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Imprisonment and Execution in Modern Singapore Part III of Barb's Singapore Saga

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Authors Note: In response to an unauthorized post, allegedly recounting Barbara’s secret thoughts, the author feels compelled to add a final post for the day. These are the actual, documented observations of a reliable witness, Jeffrey Hodges, Esq.

Execution Chamber, Changi Prison, Friday 11:45 AM

Two guards on each prisoner then brought them forward to the front of the stage. It looked to Jeffrey as if Moore was going to give her statement. She opened her mouth. “Hear me—umpph.” Just as she started to speak, the guard behind shoved a ring-gag in her mouth, pulled the straps tight, and buckled it behind. The same was done to the other prisoners.
The Commandant announced. “You will observe that we have gagged the prisoners. This mild measure has been taken to save the audience from enduring any distasteful or foul language. It also allows our live broadcast to be rated PG-13 and ensure a much broader viewership. Ring-gags are used to allow free breathing and prolong their death. And, of course, for their screams to be heard.”

Jeffrey thought he had never seen Babara Moore look so angry.
I don't think the word 'reliable' can be used in the same phrase that contains the name "Jeffrey Hodges Esq" in any context!
 
A Lovely Luncheon; A wild Ride: the Final Preparations

Seratus Enam Puluh Empat – 14 Minutes

US Ambassador’s Residence, Singapore, Friday, 11:46 AM
Kathy's limo pulled up the curved drive and under the portico at a large house with a prominent US Flag on a pole in the yard. The driver parked, got out, and came back to open the car door.
“Are we here to pick up the Ambassador?” asked Kathy.
“I was told to drop you off here, Miss, said the driver stiffly as he helped her out. He immediately closed it behind her, climbed into the driver's seat, and began pulling away.
Kathy almost went to follow him when she heard Scot’s voice. She turned and saw him standing at the front door.
“I’m so glad to welcome you to my home, Kathy. Please, come in.”
“But…but, Scot,” she stammered. “Shouldn’t we be getting to the restaurant for lunch?”
“We’re eating here, my dear. Getting a reservation at a good place at the last minute on a Friday is almost impossible. And if you did, you would be crowded in with noisy tables and no privacy.” Kathy thought that was the very situation she wanted.
“My private chef is making a simple little meal for us, and we can eat in peace and discuss our matters without being overheard. That is OK with you, isn’t it? You look unsure. You were anxious to have a chance to reassure me about your loyalty to your husband. But if you don’t want to, I can have the driver take you right home.”
Kathy panicked. Jeffrey set so much store on this lunch. If she went home now, it would insult the Ambassador and infuriate her husband.
“No. no. It will be lovely eating here, Scot. Just as you wish.”
“Wonderful,” said Scot, placing his arm around her shoulders and guiding her toward the door. He took advantage of the position to glance down the front of her dress. Her breasts looked like soft pillows, asking for attention. He noted some bruising on that lovely flesh. So, Jeffrey had taken his advice. Good. Kathy would be too scared of her husband to resist Scot’s advances!
As they entered the mansion, Kathy noticed a large red decal on the window by the door. It had the letters MAGA on it.

Adam Rd. Merging with PIE (Pan Island Expressway), Friday 11:47 AM
“We are going to be too late,” sighed Frost. “Even if we survive to get there.” He cringed as horns blared when Musa cut across two lanes of high-speed traffic to exploit an opening at the merge. “We’ll never make it by noon in this traffic. That martinet of a Commandant is guaranteed to execute on time.”
“Don't be too sure, my friend,” said Musa, squeezing his car between a bus and a lumbering Lorry full of old tires, drawing multiple horn blasts as he cut off a minivan. “This is not a drop hanging like you’re used to do in England. The impalement and hanging are slow and controlled. They will not die at noon.”
“How long after?” asked Frost, looking at his watch.
“From ten to twenty minutes, depending on the skill of the executioner and the strength of the prisoner. Though, after about ten, with the tearing effect of the impalement rod and the strangulation of the brain by the noose, it’s unlikely you’d want to be ‘saved.’”
Frost groaned and then cringed as the car lurched to the side to the accompaniment of more horns blaring and tires squealed.

Execution Chamber, Changi Prison, Friday 11:49 AM
Jeffrey watched with morbid fascination as the guards moved the women back in front of their execution poles. Then three technicians in white overalls wheeled six-foot, four-spoke stainless steel wheels to behind each girl. They appeared to snap the center of each wheel to a bracket on the large vertical poles.
The pair of guards on each girl backed them against the wheel and removed their wrist cuffs. The technicians measured their arms and adjusted metal cuffs on each upper spoke. The spokes, in turn, were moved to the ten and two o’clock positions. The women's arms were lifted, and their wrists locked in the tight metal cuffs.
The techs and the guards bent and brought the prisoners' ankles to the lower spokes at about five and seven. Similar bands locked their legs in position. Then the guards pulled the bottom spokes out to the sides, stretching the legs more and more. At a little before four and after eight, the girls screamed when they felt their tendons ready to tear. The techs then locked the spokes in position.
The technicians left the stage, and the guards stood a bit behind and to each girl's side to allow the audience an unobstructed view. And quite a view it was. Three shapely, sexy young women, spread-eagled and bound by steel, their pussys and below fully displayed.

At that moment, a young Tamil man, immaculately groomed and dashingly dressed, bounded from the rear door and to the front of the stage.
“Ladies and Gentlemen,” proclaimed the Commandant. “May I introduce Ravi Govindasamy, Changi Prison’s Executioner.”
The crowd, who were familiar with the man, burst into applause and cheers. In just two years on the job, he had attracted quite a following. Ravi bowed a few times and then went down into the seats and to the control station in the middle of the second row. He tested a few knobs, adjusted a few details, and then pressed the three forward joysticks.

PIE (Pan Island Expressway) heading to Changi, 11:53 AM
Traffic had closed in some, but Musa was still making good progress with his aggressive driving. Frost, holding onto the handrest for dear life, said, “I’d urge you to go faster, Luv, but I did hope to enjoy a year or two of my retirement. How much longer do you think?”
It all depends on the traffic at Changi General Hospital. Sometimes, for no reason, it comes to a dead stop.”
Dead stop might be a bit too literal, Luv!”
“Indeed! By the way,” Musa asked, while making an interesting gesture at the Mercedes driver who had tried to prevent him from passing, “Why are you talking about retiring? Law enforcement can’t spare a detective of your ability.”
“My Super’s a tosser, and no one wants to wet nurse a gammy, shattered detective. No, just let me ‘crawl unburdened toward death,’ Luv.”
“The same author said, ‘With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come.’ If the regular police don’t want you -” Musa paused here as he jerked the wheel hard over to avoid rear-ending a slow van. With a small opening in front, he floored the accelerator. “ - The Guards would be most pleased to have your services on a consulting basis. The Colonel himself raised the idea.”
“Now did the Darling? OH!! Please, Luv! Keep your eyes on the road! There’s a man I might be proud working for.”
“Does that mean you will?”
“Let’s live to get to Changi and save the poor dears first; if saving them is our mission,” said Frost looking doubtfully at the sealed envelope.
 
A Lovely Luncheon; A wild Ride: the Final Preparations

Seratus Enam Puluh Empat – 14 Minutes

US Ambassador’s Residence, Singapore, Friday, 11:46 AM
Kathy's limo pulled up the curved drive and under the portico at a large house with a prominent US Flag on a pole in the yard. The driver parked, got out, and came back to open the car door.
“Are we here to pick up the Ambassador?” asked Kathy.
“I was told to drop you off here, Miss, said the driver stiffly as he helped her out. He immediately closed it behind her, climbed into the driver's seat, and began pulling away.
Kathy almost went to follow him when she heard Scot’s voice. She turned and saw him standing at the front door.
“I’m so glad to welcome you to my home, Kathy. Please, come in.”
“But…but, Scot,” she stammered. “Shouldn’t we be getting to the restaurant for lunch?”
“We’re eating here, my dear. Getting a reservation at a good place at the last minute on a Friday is almost impossible. And if you did, you would be crowded in with noisy tables and no privacy.” Kathy thought that was the very situation she wanted.
“My private chef is making a simple little meal for us, and we can eat in peace and discuss our matters without being overheard. That is OK with you, isn’t it? You look unsure. You were anxious to have a chance to reassure me about your loyalty to your husband. But if you don’t want to, I can have the driver take you right home.”
Kathy panicked. Jeffrey set so much store on this lunch. If she went home now, it would insult the Ambassador and infuriate her husband.
“No. no. It will be lovely eating here, Scot. Just as you wish.”
“Wonderful,” said Scot, placing his arm around her shoulders and guiding her toward the door. He took advantage of the position to glance down the front of her dress. Her breasts looked like soft pillows, asking for attention. He noted some bruising on that lovely flesh. So, Jeffrey had taken his advice. Good. Kathy would be too scared of her husband to resist Scot’s advances!
As they entered the mansion, Kathy noticed a large red decal on the window by the door. It had the letters MAGA on it.

Adam Rd. Merging with PIE (Pan Island Expressway), Friday 11:47 AM
“We are going to be too late,” sighed Frost. “Even if we survive to get there.” He cringed as horns blared when Musa cut across two lanes of high-speed traffic to exploit an opening at the merge. “We’ll never make it by noon in this traffic. That martinet of a Commandant is guaranteed to execute on time.”
“Don't be too sure, my friend,” said Musa, squeezing his car between a bus and a lumbering Lorry full of old tires, drawing multiple horn blasts as he cut off a minivan. “This is not a drop hanging like you’re used to do in England. The impalement and hanging are slow and controlled. They will not die at noon.”
“How long after?” asked Frost, looking at his watch.
“From ten to twenty minutes, depending on the skill of the executioner and the strength of the prisoner. Though, after about ten, with the tearing effect of the impalement rod and the strangulation of the brain by the noose, it’s unlikely you’d want to be ‘saved.’”
Frost groaned and then cringed as the car lurched to the side to the accompaniment of more horns blaring and tires squealed.

Execution Chamber, Changi Prison, Friday 11:49 AM
Jeffrey watched with morbid fascination as the guards moved the women back in front of their execution poles. Then three technicians in white overalls wheeled six-foot, four-spoke stainless steel wheels to behind each girl. They appeared to snap the center of each wheel to a bracket on the large vertical poles.
The pair of guards on each girl backed them against the wheel and removed their wrist cuffs. The technicians measured their arms and adjusted metal cuffs on each upper spoke. The spokes, in turn, were moved to the ten and two o’clock positions. The women's arms were lifted, and their wrists locked in the tight metal cuffs.
The techs and the guards bent and brought the prisoners' ankles to the lower spokes at about five and seven. Similar bands locked their legs in position. Then the guards pulled the bottom spokes out to the sides, stretching the legs more and more. At a little before four and after eight, the girls screamed when they felt their tendons ready to tear. The techs then locked the spokes in position.
The technicians left the stage, and the guards stood a bit behind and to each girl's side to allow the audience an unobstructed view. And quite a view it was. Three shapely, sexy young women, spread-eagled and bound by steel, their pussys and below fully displayed.

At that moment, a young Tamil man, immaculately groomed and dashingly dressed, bounded from the rear door and to the front of the stage.
“Ladies and Gentlemen,” proclaimed the Commandant. “May I introduce Ravi Govindasamy, Changi Prison’s Executioner.”
The crowd, who were familiar with the man, burst into applause and cheers. In just two years on the job, he had attracted quite a following. Ravi bowed a few times and then went down into the seats and to the control station in the middle of the second row. He tested a few knobs, adjusted a few details, and then pressed the three forward joysticks.

PIE (Pan Island Expressway) heading to Changi, 11:53 AM
Traffic had closed in some, but Musa was still making good progress with his aggressive driving. Frost, holding onto the handrest for dear life, said, “I’d urge you to go faster, Luv, but I did hope to enjoy a year or two of my retirement. How much longer do you think?”
It all depends on the traffic at Changi General Hospital. Sometimes, for no reason, it comes to a dead stop.”
Dead stop might be a bit too literal, Luv!”
“Indeed! By the way,” Musa asked, while making an interesting gesture at the Mercedes driver who had tried to prevent him from passing, “Why are you talking about retiring? Law enforcement can’t spare a detective of your ability.”
“My Super’s a tosser, and no one wants to wet nurse a gammy, shattered detective. No, just let me ‘crawl unburdened toward death,’ Luv.”
“The same author said, ‘With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come.’ If the regular police don’t want you -” Musa paused here as he jerked the wheel hard over to avoid rear-ending a slow van. With a small opening in front, he floored the accelerator. “ - The Guards would be most pleased to have your services on a consulting basis. The Colonel himself raised the idea.”
“Now did the Darling? OH!! Please, Luv! Keep your eyes on the road! There’s a man I might be proud working for.”
“Does that mean you will?”
“Let’s live to get to Changi and save the poor dears first; if saving them is our mission,” said Frost looking doubtfully at the sealed envelope.
Dear Readers. This represents the last appearance of Kathy and Scot in this story. You will just have to imagine how their intimate luncheon will go.
 
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For their fate, which is to be commonly shared,
This disparate trio are now fully prepared.
Their limbs are secured and very widely splayed,
Their intimate parts obscenely displayed.
When the Presidents message to Changi is brought,
Will they be saved? Or is it all for naught?
 
A Lovely Luncheon; A wild Ride: the Final Preparations

Seratus Enam Puluh Empat – 14 Minutes

US Ambassador’s Residence, Singapore, Friday, 11:46 AM
Kathy's limo pulled up the curved drive and under the portico at a large house with a prominent US Flag on a pole in the yard. The driver parked, got out, and came back to open the car door.
“Are we here to pick up the Ambassador?” asked Kathy.
“I was told to drop you off here, Miss, said the driver stiffly as he helped her out. He immediately closed it behind her, climbed into the driver's seat, and began pulling away.
Kathy almost went to follow him when she heard Scot’s voice. She turned and saw him standing at the front door.
“I’m so glad to welcome you to my home, Kathy. Please, come in.”
“But…but, Scot,” she stammered. “Shouldn’t we be getting to the restaurant for lunch?”
“We’re eating here, my dear. Getting a reservation at a good place at the last minute on a Friday is almost impossible. And if you did, you would be crowded in with noisy tables and no privacy.” Kathy thought that was the very situation she wanted.
“My private chef is making a simple little meal for us, and we can eat in peace and discuss our matters without being overheard. That is OK with you, isn’t it? You look unsure. You were anxious to have a chance to reassure me about your loyalty to your husband. But if you don’t want to, I can have the driver take you right home.”
Kathy panicked. Jeffrey set so much store on this lunch. If she went home now, it would insult the Ambassador and infuriate her husband.
“No. no. It will be lovely eating here, Scot. Just as you wish.”
“Wonderful,” said Scot, placing his arm around her shoulders and guiding her toward the door. He took advantage of the position to glance down the front of her dress. Her breasts looked like soft pillows, asking for attention. He noted some bruising on that lovely flesh. So, Jeffrey had taken his advice. Good. Kathy would be too scared of her husband to resist Scot’s advances!
As they entered the mansion, Kathy noticed a large red decal on the window by the door. It had the letters MAGA on it.

Adam Rd. Merging with PIE (Pan Island Expressway), Friday 11:47 AM
“We are going to be too late,” sighed Frost. “Even if we survive to get there.” He cringed as horns blared when Musa cut across two lanes of high-speed traffic to exploit an opening at the merge. “We’ll never make it by noon in this traffic. That martinet of a Commandant is guaranteed to execute on time.”
“Don't be too sure, my friend,” said Musa, squeezing his car between a bus and a lumbering Lorry full of old tires, drawing multiple horn blasts as he cut off a minivan. “This is not a drop hanging like you’re used to do in England. The impalement and hanging are slow and controlled. They will not die at noon.”
“How long after?” asked Frost, looking at his watch.
“From ten to twenty minutes, depending on the skill of the executioner and the strength of the prisoner. Though, after about ten, with the tearing effect of the impalement rod and the strangulation of the brain by the noose, it’s unlikely you’d want to be ‘saved.’”
Frost groaned and then cringed as the car lurched to the side to the accompaniment of more horns blaring and tires squealed.

Execution Chamber, Changi Prison, Friday 11:49 AM
Jeffrey watched with morbid fascination as the guards moved the women back in front of their execution poles. Then three technicians in white overalls wheeled six-foot, four-spoke stainless steel wheels to behind each girl. They appeared to snap the center of each wheel to a bracket on the large vertical poles.
The pair of guards on each girl backed them against the wheel and removed their wrist cuffs. The technicians measured their arms and adjusted metal cuffs on each upper spoke. The spokes, in turn, were moved to the ten and two o’clock positions. The women's arms were lifted, and their wrists locked in the tight metal cuffs.
The techs and the guards bent and brought the prisoners' ankles to the lower spokes at about five and seven. Similar bands locked their legs in position. Then the guards pulled the bottom spokes out to the sides, stretching the legs more and more. At a little before four and after eight, the girls screamed when they felt their tendons ready to tear. The techs then locked the spokes in position.
The technicians left the stage, and the guards stood a bit behind and to each girl's side to allow the audience an unobstructed view. And quite a view it was. Three shapely, sexy young women, spread-eagled and bound by steel, their pussys and below fully displayed.

At that moment, a young Tamil man, immaculately groomed and dashingly dressed, bounded from the rear door and to the front of the stage.
“Ladies and Gentlemen,” proclaimed the Commandant. “May I introduce Ravi Govindasamy, Changi Prison’s Executioner.”
The crowd, who were familiar with the man, burst into applause and cheers. In just two years on the job, he had attracted quite a following. Ravi bowed a few times and then went down into the seats and to the control station in the middle of the second row. He tested a few knobs, adjusted a few details, and then pressed the three forward joysticks.

PIE (Pan Island Expressway) heading to Changi, 11:53 AM
Traffic had closed in some, but Musa was still making good progress with his aggressive driving. Frost, holding onto the handrest for dear life, said, “I’d urge you to go faster, Luv, but I did hope to enjoy a year or two of my retirement. How much longer do you think?”
It all depends on the traffic at Changi General Hospital. Sometimes, for no reason, it comes to a dead stop.”
Dead stop might be a bit too literal, Luv!”
“Indeed! By the way,” Musa asked, while making an interesting gesture at the Mercedes driver who had tried to prevent him from passing, “Why are you talking about retiring? Law enforcement can’t spare a detective of your ability.”
“My Super’s a tosser, and no one wants to wet nurse a gammy, shattered detective. No, just let me ‘crawl unburdened toward death,’ Luv.”
“The same author said, ‘With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come.’ If the regular police don’t want you -” Musa paused here as he jerked the wheel hard over to avoid rear-ending a slow van. With a small opening in front, he floored the accelerator. “ - The Guards would be most pleased to have your services on a consulting basis. The Colonel himself raised the idea.”
“Now did the Darling? OH!! Please, Luv! Keep your eyes on the road! There’s a man I might be proud working for.”
“Does that mean you will?”
“Let’s live to get to Changi and save the poor dears first; if saving them is our mission,” said Frost looking doubtfully at the sealed envelope.
As limbs are stretched, nubile females exposed and countdowns commenced ... the outcome could still depend on this man ... the redoubtable D.I. Frost of the Yard!
 

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Kathy noticed a large red decal on the window by the door. It had the letters MAGA on it.
Dear Readers. This represents the last appearance of Kathy and Scot in this story. You will just have to imagine how their intimate luncheon will go.
Methinks Kathy will get an experienced man for a change, which may change her attitude to Jeffrey, but then Scott will be rudely awakened to the realities of a politicised diplomatic service.
 
Dear Readers. This represents the last appearance of Kathy and Scot in this story. You will just have to imagine how their intimate luncheon will go.
Indeed ,poor Kathy is caught between a rock and a hard place, the amourous Walkerson and Jeffrey`s newly found taste for hurting his wife.
Add this to Trixie`s predicament with the Turkish Drug Agency and the likelihood of a "Midnight Express" type experience in some run down Women`s Prison, our imaginations have plenty to work with!
 
The Christmas after I was graduated from college, my father gave me a one-volume complete works of Shakespeare. In his inimitable style, he inscribed the front inside as follows.

To Prae: Christmas 1970
A permanent well-spring of the highest achievement of our common tongue and of the human mind and spirit.
Dad

A wonderful feature of the book is that each play has an engraving by Rockwell Kent, an American painter, printmaker, illustrator, writer, sailor, adventurer, and voyager. He had lived for a while in Newfoundland and a retrospectives of the artist’s paintings and drawings was mounted by The Rooms in St. John’s, Newfoundland in 2014.
Some of his work on Shakespeare would fit on CF.

The Rape in Titus Andronicus: “Confusion fall-----”
_DSC3320.JPG
The Capture of Silvia in The Two Gentlemen of Verona: “Come come, be patient: we must bring you to our captain.”
_DSC3321.JPG
For the poem Venus and Adonis: “She harkens for his hounds and for his horn.” It makes me think of Andromeda (@Eulalia?)
_DSC3322.JPG

Most appropriate for the girls in Singapore was his Joan of Arc for Henry VI Part 1:
“Bring forth the sorceress,condemn’d to burn”
Joan.JPG
 
I love those, especially
“She harkens for his hounds and for his horn.”
a hint of linkie-hunting too :)

Quite by coincidence, I was looking today at an online film of an exhibition currently on at the Ashmolean celebrating the centenary of the Society of Wood Engravers, it's an art-form that appeals to me a lot. I know of Rockwell Kent, but I didn't know he did engravings, those are fine examples.

Found this by him - 'girl on a cliff' - dreaming of being chained to it naked?

1605045185055.png
 
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My readers can have no idea how relieved I feel to get the weight of this over-long story off my back. Only the follow-up remains for tomorrow!
For those readers who have waited patiently (or impatiently) for so long in hopes of an enhanced execution by impalement and hanging - here it is.

Seratus Enam Puluh Lima – 5 Minutes

Execution Chamber, 11:55 AM

The audience returned their attention to the stage and soon noticed the three wheels were rising slowly on their supports. While the girls struggled fruitlessly, they went higher and higher until the wheels stopped near the top of the stands with the bottoms, a meter off the ground. The technicians returned with stepladders. They climbed up and slipped the nooses over the women’s heads and snugged them on their necks. Down they climbed, folded their ladders, and left the stage.

Soon, the observers noticed that the impalement poles had begun to rise slowly. Each one went up and up until it touched the exposed cuntlips of the respective girl. Now the guards moved in, and two grabbed the hips of each girl. Their tight bondage gave little room for movement except forcing the hips forward or back. The guards moved each woman to line up her slit with the threatening pole. The rounded tips were about a cm (0.4 inch) in diameter, highly polished, and well lubricated. They would slip easily into each vagina.
Ravi worked the joysticks to gradually slip the poles through the slit and into the pussy. Though each girl struggled to resist, they could only rise maybe a centimeter. There was no escape. Soon, the tip had penetrated eight cm (3.15 inches). At that point, the diameter was larger, but still only four cm (1.5 in).
Ravi worked the servos to take up the slack in the hanging ropes. Now, with the poles firmly planted in the cunts and the nooses snug, a simple lowering of the supporting wheels would simultaneously drive the impalement deeper in each girl’s vagina and tighten the rope on her neck.

With all prepared, Govindasamy turned to the Commandant and gave him a thumbs up.
Bin Osman nodded and looked at the digital wall clock. 11:58:47 AM.

PIE (Pan Island Expressway), 11:59 AM
“Bullocks,” cursed Frost as he looked at his watch. “It’s noon, and we still aren’t there.”
“Just a couple of minutes now. We’ve passed the Hospital traffic,” said Musa, holding the wheel with white hands and leaning forward, scanning the traffic for openings.
“Maybe, but then we have to get in and get to the execution chamber. And then,” Frost looked at the envelope in his hands, “we don’t even know what this order does. Will it save the girls?”
“I haven’t a clue. But it does something we want, and we need to get it there as soon as possible!”
“Something? Perhaps only grant them a quick death?”
“Perhaps,” sighed Musa. “It was the best the Colonel could get.”

Execution Chamber, 12 Noon
The digital clock flipped: 12:00:00.
Commandant Mamat Bin Osman stepped up to the podium and announced into the microphone, “This is the time specified in the execution warrants. Therefore I direct that the executions by impalement and hanging commence. Mr. Govindasamy, please begin.”

His hour arrived, Ravi was ready. The first step was one that he had programmed into the controls. He reached to his left and flipped a lighted orange toggle switch.
While slow, agonizing progress was the general goal, Ravi had learned that you needed to quickly get the victims up to a substantial level of suffering to excite the audience properly.
The toggle caused the three wheels to drop quickly through six cm, bringing the total penetration to fourteen cm (5.5 inches). More significantly, the broadest width now stretching the entrance to the cunt was over six cm (2.5 in). The sudden drop would stretch the vaginal opening to its maximum. The women felt that they had been torn already. Looks of pained shock gripped their faces and shrieks issued from the gags, even as their necks were squeezed by the tightening nooses.
Almost as one, the crowd leaned forward in their seats, fascinated as they watched the unyielding steel rod penetrate each woman’s sex. The soft, vulnerable cunts agonizingly stretched and torn - that is what they had come to see. Even Jeffrey Hodges was unable to look away as he watched two women he loved, being tortured to death.

Now, Ravi began to orchestrate the slow, painful descent. The wheels were cranked down at a snail’s pace to apply a steady increase in the depth of penetration, the tearing of the vagina, and the strangulation of the dainty necks.
The pole in Amanda’s more youthful vagina encountered the cervix first. The girl let out a high, keening wail as she felt the tip of the rod attempting to penetrate her womb. Ravi recognized that her petite body had smaller proportions and slowed her pace slightly and loosed the rope a bit to keep her conscious.
Amanda had tried to be brave and remember the words of Barbara’s encouragement. But those words were replaced by the horrible things her hero had said to her in the prep room. The steadily increasing pain in her cunt and tightness in her neck dominated her mind. Instead of Barb, she thought back to happy days in her home growing up – her parents' love and hopes for her future. Now, she knew all that was lost.

46-singbarb3-prpr-.jpg

Barbara was feeling the same unbearable torture. Her attention was drawn to the insane width (at 9 cm (3.5 in) beyond anything her well-used cunt had ever accommodated). The twenty-one cm (8.2 in) depth was straining her cervix and preparing to enter her womb. As the noose tightened, she felt life draining from her body. Screaming in pain, she thought over and over again two words, “NOT FAIR!”
Jeffrey cried as he saw the end rapidly approaching. He noted with revulsion, the blood now streaming down the poles.
48-singbarb3-prpr.jpg

Josephine was the most stoic of the three. Panting deeply and staring straight ahead, she repeated to herself, even as cries were torn from her throat, “Saya akan patuh, mama!”

The multiple cameras used for the TV broadcast alternated between the girls, zooming in on a torn cunt or going close-up on an agonized face, or backing up to show all three, sweat-drenched bodies. Those watching at home could enjoy the suffering as much as those in the live audience. A recent technical enhancement was a computer-generated overlay image, showing the rods' position inside the girls. Viewers gasped at how far into their bodies the unyielding metal had penetrated.

Ravi was now in his element. Even with three mechanisms to control, he felt like this was his most remarkable performance. Speeding up slightly here, slowing down a little there, tightening a noose just right, he was holding the lives of all three women in his hands, prolonging their suffering to the max.
However, eventually, an execution always had to come to an end. The prisoners had to die. Just before that point, he wanted to inflict the most pain. The audience always loved when the condemned screamed in agony as they died.
Rave intended to ramp up the victims' suffering significantly to drive the girls to death on a wave of pain.
First, he relaxed the nooses to allow a couple of deep gasps for air. He did this to give them the strength to ride into the last agony still conscious.
Using just his fingertips for refined control, Ravi moved the three joysticks together. He would cinch the nooses tight to cut off all breathing while driving the impaling rods deep, spearing their insides and ripping open their cunts.

Changi Entrance, 12:07 PM
Musa slid the car to a screeching halt under the portico at the entrance to the prison. He and Frost were out the doors almost before the vehicle came to a full stop. The prison guards snapped to alert and leveled their weapons at the sudden intrusion. However, they recognized Musa and had been warned by the President’s Office to expect the detectives. The men returned to ‘at ease’ and opened the door to allow the men to dash in. At the guard booth inside, they got directions to the Execution Chamber.

Heading down the second long hallway toward their destination, Frost panted out, “Go ahead, Luv. Don’t let the old man hold you back.” He handed the envelope to Musa. “I’ll catch up. Do what you can for the girls!”
Frost stopped, hands on knees, gasping for air. "God speed you," he prayed

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As the noose tightened, she felt life draining from her body. Screaming in pain, she thought over and over again two words, “NOT FAIR!”
What else would I possibly think???


Jeffrey cried as he saw the end rapidly approaching. He noted with revulsion, the blood now streaming down the poles.
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A bit late for that Jeffrey! Just think of the human wreckage you’ve left in your wake. Shame, shame, shame!
 
As the clock`s hands move on towards noon,
The victims` death will come far too soon.
With their spread labia perched over the poles,
Poles that will soon drive into those holes.
What a horrible, agonising death,
Searing pain and the shortage of breath.
With the President`s letter affecting their fate,
Musa and Frost have arrived, but is it too late!
 
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