Oh dear, and I always thought she was such a popular lass
really think so? 
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Ku Krux Klan
- Thread starter Barbaria1
- Start date
really think so? 
Celticvirgin
Tribune
I hope not.View attachment 319358 really think so?
but it's in such a good cause Barb, you shouldn't throw up the opportunity for martyrdom!
'Barb Moore's body lies a-moulderin in the grave...'
R.I.P. 
Celticvirgin
Tribune
Mighty cute angel u make! Gaaaah there I go again!View attachment 319369 Glory Glory Hallelujah
...No, you don't bury her in the box; just carry her body to the pit...
...No, you don't bury her in the box; just carry her body to the pit...
Who the fuck is she talking about???Hardly the sentimental type is he, our Tree? (secret: he has a big heart, but hides it behind that nonchalant, rakishly unsentimental behavior.)
11. I swing slowly back and forth, suspended upside down, legs slightly spread, naked, long brown hair brushing the concrete floor, waiting to receive my second whipping already in just the brief time I have been incarcerated at Crux Hill Correctional Farm.
The guard they call Clem wields the whip tonight ... a tall man with dark hair, and a humorless countenance. All business, he assumes his position behind me, turns to his companion and asks, "how many?"
"Warden said to give her thirty. And make 'em hurt."
"With pleasure. Give me a slug from that bottle of hooch and stand back."
I swallow hard, shut my eyes and prepare for the worst.
The whipping comes fast and furious. Clem distributes the lashes expertly, ranging from the backs of my knees to my shoulders, not to mention bringing a few down hard between my legs to tear away at the exposed tender lips of my pussy.
I twist and turn helplessly as the lashes slash and cut, the knotted end of the leather tail, wrapping around to punish my breasts and tummy. My screams and cries, and my sobbing pleas for mercy, mix wth Clem's grunts as he lays his back into each stroke, the sounds echoing together off the cellar's concrete floor and bare walls.
When it's over, I am taken down, thrown across a table on my back with my ankles and wrists restrained over me in an iron clamp bar. And as booze sloshes over my quivering and shaking flesh, they take turns having their way with me, whooping and congratulating each other on their manly prowess as they roughly pinch and rub my clit, squeeze my breasts, and energetically thrust their hips until finally they have both satisfied their ardor.
Beaten, mauled, degraded, defiled ... they finally leave me, chained by one ankle to the floor, sitting on a low stone ledge against one wall, head in my hands. A lone light bulb hanging from the ceiling illuminates the room, and the glistening gobs of their vile spunk coating my inner thighs and collected on my face around my mouth and chin. A soiled threadbare tan blanket lies on the bench. I drape it over my bare shoulders and draw it together in front of my chest.
Left to my thoughts, I try to make sense of what has happened to me since our "freedom rider" bus rolled into town just a couple days ago. Someone out there must be looking for us, I tell myself. Our disappearance must have been noticed by now. Help must surely be on it's way. Unless, they think we all perished in that burning bus? But wait, there was the trial, right? One would think that trial, with half the town in the courtroom gallery, would have been news. How could they have possibly hushed that up? But, yet, no one has come to rescue us? Where are they?
I hurt. The lash marks are burning. I am sore between the legs. The abrasions burn.
I try to move about and stretch my legs a little, and am astonished when my leg iron falls free, clattering on the floor. I can move freely about!!!
I get up slowly, listen, and then begin wandering around the room, still a bit unsteady on my feet. Eventually I try the door. It's unlocked. Cautiously I push it open a little and peek out into the corridor. No one in sight.
I tiptoe down the corridor, passing the open door to the guard room. I glance inside. Clem and his pal are in there, hugging their empty whiskey bottles and snoring loudly. I slip past and keep going. At the end of the hallway is a stairway. I ascend cautiously, stopping with heart pounding when one of the risers groans under my weight.
I try the door at the top of the stairs. It's unlocked. I pass through, closing it silently behind me. A moment later I am out on the parade ground ... still no one in sight.
I scamper across and plaster myself up against the wall of one of the barracks, and then begin edging myself along it, ducking under windows and staying in the shadows as much as possible.
On reaching the far end of the barracks, I squint across the dimly lit space separating me from the main gate. Looking both ways for any sign of danger, I make a run for the gate, and take shelter in the shadow of the truck parked a few feet away from it. Peering over the hood of the truck, I gasp, unable to believe my eyes. Someone has left the gate slightly ajar!
In a moment I am through it. I run down the road a few yards and throw myself in the ditch. Panting, I lie still, expecting someone to sound an alarm, but nothing happens.
After a while, I cautiously get to my feet, turn my back on Crux Hill Correctional Farm, and scurry off across a field, headed for the shelter of a tree line, looking back over my shoulder every so often until distance finally obscures the "Farm" and the glow of its lights.
From his window of his quarters on the third floor of the main building back at the "Farm", the Warden takes another sip of whiskey from the glass in his hand, reaches for the burning cigarette resting on the edge of the ashtray, and smiles to himself.
TO BE CONTINUED
(pics courtesy of THT)
The guard they call Clem wields the whip tonight ... a tall man with dark hair, and a humorless countenance. All business, he assumes his position behind me, turns to his companion and asks, "how many?"
"Warden said to give her thirty. And make 'em hurt."
"With pleasure. Give me a slug from that bottle of hooch and stand back."
I swallow hard, shut my eyes and prepare for the worst.
The whipping comes fast and furious. Clem distributes the lashes expertly, ranging from the backs of my knees to my shoulders, not to mention bringing a few down hard between my legs to tear away at the exposed tender lips of my pussy.I twist and turn helplessly as the lashes slash and cut, the knotted end of the leather tail, wrapping around to punish my breasts and tummy. My screams and cries, and my sobbing pleas for mercy, mix wth Clem's grunts as he lays his back into each stroke, the sounds echoing together off the cellar's concrete floor and bare walls.
When it's over, I am taken down, thrown across a table on my back with my ankles and wrists restrained over me in an iron clamp bar. And as booze sloshes over my quivering and shaking flesh, they take turns having their way with me, whooping and congratulating each other on their manly prowess as they roughly pinch and rub my clit, squeeze my breasts, and energetically thrust their hips until finally they have both satisfied their ardor.Beaten, mauled, degraded, defiled ... they finally leave me, chained by one ankle to the floor, sitting on a low stone ledge against one wall, head in my hands. A lone light bulb hanging from the ceiling illuminates the room, and the glistening gobs of their vile spunk coating my inner thighs and collected on my face around my mouth and chin. A soiled threadbare tan blanket lies on the bench. I drape it over my bare shoulders and draw it together in front of my chest.
Left to my thoughts, I try to make sense of what has happened to me since our "freedom rider" bus rolled into town just a couple days ago. Someone out there must be looking for us, I tell myself. Our disappearance must have been noticed by now. Help must surely be on it's way. Unless, they think we all perished in that burning bus? But wait, there was the trial, right? One would think that trial, with half the town in the courtroom gallery, would have been news. How could they have possibly hushed that up? But, yet, no one has come to rescue us? Where are they?I hurt. The lash marks are burning. I am sore between the legs. The abrasions burn.
I try to move about and stretch my legs a little, and am astonished when my leg iron falls free, clattering on the floor. I can move freely about!!!
I get up slowly, listen, and then begin wandering around the room, still a bit unsteady on my feet. Eventually I try the door. It's unlocked. Cautiously I push it open a little and peek out into the corridor. No one in sight.
I tiptoe down the corridor, passing the open door to the guard room. I glance inside. Clem and his pal are in there, hugging their empty whiskey bottles and snoring loudly. I slip past and keep going. At the end of the hallway is a stairway. I ascend cautiously, stopping with heart pounding when one of the risers groans under my weight.
I try the door at the top of the stairs. It's unlocked. I pass through, closing it silently behind me. A moment later I am out on the parade ground ... still no one in sight.
I scamper across and plaster myself up against the wall of one of the barracks, and then begin edging myself along it, ducking under windows and staying in the shadows as much as possible.
On reaching the far end of the barracks, I squint across the dimly lit space separating me from the main gate. Looking both ways for any sign of danger, I make a run for the gate, and take shelter in the shadow of the truck parked a few feet away from it. Peering over the hood of the truck, I gasp, unable to believe my eyes. Someone has left the gate slightly ajar!
In a moment I am through it. I run down the road a few yards and throw myself in the ditch. Panting, I lie still, expecting someone to sound an alarm, but nothing happens.
After a while, I cautiously get to my feet, turn my back on Crux Hill Correctional Farm, and scurry off across a field, headed for the shelter of a tree line, looking back over my shoulder every so often until distance finally obscures the "Farm" and the glow of its lights.From his window of his quarters on the third floor of the main building back at the "Farm", the Warden takes another sip of whiskey from the glass in his hand, reaches for the burning cigarette resting on the edge of the ashtray, and smiles to himself.
TO BE CONTINUED
(pics courtesy of THT)
Last edited:
Clem.... the Warden
Watch out, Barb!
We're coming to that part of the story when my loathometer starts twitching!
Celticvirgin
Tribune
I suspect warden may order a good old fashioned Southern Barb hunt!
I suspect warden may order a good old fashioned Southern Barb hunt!
with bloodhounds, no doubt
Celticvirgin
Tribune
Lots of them! Run bitch! Run!with bloodhounds, no doubt
Celticvirgin
Tribune
All the movies would have you go through or along in a river to lose them. I'll just get a deck chair and a mint Julie and wait for the action!
that's something I find quite hard to imagine,
do they ever smile down in the deep south? I spose they must
Celticvirgin
Tribune
I heard about a guy that smiled once. I don't believe it though.that's something I find quite hard to imagine,
do they ever smile down in the deep south? I spose they must
that's something I find quite hard to imagine,
do they ever smile down in the deep south? I spose they must
I heard about a guy that smiled once. I don't believe it though.
Ahhh, so many of them of Scots-Irish ancestry ... a taciturn lot if there ever was one.
Celticvirgin
Tribune
Neeps and tatties the whole lot of us. We do got soul though.Ahhh, so many of them of Scots-Irish ancestry ... a taciturn lot if there ever was one.