come off it Tree, you know damn well,
if she'd opened her legs, she'd have just got shagged
and still ended up on the chain-gang,
with a 'like' on her bum from Judge Frank N Stein.
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Ku Krux Klan
- Thread starter Barbaria1
- Start date
if she'd opened her legs, she'd have just got shagged
and still ended up on the chain-gang,
with a 'like' on her bum from Judge Frank N Stein.
Thessela
Beloved slavegirl
Is this where the Crux girls are going on our Spring break? Great story Moore.
See the South, they said!
It's beautiful, they said!
P
Pia
Guest
So
Sounds a fun sort of place to me!
RacingRodent
Consul
Well it might not do Barb's case much good but some Northerners have traditionally found ways to enjoy their visits
She could have at least tried....come off it Tree, you know damn well,
if she'd opened her legs, she'd have just got shagged
and still ended up on the chain-gang,
with a 'like' on her bum from Judge Frank N Stein.
I think this link gives a nice idea of what Barb and her friends will get up to on their vacation trip:
http://shannahan.photoshelter.com/gallery/Maricopa-County-Female-Chain-Gang/G0000.U2XmBq34R8/
(and note, this is not history, it's going on today)
http://shannahan.photoshelter.com/gallery/Maricopa-County-Female-Chain-Gang/G0000.U2XmBq34R8/
(and note, this is not history, it's going on today)
8. Almost immediately upon arrival at Crux Hill Correctional Farm we are hustled off by guards to the main building for "intake".
As I pass through the door, I glance back across the parade ground just in time to see the bouncing red tail lights of the van that delivered us pass through the gate on its return to town. For better or worse, we are here to stay.
The guards are in uniform, both men and women. No one smiles. The women look meaner than the men. Some control snarling dogs on leashes.
They escort us into a large room and order us to sit on a concrete floor that slopes gently toward a large drain near its center. Hoses are brought out and we are treated to a "welcoming bath."
The hoses are turned on us. We hold up our hands and slip, slide and fall all over one another under the high pressure streams of icy cold water. The dogs bark and snap at us if we try to crawl away from the hosing.
When it is all over we huddle together, naked and shivering, glancing fearfully at one another, wondering what next. The guards move swiftly among us, spacing us out on the cold wet floor, and putting us in irons linked together by a long chain.
The door to the room swings open and and the Warden swaggers in and plants himself in front of us. He is an extraordinarily large, bull of a man ... A stereotypical "drill sergeant" type, but with an incongruously smallish head, which appears rather comically, and even smaller, tucked under a large Smoky-the-Bear-style ranger hat and between a pair of out-sized ears.
"Welcome to the Farm ladies," he says, facing us with feet spaced apart and flexing a long riding crop in his hands.
"We hope your stay here at Crux Hill will be an enjoyable one. You can ensure that it is by carefully following the rules. Listen up now while I lay them out for you.
"First the daily routine. Breakfast is at 5 am. You muster on the parade ground one half hour later at 5:30, at which time you will be assigned to work details. Work begins at 6 am, lunch break is at high noon, work ceases at 6 pm. Evening muster on the parade ground is at 6:30, followed by dinner, showers and bed."
"That's a twelve hour work day," I call out, "isn't there some kind of law against that?"
One of the guards reaches out and cuffs me on the back of the head.
"You have been sentenced to hard labor!" he reminds us, flexing his crop more vigorously, "that means you will slave each day you are here till you drop. Slacking will earn you demerits, which will be commuted to punishments administered in front of everyone at either morning or evening musters, and if necessary during the work day."
"Are you going to give us anything to wear?" I demand, this time ducking to avoid the inevitable cuff on the back of my head, but receiving a kick in the ribs instead.
"It's summer in Mississippi. It's always hot. New arrivals work naked. You have to earn the right to be clothed here."
He lets that sink in.
"Now on your feet. The guards will escort you to the mess hall, and after dinner to the barracks. I bid you good evening ladies, except for you Moore. You will remain seated on the floor."
With a rustling of chains the others get up and depart. I remain seated as ordered. I toss my soggy hair away from my face and gaze up defiantly as he saunters over, bends over me, and locks an iron collar and chain around my neck.
"Your reputation for insolence and disobedience precedes you Moore!" he hisses, "special arrangements have accordingly been prepared for your first night here."
TO BE CONTINUED
(pics provided by THT)
As I pass through the door, I glance back across the parade ground just in time to see the bouncing red tail lights of the van that delivered us pass through the gate on its return to town. For better or worse, we are here to stay.
The guards are in uniform, both men and women. No one smiles. The women look meaner than the men. Some control snarling dogs on leashes.
They escort us into a large room and order us to sit on a concrete floor that slopes gently toward a large drain near its center. Hoses are brought out and we are treated to a "welcoming bath."
The hoses are turned on us. We hold up our hands and slip, slide and fall all over one another under the high pressure streams of icy cold water. The dogs bark and snap at us if we try to crawl away from the hosing.
When it is all over we huddle together, naked and shivering, glancing fearfully at one another, wondering what next. The guards move swiftly among us, spacing us out on the cold wet floor, and putting us in irons linked together by a long chain.The door to the room swings open and and the Warden swaggers in and plants himself in front of us. He is an extraordinarily large, bull of a man ... A stereotypical "drill sergeant" type, but with an incongruously smallish head, which appears rather comically, and even smaller, tucked under a large Smoky-the-Bear-style ranger hat and between a pair of out-sized ears.
"Welcome to the Farm ladies," he says, facing us with feet spaced apart and flexing a long riding crop in his hands.
"We hope your stay here at Crux Hill will be an enjoyable one. You can ensure that it is by carefully following the rules. Listen up now while I lay them out for you.
"First the daily routine. Breakfast is at 5 am. You muster on the parade ground one half hour later at 5:30, at which time you will be assigned to work details. Work begins at 6 am, lunch break is at high noon, work ceases at 6 pm. Evening muster on the parade ground is at 6:30, followed by dinner, showers and bed."
"That's a twelve hour work day," I call out, "isn't there some kind of law against that?"
One of the guards reaches out and cuffs me on the back of the head.
"You have been sentenced to hard labor!" he reminds us, flexing his crop more vigorously, "that means you will slave each day you are here till you drop. Slacking will earn you demerits, which will be commuted to punishments administered in front of everyone at either morning or evening musters, and if necessary during the work day."
"Are you going to give us anything to wear?" I demand, this time ducking to avoid the inevitable cuff on the back of my head, but receiving a kick in the ribs instead.
"It's summer in Mississippi. It's always hot. New arrivals work naked. You have to earn the right to be clothed here."
He lets that sink in.
"Now on your feet. The guards will escort you to the mess hall, and after dinner to the barracks. I bid you good evening ladies, except for you Moore. You will remain seated on the floor."
With a rustling of chains the others get up and depart. I remain seated as ordered. I toss my soggy hair away from my face and gaze up defiantly as he saunters over, bends over me, and locks an iron collar and chain around my neck."Your reputation for insolence and disobedience precedes you Moore!" he hisses, "special arrangements have accordingly been prepared for your first night here."
TO BE CONTINUED
(pics provided by THT)
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A stereotypical "drill sergeant" type, but with an incongruously smallish head...
Small head on the shoulders means fat one in his pants
Small head on the shoulders means fat one in his pants
A stereotypical "drill sergeant" type, but with an incongruously smallish head...
Small head on the shoulders means fat one in his pants
I knew you were going to say that
Of course... back soon... snow starting to fall!!!I knew you were going to say that
P
Pia
Guest
Lovely soggy hair....
in bed by 1930, no need to wake till 0430,
that's a good 9 hours sleep -
what are you whingeing about?
P
Pia
Guest
Always thought they were soft that side of the pond. It's even warm where they work!!! Try the Russian Convict Road.... in fact, I have an idea....mmmm..... So Barbs, keep us warm and sweaty until I think of something the other side of Omsk.... something Decemberist maybe.... brrrrrrrin bed by 1930, no need to wake till 0430,
that's a good 9 hours sleep -
what are you whingeing about?
in bed by 1930, no need to wake till 0430,
that's a good 9 hours sleep -
what are you whingeing about?
You are assuming the bastards are actually going to let us sleep after lights are out ... big assumption that.
Now that is an idea worth exploring ... can't imagine how Barbs would suffer there and then.
P
Pia
Guest
Tell us, tell us - I know you will!!!! Lights out, ACTION!!!! Yes please! And it's hot and sweaty too!!!! Yummmy!!!!!
P
Pia
Guest
Well, I have a girl to kill in Hamburg first, but I think there's the making of something there. Perhaps you might start as a Princess in a St Petersburg salon... would that be nice? Before things go slightly awry of course....Now that is an idea worth exploring ... can't imagine how Barbs would suffer there and then.