Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
I'm always sympathetic with regard to you, Barb!
"I'm always true to you, Barbra, in my fashion,
I'm always true to you, Barbra, in my way!" - "Kiss Me Barb" adapted from Cole Porter
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Imprisonment and Execution in Modern Singapore Part III of Barb's Singapore Saga
- Thread starter Praefectus Praetorio
- Start date
I'm always true to you, Barbra, in my way!" - "Kiss Me Barb" adapted from Cole Porter
twonines
LIMERICUS
Remember me to (in) Herald Square (Changi Jail)Give my regards to Broadway.
Tell all the gang at Cruxforums
That I will soon be caned
Whisper of how I'm hurting
Thinking of how I’ll be hanged
Give my regards to old Changi
And say that I won’t be there long
Last edited:
twonines
LIMERICUS
That feisty Barbara Moore
Is still in Singapore.
In Changi she`ll be stripped
To have her buttocks whipped
Is it just twenty
Or will they give her Moore.
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
Sembilan Belas, Cell 22 Death Row, Changi Prison, Thursday, March 28th, 8:50 AM
Barb awoke on Thursday after the best night sleep she’d had in several days. It can be fascinating how the human mind adapts to stresses. Even the prospect of future torture and death might not disturb sleep if given a respite from constant beatings and rapes. Besides, Barb still hoped that Jeffrey would be able to delay her caning and overturn her death sentence (if he got his mind off that slutty assistant of his.
After she quickly finished her breakfast, she was astounded when the guard offered her seconds. When they were brought, they included a real piece of toast and two strips of bacon. In her former life back in Minneapolis, Barb rarely ate bacon, not healthy enough. However, after weeks of gray, characterless prison gruel, a real piece of food was a heavenly treat.
Her former life? As she thought of that, Barb remembered that only a month ago, she could never have imagined where she was now. Then she realized that a month from now she might not be alive! Her cheer fled, and she broke down in tears.
A while later, Dr. Liú entered. Again, she was saddened to see Barbara so distraught. She knelt and gently wrapped her arms around the sobbing girl and held her tight. Soon Barb was able to contain herself and thanked Chuhua for the gesture.
“It is not a thing, Miss Moore. Sometimes a healer must heal any means possible.”
The doctor proceeded to examine the prisoner and pronounced her in excellent condition included her nearly healed feet. Barb concurred, saying she had stood on them this morning for a few minutes, and they were only sore, not hurting.
Chunhua stayed and chatted a little while before bidding goodbye and promising to look in for the “required” exam the next morning.
Legal Conference Room, US Embassy, Singapore Thursday, 1:30 PM
Jeffrey and Amanda were pouring over their papers in the conference room soon after lunch. Since the kiss the day before, both were nervous around the other and anxious not to send improper signals. Therefore, when Minister Burnside stuck his head in, they were maintaining a respectable social distance from each other.
“Working hard on Miss Moore’s appeal?”
“Yes, sir. We’ve made some good progress at ways to challenge the guilty verdict.”
“Quite so. I have some positive news also. The Ambassador was at some government reception last night and was able to talk privately with the President about the case, off the record, of course. He said that the President seemed open to the idea of reducing the sentence to a long term in a labor camp. The Ambassador made sure he knew that the US would be embarrassed by an execution and would be very pleased with any other sentence.”
“Well, that’s good,” said Jeffrey, trying to sound enthusiastic. But Barbara spending twenty years (if she lived that long) in a jungle labor camp hardly seemed a significant improvement in her prospects. “However, it only goes to the President if we lose at the Appeals Court. We are concentrating on winning there.”
“Good, good,” said the Minister. “But be sure to lay the groundwork for an appeal to the President for clemency and a reduced sentence. That might be the best we can get. Above all, we don’t want her executed! That would be a black eye for the Ambassador and the whole Embassy. We’re counting on you two to avoid any embarrassment for the U.S.A., understand?”
“Yes, sir,” said Jeffrey, without much enthusiasm. “You can count on us, sir!” chimed in Amanda in her most cheerful voice.
Central Narcotics Bureau Singapore, Thursday, 2:15 PM
Lieutenant Jimmy Rogers sat at his desk, staring at the paper in his sweaty hands. Topped with the official seal of Changi Prison:
Entitles the bearer to admission on Friday, March 29th, 2019, to the public Punishment Room, VIP Section.
for the
Caning of Barbara Ann Moore, drug dealer
Reception for VIPs beginning at 9:15 AM.
All Refreshments will be complementary.
[Washable clothing recommended]
Seat A15
Jimmy had never seen Barbara Moore, except in photographs, before this Monday’s trial. When he did see her brought into court, wearing those skimpy prison clothes, he thought he might come in his pants. When Rogers hadn’t been testifying, he was unable to take his eyes off her. Now, he would have a front-row seat to see her beautiful ass caned. He’d only attended one caning, that viewed from a back row, and the recipient was a fifty-year-old, dirty, fat, male drug dealer. Even that had been a bit erotic, watching the soft asscheeks pounded and cut by the brutal caner. What would Moore’s be like? Jimmy resolved that he would stuff some tissues in his pants to avoid clear evidence of an “accident.”
He put down the slip on his desk. It was limp from his sweat. He wanted to keep it safe.
Cell 22 Death Row, Changi Prison, Thursday, 8:50 AM
Barbara was relieved when Thursday passed as uneventfully as Wednesday. Her body was almost completely healed, and her food rations had been improved.
Later in the evening, Imran and two guards entered and shouted, “Inspection Position.” Barb hurried to her feet, and assumed the position with only mild discomfort in her feet. As the others inspected her, Imran stood with his arms crossed and smiled.
After a thorough probing and poking, Barb was allowed to stand unmolested.
“I need to see if you have learned obedience and respect,” he said. “Turn and face the wall. Legs two feet apart. Now, step back a few inches.”
He came around to Barbara’s side, and he drew his truncheon. She shivered with fear and closed her eyes at the sight.
“Look at me!” he commanded. Barb opened her eyes and looked at him pleadingly. “I won’t hit you with this if you obey my orders. However, if you don’t…” he brought the wood weapon right in front of her belly. “…I might! Will you obey?”
“Yes, Sir,” Barb answered promptly.
“We shall see,” said the chief guard.
Barb awoke on Thursday after the best night sleep she’d had in several days. It can be fascinating how the human mind adapts to stresses. Even the prospect of future torture and death might not disturb sleep if given a respite from constant beatings and rapes. Besides, Barb still hoped that Jeffrey would be able to delay her caning and overturn her death sentence (if he got his mind off that slutty assistant of his.
After she quickly finished her breakfast, she was astounded when the guard offered her seconds. When they were brought, they included a real piece of toast and two strips of bacon. In her former life back in Minneapolis, Barb rarely ate bacon, not healthy enough. However, after weeks of gray, characterless prison gruel, a real piece of food was a heavenly treat.
Her former life? As she thought of that, Barb remembered that only a month ago, she could never have imagined where she was now. Then she realized that a month from now she might not be alive! Her cheer fled, and she broke down in tears.
A while later, Dr. Liú entered. Again, she was saddened to see Barbara so distraught. She knelt and gently wrapped her arms around the sobbing girl and held her tight. Soon Barb was able to contain herself and thanked Chuhua for the gesture.
“It is not a thing, Miss Moore. Sometimes a healer must heal any means possible.”
The doctor proceeded to examine the prisoner and pronounced her in excellent condition included her nearly healed feet. Barb concurred, saying she had stood on them this morning for a few minutes, and they were only sore, not hurting.
Chunhua stayed and chatted a little while before bidding goodbye and promising to look in for the “required” exam the next morning.
Legal Conference Room, US Embassy, Singapore Thursday, 1:30 PM
Jeffrey and Amanda were pouring over their papers in the conference room soon after lunch. Since the kiss the day before, both were nervous around the other and anxious not to send improper signals. Therefore, when Minister Burnside stuck his head in, they were maintaining a respectable social distance from each other.
“Working hard on Miss Moore’s appeal?”
“Yes, sir. We’ve made some good progress at ways to challenge the guilty verdict.”
“Quite so. I have some positive news also. The Ambassador was at some government reception last night and was able to talk privately with the President about the case, off the record, of course. He said that the President seemed open to the idea of reducing the sentence to a long term in a labor camp. The Ambassador made sure he knew that the US would be embarrassed by an execution and would be very pleased with any other sentence.”
“Well, that’s good,” said Jeffrey, trying to sound enthusiastic. But Barbara spending twenty years (if she lived that long) in a jungle labor camp hardly seemed a significant improvement in her prospects. “However, it only goes to the President if we lose at the Appeals Court. We are concentrating on winning there.”
“Good, good,” said the Minister. “But be sure to lay the groundwork for an appeal to the President for clemency and a reduced sentence. That might be the best we can get. Above all, we don’t want her executed! That would be a black eye for the Ambassador and the whole Embassy. We’re counting on you two to avoid any embarrassment for the U.S.A., understand?”
“Yes, sir,” said Jeffrey, without much enthusiasm. “You can count on us, sir!” chimed in Amanda in her most cheerful voice.
Central Narcotics Bureau Singapore, Thursday, 2:15 PM
Lieutenant Jimmy Rogers sat at his desk, staring at the paper in his sweaty hands. Topped with the official seal of Changi Prison:
Entitles the bearer to admission on Friday, March 29th, 2019, to the public Punishment Room, VIP Section.
for the
Caning of Barbara Ann Moore, drug dealer
Reception for VIPs beginning at 9:15 AM.
All Refreshments will be complementary.
[Washable clothing recommended]
Seat A15
Jimmy had never seen Barbara Moore, except in photographs, before this Monday’s trial. When he did see her brought into court, wearing those skimpy prison clothes, he thought he might come in his pants. When Rogers hadn’t been testifying, he was unable to take his eyes off her. Now, he would have a front-row seat to see her beautiful ass caned. He’d only attended one caning, that viewed from a back row, and the recipient was a fifty-year-old, dirty, fat, male drug dealer. Even that had been a bit erotic, watching the soft asscheeks pounded and cut by the brutal caner. What would Moore’s be like? Jimmy resolved that he would stuff some tissues in his pants to avoid clear evidence of an “accident.”
He put down the slip on his desk. It was limp from his sweat. He wanted to keep it safe.
Cell 22 Death Row, Changi Prison, Thursday, 8:50 AM
Barbara was relieved when Thursday passed as uneventfully as Wednesday. Her body was almost completely healed, and her food rations had been improved.
Later in the evening, Imran and two guards entered and shouted, “Inspection Position.” Barb hurried to her feet, and assumed the position with only mild discomfort in her feet. As the others inspected her, Imran stood with his arms crossed and smiled.
After a thorough probing and poking, Barb was allowed to stand unmolested.
“I need to see if you have learned obedience and respect,” he said. “Turn and face the wall. Legs two feet apart. Now, step back a few inches.”
He came around to Barbara’s side, and he drew his truncheon. She shivered with fear and closed her eyes at the sight.
“Look at me!” he commanded. Barb opened her eyes and looked at him pleadingly. “I won’t hit you with this if you obey my orders. However, if you don’t…” he brought the wood weapon right in front of her belly. “…I might! Will you obey?”
“Yes, Sir,” Barb answered promptly.
“We shall see,” said the chief guard.
Hope springs eternal and so does jealousy
I do have that effect on guys ...
Be prepared ... is the Boy Scout motto
poem21045
Tribunus Plebis
Be prepared ... is the Boy Scout motto
I always thought that meant something else. . . .
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
I have a soft spot in my heart for Jimmy. He reminds me of myself in my younger, callow years. And, we were both remarkably successful with girls! Remember guys, looks aren't everything. Lewd talk and an aggressive manner will turn a hot girl into putty in your fat little fingers!
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
I almost failed to mention that the new official seal of the Changi Prison Complex was designed by Settantuno on a commission by the Commandant. Bin Osman is, interestingly enough, an American Civil War Buff and was familiar with the logo of the XVth Corps of the Union army, which had the slogan 40 rounds (the standard number of cartridges in an ammo belt). Since the maximum standard caning at Changi is 40 strokes, Bin Osman wanted to incorporate that as well as crossed canes and a hanging noose in honor of Changi being the only place in Singapore where executions take place. I think we can all agreed that Settantuno did an excellent job with his commission.Central Narcotics Bureau Singapore, Thursday, 2:15 PM
Lieutenant Jimmy Rogers sat at his desk, staring at the paper in his sweaty hands. Topped with the official seal of Changi Prison:
Entitles the bearer to admission on Friday, March 29th, 2019, to the public Punishment Room, VIP Section.
for the
Caning of Barbara Ann Moore, drug dealer
Reception for VIPs beginning at 9:15 AM.
All Refreshments will be complementary.
[Washable clothing recommended]
Seat A15
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
It's a lazy Saturday for me. I gather some are anxious about what Imran and his buddies have in store for poor Barbara. Maybe I'll post today's installment earlier than I'd intended.
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
Dua Puluh Cell 22 Death Row, Changi Prison, Thursday, 9:00 PM
“Put your arms out straight in front and your fingers on the wall, spread.”
Barb leaned forward and did so.
Imran spoke to a guard in Malay, who then placed a thin cane on the floor behind her feet.
“Step back onto the cane.”
She did as told, setting her feet with the cane in the arch of her feet. Doing so, she felt more weight being transferred to her arms, more pressure on her fingers. Her still sore feet protested the position. The loads on the balls and toes and the arch of the soles were quite painful.
“You see Miss Moore. We can be very reasonable. Please maintain that little spread and stretch. He brought his face a mere inch from hers and spoke in a low menacing voice, “Don’t move! If you do…” with that, he tapped his truncheon lightly on her belly. “I will hurt you very much. Understand?”
Barb frantically nodded, “Yes, Sir!”.
“Hood her!” The slimy, wet fabric that she hated was pulled over her head and tightened at the neck. Barbara was left in a world of darkness, with only the increasing tension in her fingers, arms, legs, and feet to command her attention.
It was only the mildest of stress positions, thought the chief guard, a good introduction for much worse ones to come in the following weeks. However, like all stress positions, the discomfort only grew. Before long, it would become almost unbearable.
Barbara tried to breathe evenly inside the devilish hood. The air quickly became close, causing a desire to take deep breaths. But those just sucked the foul fabric into her mouth and yielded no more oxygen. Relax, she told herself. Just relax.
Imran watched his prisoner closely, arched against the wall, her ass out, standing on the balls of her feet. He raised her shift off her ass. Yes, he thought, that gives her something more to think about!
He knew the signs. Barbara’s the calf muscles, bulged, tight as iron. No circulation. Lactic acid building. It acted almost like a burning poison if the blood couldn’t remove it. The pain would escalate.
God! My calves hurt, she thought as cramping began. She tried lowering her heels slightly, but a stabbing pain came from her feet as cane pressed into her bruised soles. Back up on her toes!
Imran saw Barb’s arms shaking, the triceps flexing as her body tried to adjust to the impossible demands of unrelieved stress. The joints of her fingers must hurt badly by now!
Barb willed her arms to stay in place. The thought of that club slamming into her again was intolerable! But never had she known her muscles to hurt so much. They were screaming for relief. Just a moment to relax and gain blood! But she daren’t. Her fingers felt like they’d been slammed in a door.
Yes, thought the chief guard, it’s getting difficult for her now. She probably could use some more encouragement.
He leaned close to her ear. “Don’t move. Don’t dare move! My Tongkat is anxious to test your soft middle.” She flinched as he touched the side of her waist with the baton. “A quick thrust into your kidney?”
“Please,” she whispered.
“Or drive into that belly? Has it recovered? Can you take a pounding there?” he tapped her belly lightly.
“Please.” A pitiful plea.
“If you move, cunt!” Imran tapped the weapon against her belly again, smiled and backed away. Gravity and the biology of joints and muscles always won over willpower, no matter how strong or how motivated.
Barb’s body was screaming in protest. The stress was building to an unbearable level. Her whole body shook. Her legs were cramping, and her arms were numb with exhaustion; her fingers and her feet were on fire with pain! The young woman’s shapely body was sheened in sweat, rivulets gently making their way downward. Inside the hood, her head and hair were drenched. Her eyes stung from the salt, and the air seemed fetid and unbreathable. Panting hard only sucked the fabric to her mouth and nostrils, frustrating attempts to fill her lungs.
The guards enjoyed the sight of the tortured woman, shivering and sweating. One pointed as he saw a rivulet of sweat run down her back and into her asscrack. “She’s lubricating her dubur (asshole) for us boys. Maybe she needs an ass-fuck!” They all laughed loudly.
Gritting her teeth and straining to concentrate on not moving, Barb heard the taunting, teasing voice of Imran, so close to her ear.
“Are you thinking of moving, cunt? Do you remember what it felt like when my Tongkat caressed your middle? Do you want to see what it would feel like again?”
The hard end of the baton pressed into her navel. “Please, no!” she whispered.
She felt the tip slide around her middle until it nestled between her buttcheeks. “Or perhaps you long to feel my hard friend penetrate your ass? You’ve wet it with your own sweat. Maybe you want it there; deeper and harder than you’ve ever known!”
“No, please.” Begged Barb.
“Have you learned obedience, slut? No complaining. Instant compliance?”
“Yes, Sir! Yes, I have! Please. Please! I can’t breathe!” Barb helplessly struggled to suck in air as the hood seemed to fill with her sweat. She was drowning!
Imran stepped back and looked his prisoner up and down. Her whole body was trembling, legs about to give way, arms bent. He saw her calves give way to allow her heels down, immediately followed by a small screech, and stretched up to lift the feet off the torturing cane. The chief guard had seen this many times. He knew she’d reached her limit. Barb let out a pitiful groan. That was it, he thought. Something would give way in a moment. Her arms, her legs, her feet. But he didn’t want to destroy her, at least, not today.
“Relax slut. You may kneel.”
Barbara collapsed, striking her knees painfully on the floor, wrapping her pained arms around her aching legs.
“Remove the hood.”
Drops of sweat from puddles inside the cloth scattered and sprayed as it was jerked off her head. Barb’s eyes, puffy from crying and from the salt of her sweat, blinked uncontrollably. She wiped her face and her running nose, while sobbing and gasping for fresh air in her lungs.
“A good first lesson, chicken. We'll do longer and harder training after you’ve had your caning.” The guards left her alone, shivering and hugging herself on the floor.
“Put your arms out straight in front and your fingers on the wall, spread.”
Barb leaned forward and did so.
Imran spoke to a guard in Malay, who then placed a thin cane on the floor behind her feet.
“Step back onto the cane.”
She did as told, setting her feet with the cane in the arch of her feet. Doing so, she felt more weight being transferred to her arms, more pressure on her fingers. Her still sore feet protested the position. The loads on the balls and toes and the arch of the soles were quite painful.
“You see Miss Moore. We can be very reasonable. Please maintain that little spread and stretch. He brought his face a mere inch from hers and spoke in a low menacing voice, “Don’t move! If you do…” with that, he tapped his truncheon lightly on her belly. “I will hurt you very much. Understand?”
Barb frantically nodded, “Yes, Sir!”.
“Hood her!” The slimy, wet fabric that she hated was pulled over her head and tightened at the neck. Barbara was left in a world of darkness, with only the increasing tension in her fingers, arms, legs, and feet to command her attention.
It was only the mildest of stress positions, thought the chief guard, a good introduction for much worse ones to come in the following weeks. However, like all stress positions, the discomfort only grew. Before long, it would become almost unbearable.
Barbara tried to breathe evenly inside the devilish hood. The air quickly became close, causing a desire to take deep breaths. But those just sucked the foul fabric into her mouth and yielded no more oxygen. Relax, she told herself. Just relax.
Imran watched his prisoner closely, arched against the wall, her ass out, standing on the balls of her feet. He raised her shift off her ass. Yes, he thought, that gives her something more to think about!
He knew the signs. Barbara’s the calf muscles, bulged, tight as iron. No circulation. Lactic acid building. It acted almost like a burning poison if the blood couldn’t remove it. The pain would escalate.
God! My calves hurt, she thought as cramping began. She tried lowering her heels slightly, but a stabbing pain came from her feet as cane pressed into her bruised soles. Back up on her toes!
Imran saw Barb’s arms shaking, the triceps flexing as her body tried to adjust to the impossible demands of unrelieved stress. The joints of her fingers must hurt badly by now!
Barb willed her arms to stay in place. The thought of that club slamming into her again was intolerable! But never had she known her muscles to hurt so much. They were screaming for relief. Just a moment to relax and gain blood! But she daren’t. Her fingers felt like they’d been slammed in a door.
Yes, thought the chief guard, it’s getting difficult for her now. She probably could use some more encouragement.
He leaned close to her ear. “Don’t move. Don’t dare move! My Tongkat is anxious to test your soft middle.” She flinched as he touched the side of her waist with the baton. “A quick thrust into your kidney?”
“Please,” she whispered.
“Or drive into that belly? Has it recovered? Can you take a pounding there?” he tapped her belly lightly.
“Please.” A pitiful plea.
“If you move, cunt!” Imran tapped the weapon against her belly again, smiled and backed away. Gravity and the biology of joints and muscles always won over willpower, no matter how strong or how motivated.
Barb’s body was screaming in protest. The stress was building to an unbearable level. Her whole body shook. Her legs were cramping, and her arms were numb with exhaustion; her fingers and her feet were on fire with pain! The young woman’s shapely body was sheened in sweat, rivulets gently making their way downward. Inside the hood, her head and hair were drenched. Her eyes stung from the salt, and the air seemed fetid and unbreathable. Panting hard only sucked the fabric to her mouth and nostrils, frustrating attempts to fill her lungs.
The guards enjoyed the sight of the tortured woman, shivering and sweating. One pointed as he saw a rivulet of sweat run down her back and into her asscrack. “She’s lubricating her dubur (asshole) for us boys. Maybe she needs an ass-fuck!” They all laughed loudly.
Gritting her teeth and straining to concentrate on not moving, Barb heard the taunting, teasing voice of Imran, so close to her ear.
“Are you thinking of moving, cunt? Do you remember what it felt like when my Tongkat caressed your middle? Do you want to see what it would feel like again?”
The hard end of the baton pressed into her navel. “Please, no!” she whispered.
She felt the tip slide around her middle until it nestled between her buttcheeks. “Or perhaps you long to feel my hard friend penetrate your ass? You’ve wet it with your own sweat. Maybe you want it there; deeper and harder than you’ve ever known!”
“No, please.” Begged Barb.
“Have you learned obedience, slut? No complaining. Instant compliance?”
“Yes, Sir! Yes, I have! Please. Please! I can’t breathe!” Barb helplessly struggled to suck in air as the hood seemed to fill with her sweat. She was drowning!
Imran stepped back and looked his prisoner up and down. Her whole body was trembling, legs about to give way, arms bent. He saw her calves give way to allow her heels down, immediately followed by a small screech, and stretched up to lift the feet off the torturing cane. The chief guard had seen this many times. He knew she’d reached her limit. Barb let out a pitiful groan. That was it, he thought. Something would give way in a moment. Her arms, her legs, her feet. But he didn’t want to destroy her, at least, not today.
“Relax slut. You may kneel.”
Barbara collapsed, striking her knees painfully on the floor, wrapping her pained arms around her aching legs.
“Remove the hood.”
Drops of sweat from puddles inside the cloth scattered and sprayed as it was jerked off her head. Barb’s eyes, puffy from crying and from the salt of her sweat, blinked uncontrollably. She wiped her face and her running nose, while sobbing and gasping for fresh air in her lungs.
“A good first lesson, chicken. We'll do longer and harder training after you’ve had your caning.” The guards left her alone, shivering and hugging herself on the floor.
settantuno
MUTUS PICTOR
Attachments
twonines
LIMERICUS
You`ve done it again,Brilliant.
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
Don't forget, he has a Master’s Degree in Criminal Justice from USC. You need education to rise in the ranks at Changi. He is a brute, and much more!
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
Do they award them in British Universities? Isn't that the usual status of undergraduates?