seated to the left of the Judge. I gathered he was probably the County DA. He fixed me in his gaze. his lips curled slightly in a sign of contempt.
The Judge looked to be in his sixties ... totally gone to seed, with sagging jowls and deep circles under steely gray eyes. I knew from looking him up on my laptop the night before that his name was 'Pennyworth", and that he had a reputation for being fair but tough.
"Have a seat," he said tonelessly, nodding at the three vacant chairs before his desk. I settled into the middle one, began to cross my legs and then thought better of it. Stan took the chair to my left and Martin the one to my right.
I fidgeted as Judge Pennyworth silently leafed through the file the DA placed before him on his desk. Every now and then he would glance up at me and then return to his reading. As he finished the DA leaned over and whispered something in his ear, to which he nodded affirmatively. I decided to cross my legs after all.
“Soooo,” he said, drawing out the vowel as his eyes wandered down to my knees. “It’s my understanding that the defendant, Ms. Moore, wishes to plead guilty to the charges rendered by the DA.”
“Yes, your Honor,” replied Martin smoothly. “And she respectfully wishes that her full cooperation, along with her sincere regret over said actions to which she is admitting sole responsibility, be taken into full account in her sentencing.”
“Does Ms Moore have anything to add on her own behalf?”
I started to open my mouth, but stopped as Stan shot me a meaningful look that said, ‘keep quiet!’
“No, your Honor,” I murmured meekly and tugged the hem of my skirt a bit closer to my knee.
The DA leaned over again to whisper something new in Pennyworth’s ear, to which he again nodded affirmatively.
Clearing his throat and straightening up in his chair, the Judge declared, “It is my duty as the chief officer of the court to render a verdict in this case. After careful consideration, I find Ms. Barbara A. Moore guilty by her own admission of the felony of which she has been charged. Under the penal code of the State of New York, the usual sentence imposed is one to two years incarceration in a state correctional facility with no option for parole, plus a fine of up to $25,000. Given Ms. Moore’s commendable cooperation and shouldering of responsibility for her own criminal acts, I am inclined to look with favor on exercising leniency in her sentencing.”
I broke out in a big smile, and both Stan and Martin reached over to pat my clasped hands. I even re-crossed my legs!
“However,” the Judge continued, “County DA Stenson has dutifully reminded the Court of the fact that this is a crime that took place within the purview of law enforcement, and given the extreme media attention directed these days at the actions and morals of the law enforcement community, I am forced to take into account how any leniency granted in this case might appear to the general public. Therefore I feel I am constrained. I must go against my tendency to grant leniency, and regretfully sentence you, Ms. Moore, to the maximum penalty of two years in prison and a fine of $25,000.
What a shock that was! I sat stunned, staring in total silence at the shelves of leather-backed law tomes behind Judge Pennyworth’s head and ignoring the insidious smirk on the DA’s face.
Stan squeezed my hand. I felt anger rising within me ... I had a sudden insane urge to leap to my feet and take the Judge by the throat and throttle him. But I held it back.
Quietely and with forced dignity, I eventually asked, "And what about Jack Davis?"
"Oh, he made a separate plea deal," replied the DA. Davis admitted to turning over data to you, but he also claimed ... corroborated by your own admission of guilt ... that you employed sexual enticement to get him to do it. So, he was guilty of being gullible and human. But it was you, Ms. Moore, who willfully and knowingly sought to break the law. Davis received an official reprimand that goes on his permanent record with NYPD, but will not be prosecuted."
I took that in silence too. What else could go wrong this day?"
“Transport has been arranged and waiting outside,” announced the DA, looking very smugly pleased with himself.
“Call the bailiff in to take Ms Moore into custody, and have her taken immediately to the Newtown State Correctional Facility for Women,” ordered the Judge, rising from his seat. “I wish you the all the best, Ms. Moore, I sincerely do.”
Stan hugged me as a uniformed officer cuffed my hands behind my back.
"I'll visit you in the klink as soon as I am allowed to do so," he promised.
I nodded, eyes brimming with tears. Then I was led away, turning right outside the Judge's chambers and down a flight of stairs to the rear of the building where a white van was waiting with the words, 'Newtown State Correctional Facility for Women' stenciled on its side.
I was shoved into the back of the van, which was separated from the driver by a heavy-wire mesh screen, and seated alongside two other women ... one aged around 50, I would have guessed, who looked hard as nails ... the other young and rather frightened looking.
The driver climbed in, announcing cheerily through the mesh that the trip would take about an hour and a half. He pulled out into traffic and made his way through town and out onto the highway. After a while, I closed my eyes and tried to shut down my racing mind. I was headed into the unknown.
An hour and a half later we arrived at the main gate to the correctional facility that would be my new home. The driver exchanged pleasantries with the gatekeeper, and drove on through to an unloading dock behind one wing of an ominous-looking multi-story gray brick building.
I was escorted inside, separated from the other two women, and deposited in a room, tiled in white and equipped with a drain in the floor, a toilet, a low wooden bench and a shiny metal table. The room had an antiseptic smell to it. A moment later a severe-looking matron entered, flanked by two burly-looking uniformed men.
"Welcome to the Newtown State Correctional Facility for Women," the matron muttered, looking down at the clipboard in her hand. "Barbara Moore ... two years, no parole ... correct?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Kindly strip!"
"What? ... Everything?"
"Naked!"
"In front of them?" I croaked, nodding at the two male guards.
"Yes, and make it snappy or I’ll have them do it for you!”
One of the guards removed the cuffs from my wrists and stepped back expectantly, a leer on his face.
I blinked, sighed, and began to slowly remove my clothes, shedding my jacket first ... which was immediately snatched away by one of the male guards ... then my skirt, which I allowed to fall to the floor at my feet. It too was quickly confiscated. Hesitating for a moment ... uncertain of what to do next. ... I decided to kick off my shoes, then begin working on the buttons of my blouse.
"Faster!" barked the matron. "We ain't got all day!"
I opened the front of my blouse, undid the buttons at my wrists, and slipped it from my shoulders.
"The bra and the panties! Now!" she screamed in my ear.
I undid my bra and pulled it away, keeping a wary eye on the men who were staring intently at my bared breasts as they fell free. Then I bent forward, slipped my thumbs under the band of my kinis and slipped them down over my hips. I let them slide down my legs while instinctively covering my crotch with both hands.
"Bend forward and run your fingers through your hair," commanded the Matron.
I did as I was told, and then stood in place while she looked in my ears, and in my mouth.
"Over to the table and lie on your back!" she commanded.
I did. The table was cold. I shivered as she grabbed my ankles to spread my legs, bending them upward and away. The two guards came forward to hold them in position while she donned a pair of latex gloves, and proceeded to rigorously explore both of my holes ... vaginal first and anus second ... with a thick index finger.
"Ouch!" I said, as she roughly penetrated and stretched my anus. "That hurt!"
"Shut up! ... “
“What did you expect to find? ... a hacksaw or a file?” I quipped.
“Shut up I said. On your feet, bitch. You’re clean. Go over to that toilet now and piss in this cup."
I slid off the table, glared at her, but did as I was told, trying not to notice the amused look on the guards' faces.
Returning the cup, I said, "Are we finished here?"
"Yes, get dressed," she replied, handing me a threadbare and faded gray t-shirt with the initials NSCFW for Newtown State Correctional Facility for Women, stenciled on the front and back.
"Is this all?" I said incredulously, holding it up and noting that it was scarcely long enough to cover my bottom. "Don't I get one of those orange jump suits."
"Nope that's it. You can keep your panties, though."
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"Bend forward and run your fingers through your hair," commanded the Matron.
Which hair??
Wow, not unexpected, to be honest, Barb is now subject to the tenderhumiliation mercies of the correctional system. What could possibly go wrong? At least you get to keep your own panties 
To be fair not every house has its own cave
Sorry, Windar, it's not up to the French standard.
Which hair??
Wow, not unexpected, to be honest, Barb is now subject to the tender
What ? ! Wine into a refrigerator ?!!!
It's for this CRIME that you'll have to be locked up !!!
To be fair not every house has its own cave
Sorry, Windar, it's not up to the French standard.
windar
Teller of Tales
That's a real change from Moore's typical courtroom attire...
Spoilsport...
However's from judges are generally a bad sign...
Told you...
It's a dirty, rotten job having to watch these prisoners, always trying to sneak in contraband. Fortunately, these dedicated public servants are willing and able to do it.
Ouch! But it's probably happened...
Somehow, on Moore it looks good...
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
Barb should appreciated the thoroughness of the admittance search. It ensures that the other inmates will not have weapons and that will keep her safe. The somewhat brief prison attire is also a blessing. Showing off her tight little and those wonderful legs will probably get her special treatment from any male guards (and even some female guards - don't they call them "bulls?" Eulalia, help us with the derivation of that term!)
Wonderful manips. Thanks Madi. Will insert along with small text changes.
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Always with pleasure, you know!Wonderful manias. Thanks Madi. Will insert along with small text changes.
Read the name of the judge! N. O. Pennyworth, want say: no penny worth.
Two years?!?!?!
Let's hope the warden is not Despard Wragg!!!
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
Well, bull is toro. But that is masculine. On second thought, it might be appropriate for those female guards.How is that in Spanish?
If you run into an Hispanic bull, try making friends by saying "comer mierda, toro!"
You're right. Maybe should take on Bull & Gunner this task?Two years?!?!?!
windar
Teller of Tales
Great pic, Madi! Thanks.
Please, they are Correctional Officers (COs). They are very professional and will "correct" Barb's bad behavior.
Despard Wragg is much too high-toned for a place like Newtown. The Warden is moore down to earth. We shall meet him next...Two years?!?!?!
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
Compared to this mockery of justice, Barb had a very fair trial in Zilawe!
Ummmm .... well ..... yeah ... I think that’s right
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
I tell you more! That Martin van Buren was really no help in that session in the judge's chamber! Actually he did nothing than knocking at the door! That's really easy money for him!Ummmm .... well ..... yeah ... I think that’s right
Next time, take an attorney with a name such as Andrew Jackson, Grover Cleveland or Theodore Roosevelt!
I remind me dark, Abe Lincoln was also a smart lawyer.Or TheHangingTree?