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Desert Sands
- Thread starter Barbaria1
- Start date
13. Dawn breaks serenely over the roofs of the squat gray buildings surrounding the dusty town square. I have just spent a very long night suffering through the slow and painful rigors of hanging naked … alongside Siss … on a wooden cross under the harsh glare of a battery of arc lights set up to illuminate the scene for the benefit of the media.
For the most part, I hung listlessly during the night, the initial frantic reaction to being brutally crucified having worn off by dusk. But periodically I would shake off my lethargy and push up and out with my legs in a determined effort to fill my aching lungs with hurried gulps of fresh air. My knees would lock and my body would go rigid, my back arched far outwards from my cross, arms extended backwards, nails pulling painfully at the jagged wounds in my pierced wrists. Then as the strain took its toll, I would begin to shake uncontrollably ... breasts swaying and bobbing, thighs and buttocks quivering ... before falling back hard against the stout wooden upright of my cross.
Each time Siss or I performed this little ritual dance, the crowd which had dwindled during the wee hours of the night ... but never disappeared entirely ... would rise to its feet to cheer and chant its praise to Allah, as though our suffering had been ordained by a higher order. The media crews, which had taken to smoking and playing cards during the slow times, would jump to their feet to capture my latest "show" on tape for re-broadcast to viewers at home.
During the long night my mind raced back and forth between utter despair and the slim hope of rescue. I spoke to Siss often at first about rescue ... imagining the Commander in Chief, sequestered with his generals and admirals in the White House situation room, putting the finishing touches on a daringly dramatic dawn rescue operation ... but I quit after a while since Siss' attitude toward the whole idea was decidedly pessimistic.
At other times my mind went completely blank, lost in a deep and impenetrable darkness that served to help me deny the naked humiliation and horrific agonies of being publicly crucified. I can unequivocally state that no crueler means of execution has ever been devised.
The crowd is growing now as the early morning sun warms the square. I have just completed my most recent writhing and twisting struggle for air, and hang panting from my nailed wrists, a glistening sheen of sweat covering my body and face. Fresh trickles of blood snake their way down my arms, spreading over my extended ribs. While below me, deeper and darker rivers flow through my toes ... joining with clotted smears of bodily fluids and waste I had excreted during the night ... to further stain and foul the wood below my feet.
My chin rests on my chest; my stringy bedraggled hair hangs in my face. I no longer have the strength to hold my head high. Siss is up and dancing again now to the delight of the swelling crowd, but through the raucous dins of cheers and catcalls I hear the unmistakable whomp-whomp-whomp of chopper rotor blades.
"Can it be?" I croak, turning my head in Siss' direction, a hopeful expression breaking out across my tear-streaked face.
The sound intensifies and grows louder. There is clearly more than one chopper approaching, perhaps a whole fleet! My body shudders as I strain to push upward with my legs one last time, the better to see over the rooftops.
Yes, there they are ... six of them coming in low. They roar past overhead, make a wide turn and return. I twist about and crane my neck in an effort to make out their markings, but am rewarded only with bolts of blinding pain coursing through my straining arms and legs. I sink back down to wait, scraping my tailbone on the splintery surface of the wooden upright.
The choppers land behind me. I cannot see what is going on. The media people seem excited; they are on their feet, cameras at the ready. The crowd edges backwards, creating a space before Siss and me on our crosses. Heavy boots clump as men pull themselves up on the flatbed just behind me. A cordon is quickly formed to keep the crowd at bay.
There is a roar from the crowd and suddenly I am confronted face-to-face with Uday! My face falls ... spirits dashed. "Oh shit!" I groan.
"Can say that again" murmurs Siss.
The man hungrily surveys my nude body, much as he did before back in the torture chamber and at his palace. He puffs on his cigar, the tip glows red and ashes float away in a slight breeze as he reaches out to cup and roughly mash my breasts with both hands; then diverts his attention to my exposed pussy, exploring between my wide open lips with his one of his stubby fingers.
Barzan appears alongside him.
“Uday likes your ass Moore. He wants to offer you a deal. You agree to be one of his sex slaves at his palace … no funny business … and you live. Otherwise ….”
“Be a sex slave to that pig for the rest of my life! No way!”
“He’s not going to like that answer. I suggest you reconsider.”
“What about the crowd, the media, the propaganda ploy?”
“This is Iraq Moore … Uday does what he pleases. We’ll fabricate something.”
“Well, I dunno.”
“Tick tick tick, Moore.”
“What do you think Siss?”
“Screw ‘em Barb!”
“Right! You heard the girl!”
A storm cloud passes over Uday’s swarthy countenance as he comprehends what has just been said. He reaches out suddenly and extinguishes his cigar on my right nipple. My shrieks fill the compound, the crowd stirs and the media zooms in for close up shots with their cameras.
Then he removes an ugly looking, large-bored service weapon from his hip holster. Reaching up he presses the muzzle to the side of my head. I feel the cold steel against my temple, gasp and promptly pee on his trousers.
He steps back, looking disdainfully at the dark stain spreading down the front of one neatly pressed trouser leg. He raises his weapon, and shows his teeth beneath his mustache as he grins menacingly.
“Oh Barb,” Siss calls out.
I focus for a fleeting moment on the ragged bits of breakfast still clinging to his teeth, and then close my eyes.
THE END
For the most part, I hung listlessly during the night, the initial frantic reaction to being brutally crucified having worn off by dusk. But periodically I would shake off my lethargy and push up and out with my legs in a determined effort to fill my aching lungs with hurried gulps of fresh air. My knees would lock and my body would go rigid, my back arched far outwards from my cross, arms extended backwards, nails pulling painfully at the jagged wounds in my pierced wrists. Then as the strain took its toll, I would begin to shake uncontrollably ... breasts swaying and bobbing, thighs and buttocks quivering ... before falling back hard against the stout wooden upright of my cross.Each time Siss or I performed this little ritual dance, the crowd which had dwindled during the wee hours of the night ... but never disappeared entirely ... would rise to its feet to cheer and chant its praise to Allah, as though our suffering had been ordained by a higher order. The media crews, which had taken to smoking and playing cards during the slow times, would jump to their feet to capture my latest "show" on tape for re-broadcast to viewers at home.
During the long night my mind raced back and forth between utter despair and the slim hope of rescue. I spoke to Siss often at first about rescue ... imagining the Commander in Chief, sequestered with his generals and admirals in the White House situation room, putting the finishing touches on a daringly dramatic dawn rescue operation ... but I quit after a while since Siss' attitude toward the whole idea was decidedly pessimistic.
At other times my mind went completely blank, lost in a deep and impenetrable darkness that served to help me deny the naked humiliation and horrific agonies of being publicly crucified. I can unequivocally state that no crueler means of execution has ever been devised.
The crowd is growing now as the early morning sun warms the square. I have just completed my most recent writhing and twisting struggle for air, and hang panting from my nailed wrists, a glistening sheen of sweat covering my body and face. Fresh trickles of blood snake their way down my arms, spreading over my extended ribs. While below me, deeper and darker rivers flow through my toes ... joining with clotted smears of bodily fluids and waste I had excreted during the night ... to further stain and foul the wood below my feet.
My chin rests on my chest; my stringy bedraggled hair hangs in my face. I no longer have the strength to hold my head high. Siss is up and dancing again now to the delight of the swelling crowd, but through the raucous dins of cheers and catcalls I hear the unmistakable whomp-whomp-whomp of chopper rotor blades.
"Can it be?" I croak, turning my head in Siss' direction, a hopeful expression breaking out across my tear-streaked face.
The sound intensifies and grows louder. There is clearly more than one chopper approaching, perhaps a whole fleet! My body shudders as I strain to push upward with my legs one last time, the better to see over the rooftops.
Yes, there they are ... six of them coming in low. They roar past overhead, make a wide turn and return. I twist about and crane my neck in an effort to make out their markings, but am rewarded only with bolts of blinding pain coursing through my straining arms and legs. I sink back down to wait, scraping my tailbone on the splintery surface of the wooden upright.
The choppers land behind me. I cannot see what is going on. The media people seem excited; they are on their feet, cameras at the ready. The crowd edges backwards, creating a space before Siss and me on our crosses. Heavy boots clump as men pull themselves up on the flatbed just behind me. A cordon is quickly formed to keep the crowd at bay.
There is a roar from the crowd and suddenly I am confronted face-to-face with Uday! My face falls ... spirits dashed. "Oh shit!" I groan.
"Can say that again" murmurs Siss.
The man hungrily surveys my nude body, much as he did before back in the torture chamber and at his palace. He puffs on his cigar, the tip glows red and ashes float away in a slight breeze as he reaches out to cup and roughly mash my breasts with both hands; then diverts his attention to my exposed pussy, exploring between my wide open lips with his one of his stubby fingers.
Barzan appears alongside him.
“Uday likes your ass Moore. He wants to offer you a deal. You agree to be one of his sex slaves at his palace … no funny business … and you live. Otherwise ….”
“Be a sex slave to that pig for the rest of my life! No way!”
“He’s not going to like that answer. I suggest you reconsider.”
“What about the crowd, the media, the propaganda ploy?”
“This is Iraq Moore … Uday does what he pleases. We’ll fabricate something.”
“Well, I dunno.”
“Tick tick tick, Moore.”
“What do you think Siss?”
“Screw ‘em Barb!”
“Right! You heard the girl!”
A storm cloud passes over Uday’s swarthy countenance as he comprehends what has just been said. He reaches out suddenly and extinguishes his cigar on my right nipple. My shrieks fill the compound, the crowd stirs and the media zooms in for close up shots with their cameras.
Then he removes an ugly looking, large-bored service weapon from his hip holster. Reaching up he presses the muzzle to the side of my head. I feel the cold steel against my temple, gasp and promptly pee on his trousers.
He steps back, looking disdainfully at the dark stain spreading down the front of one neatly pressed trouser leg. He raises his weapon, and shows his teeth beneath his mustache as he grins menacingly.
“Oh Barb,” Siss calls out.
I focus for a fleeting moment on the ragged bits of breakfast still clinging to his teeth, and then close my eyes.
THE END
Last edited:
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
Now I thought that the phrase
"We aim to please.
Will you aim, too, please?"
applied only to men, but I see that Barb has it off to a fine art!
She had a perfect aim with the story, too!
LittleSiss
Sorceress
Notice how she always leaves me hanging?
Why do I even bother?
Why do I even bother?
LittleSiss
Sorceress
A bit more "dawnish" ?
Except the amount of traffic - having been to the Middle East and East Africa a few times, my experience is that there are not that many people out at that hour. On the other hand, there weren't two pretty crucified girls where I was either.
By the dawn's early light
Nice fix Siss
Except the amount of traffic - having been to the Middle East and East Africa a few times, my experience is that there are not that many people out at that hour. On the other hand, there weren't two pretty crucified girls where I was either.
yep, good things definitely come in pairs
With Barb's permission but without her knowledge of the content...
Tree is not satisfied with Barb’s ending (He’s an asshole –Ulrika)…
In Washington DC, President George H. W. Bush talks with his Secretary of Defense Richard Chaney. He asks “How many A-10s have we lost in Iraq?”
“None, sir”
“Then why are these women nailed on crosses?”
Cheney shrugs and says “I told you to take Saddam out. Do you want to send in a rescue team?”
Bush looks at the Secretary and shakes his head “I promised our allies we would stop after we liberated Kuwait. I wish I had another option.”
“Perhaps I can help, sir” Mr. Cheney says as he picks up a phone. “This could be ugly. Do you want leave?”
H. W. shakes his head and says “If you can save them do it. I’m going to bed. Do what you can.”
Cheney dials up the chairman of Halliburton, a company he would soon chair, and asks if they have any mercenaries in the area. He is told only Tree and crew and a rodent are in the region. Cheney asks if they can get the girls without fucking the whole thing up. He is assured they can (without adding they could ‘fuck the whole thing up).
“Do it then!” Cheney says.
“Don’t you want to know what it will cost, Dick?”
“It will cost nothing. We have an embargo on Iraq and you seem to have been illegally doing business there!”
“Your boss will pay for this but we will get them out” Chairman Clinton replies.
A directive is sent to the mercenaries who, after receiving the fax and studying the situation…
…spring into action!
Though greatly outnumbered and lacking air support they have the element of surprise on their side. They quickly hatch a plan and head towards the town.
They arrive and wait for Thessela to get in position.
Thessela radios she is in place.
Joan Tree takes her position…
…and mutters “No one does that to Barb and Siss but me, you Iraqi bastards!”
RR takes his position to provide cover fire.
Gunner fires a huge tear gas canister into the mob and the little English chant the mob knew (‘Death to America’) quickly stops and they begin to disperse.
While Joan, Thessela, and RR supplies cover fire Gunner fired the heavy artillery.
Tree, Admi, Bull and Jollyrei race in to rescue Barb and Siss. There is a slight problem in that they did not bring a ladder and the crosses are too tall to get to the spikes in Barb’s and Siss’ wrists! Bull uses his unimaginable strength to lift first one cross then the other from the sockets and gently lowers them to the ground.
Siss is carried on a stretcher to the jeep while Tree follows carrying Barb.
Barb groans “Would you get rid of that cigarette? The smoke is bad for my health!”
“Worse than the cross was?” Tree asks.
“No, but…”
“Then either say thank you or shut the fuck up!”
And that’s how Tree sees the ending!!!
Tree
Tree is not satisfied with Barb’s ending (He’s an asshole –Ulrika)…
In Washington DC, President George H. W. Bush talks with his Secretary of Defense Richard Chaney. He asks “How many A-10s have we lost in Iraq?”
“None, sir”
“Then why are these women nailed on crosses?”
Cheney shrugs and says “I told you to take Saddam out. Do you want to send in a rescue team?”
Bush looks at the Secretary and shakes his head “I promised our allies we would stop after we liberated Kuwait. I wish I had another option.”
“Perhaps I can help, sir” Mr. Cheney says as he picks up a phone. “This could be ugly. Do you want leave?”
H. W. shakes his head and says “If you can save them do it. I’m going to bed. Do what you can.”
Cheney dials up the chairman of Halliburton, a company he would soon chair, and asks if they have any mercenaries in the area. He is told only Tree and crew and a rodent are in the region. Cheney asks if they can get the girls without fucking the whole thing up. He is assured they can (without adding they could ‘fuck the whole thing up).
“Do it then!” Cheney says.
“Don’t you want to know what it will cost, Dick?”
“It will cost nothing. We have an embargo on Iraq and you seem to have been illegally doing business there!”
“Your boss will pay for this but we will get them out” Chairman Clinton replies.
A directive is sent to the mercenaries who, after receiving the fax and studying the situation…
…spring into action!
Though greatly outnumbered and lacking air support they have the element of surprise on their side. They quickly hatch a plan and head towards the town.
They arrive and wait for Thessela to get in position.
Thessela radios she is in place.
Joan Tree takes her position…
…and mutters “No one does that to Barb and Siss but me, you Iraqi bastards!”
RR takes his position to provide cover fire.
Gunner fires a huge tear gas canister into the mob and the little English chant the mob knew (‘Death to America’) quickly stops and they begin to disperse.
While Joan, Thessela, and RR supplies cover fire Gunner fired the heavy artillery.
Tree, Admi, Bull and Jollyrei race in to rescue Barb and Siss. There is a slight problem in that they did not bring a ladder and the crosses are too tall to get to the spikes in Barb’s and Siss’ wrists! Bull uses his unimaginable strength to lift first one cross then the other from the sockets and gently lowers them to the ground.
Siss is carried on a stretcher to the jeep while Tree follows carrying Barb.
Barb groans “Would you get rid of that cigarette? The smoke is bad for my health!”
“Worse than the cross was?” Tree asks.
“No, but…”
“Then either say thank you or shut the fuck up!”
And that’s how Tree sees the ending!!!
Tree
Tree doth not need
Either Wragg's work or his weak gifts. Who best
Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state
Is kingly: thousands at his bidding speed,
And post o'er land and ocean without rest;
They also serve who only stand and wait.
Actually, Repertor and I would have whisked them through a timeslip before they were even crucified.
And that would have really buggered Barb's story!
I slave for weeks over a dozen episodes and then Tree writes a wild, heart-thumping, eye-opening alternative ending. Now that's class! Great work Tree!
Tree doth not need
Either Wragg's work or his weak gifts. Who best
Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state
Is kingly: thousands at his bidding speed,
And post o'er land and ocean without rest;
They also serve who only stand and wait.
Actually, Repertor and I would have whisked them through a timeslip before they were even crucified.
And that would have really buggered Barb's story!
Hey, watch who you are buggering!!!!
Hey, watch who you are buggering!!!!
See, Repertor?
Offer to save her all that pain via a bit of timey-wimey stuff and all you get are demerits!
...well, your story inspired it and I know a few guys who were Army Rangers (and one who was in special operations that will not even tell what branch of service he was in
) and they all have told me you don't leave one of your own behind and that's what inspired my alternate!!!