Demerits are like buses, never had one before and then three come at once...can I paint them red?
Never?
Really never?
Jeez.
I didn't think that was possible.
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Desert Sands
- Thread starter Barbaria1
- Start date
Never?
Really never?
Jeez.
I didn't think that was possible.
6. I am left to my own thoughts as the chopper drones on to Baghdad, hugging low to the ground to avoid Coalition air patrols. I worry about what lies in store for me and the blonde girl whom I hardly know, but who goes by "Siss"; and wonder if there is any possible way to extricate ourselves from this horrible mess before it's too late.
I stretch my limbs and shift my position as much as my wrists shackled over my head will allow. The steady whump-whump-whump of the chopper's rotors creates an awful din, and the entire machine seems locked in the grip of an intense and inescapable vibration that rattles both mind and body. The two Mukhabarat goons sitting in jump seats directly across from me can't seem to take their eyes from the vibration-driven dance of my tumescent nipples on my bobbing bare breasts.
The sound of the rotors changes. We have arrived in Baghdad and the chopper is settling over the roof of a building ... presumably Mukhabarat headquarters.The big bird touches down smoothly and the pilot cuts the engine. The two men opposite me are immediately on their feet to unshackle my wrists and escort me, arms pinned behind my back, to the exit.
I step out into the late morning sunshine. The backdraft from the still rotating rotors blows my hair across my face, and I bend down ... like I have seen them do in the opening credits of MASH ... as I am led away from the chopper. Glancing back over my shoulder ... I see that Siss is not far behind, her naked form supported limply between a second pair of Mukhabarat thugs. Judging from her disheveled appearance, her time in the rear compartment of the chopper must have been anything but pleasant.
Our friendly hosts waste no time in getting their little propaganda scheme going. We are led down into the bowels of the building to a tiled room with a drain in the center of the floor to be cleaned up enough to be presentable.
I am told to remove my desert camouflage pants. I do so slowly, eyeing our handlers warily. Siss is already naked. They shove us roughly up against and facing the wall. A moment later I am hit full in the back with a blast of icy cold water. We squirm, twist, and slip about on the wet floor under the steady and powerful hosing. I grab onto her for support. She clutches at me, sopping wet blonde hair covering her face.
The stinging water stream is splayed back and forth over our nude bodies, targeting especially ... it seems with particular delight for those aiming the hose nozzles ... our faces, breasts and privates. I try to stand, but fall, dragging her down with me. We become entangled in each other's arms and legs, slipping and sliding around on the floor, frantically rolling over one another in one direction then the other, much to the continued amusement of our handlers.
In the end, when they finally turn off the water, we huddle together against the wall, shivering and clinging desperately to each other.
A couple of threadbare towels are tossed to us. While the Mukhabarat men look on, we slowly get to our feet and begin to dry ourselves off. They give us each a comb. And as I work the snarls out of my hair, I am handed a torn and tattered olive-green flight suit and told to put it on.
I bend over and step into it, one foot at a time, pull it up over my hips, slide my arms into the sleeves, one of which is half ripped off, and try to zip up the front ... but the zipper is damaged, so I just hold it together at the chest as best I can with my hand. I notice the name tag sewn on the front says, "Lt. B. Moore."
"I guess they want us to look presentable," I say to Siss, while trying unsuccessfully to find a better way to keep the open front of my flight suit from flying open.
"And I forgot my Chapstick," she quips.
"Very funny."
"What do you think they are up to?"
"They want to show us off."
"Oh great!"
As soon as we are dressed, they take us upstairs to a brightly lit room with a raised stage in front of a video camera set on a tripod. Photos of a downed American plane, destroyed homes, rows of laid-out dead bodies, and mourning villagers, flash in sequence on the wall behind the stage.
The high ranking officer called Barzan, who picked us up in the chopper back at the Iraqi desert base at which we had been held after being captured ... and who had told me on the flight to Baghdad of the Mukhabarat scheme to exploit the two of us in order to score an international propaganda coup ... strides purposely into the room.
"Get up on stage and face the camera!" he orders, addressing us and clapping his hands loudly. Then, handing me a sheet of paper, he adds, "You will read this confession into the camera."
Wearily, I step up onto the stage, turn and face the camera, as told. With Siss peering anxiously over my shoulder, I scan the statement typed on the sheet of paper:
My country entered this war with the publicly stated purpose of opposing an alleged invasion of Kuwait. This was a subterfuge to conceal our real objective, which was to launch a modern day crusade to divide and conquer the Arab world and gain control of the region's vast oil reserves. To further this goal I, as a U.S. pilot, have callously engaged in the cowardly murder from the sky of innocent women and children, as well as participating in the wanton slaughter of surrendering soldiers. May the government of Iraq have mercy upon me, though none is deserved.
The officer nods, waving his hand to the camera crew in a go ahead signal.
"I cannot and will not read this," I declare, looking straight into the camera with a defiant expression on my face, and forgetting to hold the front of my flight suit together. For added good measure, Siss gestures at the camera with middle finger extended.
"Stop! Stop!" growls the officer, "What do you two think you are doing? You have nothing to gain by being obstinate. If you know what is good for, you will cooperate. Now … read the statement!"
"No!"
"Read it now or I will have to turn you over to Saddam's brother, Uday Hussein, for a little ‘persuasion’ session down in the cellars. You have heard of him and his methods, perhaps, yes?"
TO BE CONTINUED
And a thanks to both Siss and Tree for help with dialogue on this one.
I stretch my limbs and shift my position as much as my wrists shackled over my head will allow. The steady whump-whump-whump of the chopper's rotors creates an awful din, and the entire machine seems locked in the grip of an intense and inescapable vibration that rattles both mind and body. The two Mukhabarat goons sitting in jump seats directly across from me can't seem to take their eyes from the vibration-driven dance of my tumescent nipples on my bobbing bare breasts.
The sound of the rotors changes. We have arrived in Baghdad and the chopper is settling over the roof of a building ... presumably Mukhabarat headquarters.The big bird touches down smoothly and the pilot cuts the engine. The two men opposite me are immediately on their feet to unshackle my wrists and escort me, arms pinned behind my back, to the exit.
I step out into the late morning sunshine. The backdraft from the still rotating rotors blows my hair across my face, and I bend down ... like I have seen them do in the opening credits of MASH ... as I am led away from the chopper. Glancing back over my shoulder ... I see that Siss is not far behind, her naked form supported limply between a second pair of Mukhabarat thugs. Judging from her disheveled appearance, her time in the rear compartment of the chopper must have been anything but pleasant.
Our friendly hosts waste no time in getting their little propaganda scheme going. We are led down into the bowels of the building to a tiled room with a drain in the center of the floor to be cleaned up enough to be presentable.
I am told to remove my desert camouflage pants. I do so slowly, eyeing our handlers warily. Siss is already naked. They shove us roughly up against and facing the wall. A moment later I am hit full in the back with a blast of icy cold water. We squirm, twist, and slip about on the wet floor under the steady and powerful hosing. I grab onto her for support. She clutches at me, sopping wet blonde hair covering her face.
The stinging water stream is splayed back and forth over our nude bodies, targeting especially ... it seems with particular delight for those aiming the hose nozzles ... our faces, breasts and privates. I try to stand, but fall, dragging her down with me. We become entangled in each other's arms and legs, slipping and sliding around on the floor, frantically rolling over one another in one direction then the other, much to the continued amusement of our handlers.
In the end, when they finally turn off the water, we huddle together against the wall, shivering and clinging desperately to each other.
A couple of threadbare towels are tossed to us. While the Mukhabarat men look on, we slowly get to our feet and begin to dry ourselves off. They give us each a comb. And as I work the snarls out of my hair, I am handed a torn and tattered olive-green flight suit and told to put it on.
I bend over and step into it, one foot at a time, pull it up over my hips, slide my arms into the sleeves, one of which is half ripped off, and try to zip up the front ... but the zipper is damaged, so I just hold it together at the chest as best I can with my hand. I notice the name tag sewn on the front says, "Lt. B. Moore."
"I guess they want us to look presentable," I say to Siss, while trying unsuccessfully to find a better way to keep the open front of my flight suit from flying open.
"And I forgot my Chapstick," she quips.
"Very funny."
"What do you think they are up to?"
"They want to show us off."
"Oh great!"
As soon as we are dressed, they take us upstairs to a brightly lit room with a raised stage in front of a video camera set on a tripod. Photos of a downed American plane, destroyed homes, rows of laid-out dead bodies, and mourning villagers, flash in sequence on the wall behind the stage.
The high ranking officer called Barzan, who picked us up in the chopper back at the Iraqi desert base at which we had been held after being captured ... and who had told me on the flight to Baghdad of the Mukhabarat scheme to exploit the two of us in order to score an international propaganda coup ... strides purposely into the room.
"Get up on stage and face the camera!" he orders, addressing us and clapping his hands loudly. Then, handing me a sheet of paper, he adds, "You will read this confession into the camera."
Wearily, I step up onto the stage, turn and face the camera, as told. With Siss peering anxiously over my shoulder, I scan the statement typed on the sheet of paper:
My country entered this war with the publicly stated purpose of opposing an alleged invasion of Kuwait. This was a subterfuge to conceal our real objective, which was to launch a modern day crusade to divide and conquer the Arab world and gain control of the region's vast oil reserves. To further this goal I, as a U.S. pilot, have callously engaged in the cowardly murder from the sky of innocent women and children, as well as participating in the wanton slaughter of surrendering soldiers. May the government of Iraq have mercy upon me, though none is deserved.
The officer nods, waving his hand to the camera crew in a go ahead signal.
"I cannot and will not read this," I declare, looking straight into the camera with a defiant expression on my face, and forgetting to hold the front of my flight suit together. For added good measure, Siss gestures at the camera with middle finger extended.
"Stop! Stop!" growls the officer, "What do you two think you are doing? You have nothing to gain by being obstinate. If you know what is good for, you will cooperate. Now … read the statement!"
"No!"
"Read it now or I will have to turn you over to Saddam's brother, Uday Hussein, for a little ‘persuasion’ session down in the cellars. You have heard of him and his methods, perhaps, yes?"
TO BE CONTINUED
And a thanks to both Siss and Tree for help with dialogue on this one.
Last edited:
Not Uday, NOOO!!!
This violates the Geneva Convention in so many ways!!!
-Barb
I don't think they care, Barb...
Tree
GIFs
This violates the Geneva Convention in so many ways!!!
-Barb
I don't think they care, Barb...
Tree
GIFs
SkatingJesus
King of the Crux Hill
Damn, I want to see the vidéo of the 1St gif, it looks great ! (the other too...)
I just found them randomly and of course the artists were not credited.
I didn't do it at first (I was even guilty of taking tags off pictures) but when I know where they are from I credit the source and will never remove an artist's tag!
I'll bet Barb knows where the last two came from...
T
Last two are from a whipping video with porn star "Little Caprice" ... you can google it.
I told you she would know... "Little Caprice" made good money playing Barb Moore but it won't save you, Pvt. Moore!!!Last two are from a whipping video with porn star "Little Caprice" ... you can google it.
Figures ... that the film industry would jump into production even before I was tortured and executed
and I'm very sure for that
xso
Tribune
Thank's for yet another thrilling episode! I am sure Mr Uday will give you a plesant experience!
Sharing a little research here ... according to an article in the Guardian ...
Of Saddam's two sons, Uday was the flamboyant one - towering well over 6ft, with a penchant for fast cars and loud and drunken parties, expensive suits and flowing robes, as well as murder, rape and torture. Uday's excesses carried over in his private life where he had a reputation for ordering any girl or woman who caught his eye to be brought to his private pleasure dome. The palace, a bad taste Arabian nights fantasy, was decorated with indoor fountains and erotic murals and was in the grounds of his father's presidential estate. He is also reported to have operated an even more private torture chamber on the banks of the Tigris.
Of Saddam's two sons, Uday was the flamboyant one - towering well over 6ft, with a penchant for fast cars and loud and drunken parties, expensive suits and flowing robes, as well as murder, rape and torture. Uday's excesses carried over in his private life where he had a reputation for ordering any girl or woman who caught his eye to be brought to his private pleasure dome. The palace, a bad taste Arabian nights fantasy, was decorated with indoor fountains and erotic murals and was in the grounds of his father's presidential estate. He is also reported to have operated an even more private torture chamber on the banks of the Tigris.
Just a shot - Jade Indica?
