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1834

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Oh Micky your so fine,your so fine you blow my mind!!!!
 
...These women are trying to 'out-old me'

T

I pick up my WESTERN ELECTRIC 100 desk set (how redundant; wall phones weren't invented yet) and dialed Judge Admi. The computerized voice that answered kept telling me to press some number and I did but nothing happened...
 
thehangingtree said:
...These women are trying to 'out-old me'

T

I pick up my WESTERN ELECTRIC 100 desk set (how redundant; wall phones weren't invented yet) and dialed Judge Admi. The computerized voice that answered kept telling me to press some number and I did but nothing happened...
Click to expand...
he was sleeping..............................deep
 
Flashbacks!

image.jpg >>>>image.jpg

A second escape ...

image.jpg Only to be faced with this!
 
Barbaria1 said:
"634-5789...that's my number"! Four Tops or the Temptations....I can't remember.
Click to expand...
Teehee!
I guess but I got it wrong! I was remembering this.

Tommy Tutone is a powerpop/rock band, best known for its 1982 hit "867-5309/Jenny", which peaked at #4 on the Billboard Hot 100.

Anyway!!!!
;p
 
LittleSiss said:
Teehee!
I guess but I got it wrong! I was remembering this.

Tommy Tutone is a powerpop/rock band, best known for its 1982 hit "867-5309/Jenny", which peaked at #4 on the Billboard Hot 100.

Anyway!!!!
;p
Click to expand...

I got it wrong too..."634-5789" was Wilson Pickett. I should have known that.
 
One sees a chance for a happy ending in 1834 since it was not opened in the 'Crucified Women' category...
When 867-5309/Jenny came out there was a nice elderly lady in south city that had the number for decades (since going from 6 to 7 digit local dialing). At first she wanted to keep her number so the phone company set up a call intercept that the operator would ask what party they were trying to reach. If they knew the woman's name the call was completed. As the song gained popularity the intercept operators were overwhelmed and at one point so many calls came in it brought down the central telephone switching office.
In a move at the time that was unprecedented all central offices across the US would not even transmit a call to the exchange.

This is why in TV and movies the phone number given is almost always 555-xxxx as the 555 exchange is not used in the US...

t

...not that you cared...
 
Barbaria1 said:
1834 Episode 5 – Escape​

Dawn is breaking as we are driven by our handlers into the camp quarry ... stiff, sore and sleepless after a long night staked out on the cold ground, tormented by crawling insects and other creatures. We are naked and our wrists are shackled and chained to a ringlet on our iron collars.

I am surprised at the size of the quarry. It is a huge hole in the ground in which literally hundreds of prisoners toil under the cruel whips of the guards. We are hustled to the lowest level, and ordered to pick up the large rocks that prisoners working above us with pickaxes pry loose and roll down the slope toward us. We stumble forward, our hands and feet still half numb, the color just beginning to return, a side effect of the tight leather straps of the night before.

Just as Emma warned, the work is hard and extremely dangerous. We work in teams. Siss and I work together to lift the heavy rocks and carry them over to the battered iron cart in which they are hauled away. Emma is paired with a woman who mysteriously says she is from the “northern forest”.

The work begins. We are driven forward among the piles of rocks by cursing guards holding their whips at the ready. Siss and I crouch down to lift a large jagged-edged rock. As we strain to lift it, a boulder-sized stone comes rumbling down the slope. We duck our heads.

The stone bounces over us and hurtles into another team with bone-crushing force. We look up to see two stricken women prisoners, covered with blood, screaming and writhing on the ground. Men shout, whips crack, and work goes on as if nothing has happened.

“Jesus!” cries Siss, “Emma was right, no one ‘ere cares what happens to us”. We are shaken, and with a glance to see if Emma is still ok, we set about lifting our rock again. The two mortally wounded women are dragged away and thrown in a pit.

We spend the rest of the morning slaving away at our task, warily watching for more flying boulders. The sun has risen, and we sweat as we work. Slackers are dragged to nearby posts and whipped.

I can see the weariness and exhaustion in Siss’ and Emma’s eyes, but we all move quickly for fear of being singled out and dragged away. “Keep together!” I hiss at the other two. “We need to be ready when the moment to escape arises!”

At last, with a loud clanging of a bell on top of a guard tower, the midday break is called. Work in the quarry comes to a halt. The guards gather the prisoners together and distribute battered metal cups containing a thin, barely warm, gruel.

As we sip from the cups one of the guards walks among us, singling out girls for what he calls “special duty”. Emma, Siss and I are selected and pushed off to one side with several others. We are quickly escorted over to the place where most of the guards have settled on a long bench to eat their lunch.

Remembering Emma’s story, from last night, I quickly guess what “special duty” means. “On yer knees bitches!” screams our handler. “The lads here would like you to give ‘em a nice li’l suck, ain’t that right boys?” he adds with a smirk.

My stomach churns with revulsion as I am thrown to my knees and made to face the prospect of sucking the ugly foul-smelling prick of the man in front of me, who has obligingly lowered his trousers, and is looking at me expectantly as he takes a swig from his tin of rum. Thoughts of Emma taking a bite run through my head, and I glance over to see Emma and Siss both kneeling beside me with looks of fear and loathing on their faces.

I send a strong and meaningful look their way, signaling “get over it; we need to do this no matter how revolting it may seem.” The smell coming from the stiff member of the guard in front of me made me feel nauseous.

The pig in front of Siss has the most grotesque member I have ever seen. Half way up it turned and then turned again, like it had been slammed in a hatch door. As he pulled her head closer to it, Siss glanced over at us her eyes filled with panic.

Just as we all were about to be forced down on the three hideously filthy peckers, the little rodent-faced man suddenly appeared, announcing some unexpected lunch time entertainment.

It seems that two of the other female prisoners have agreed to fight after being offered the removal of the day’s demerits. As I look over my shoulder, they are already squaring off, their naked sweaty bodies shimmering in the bright midday sun.

As the older yet obviously toned woman from the northern forest and younger French girl with the lovely thighs and hips stand face to face and begin to warily circle one another, the entire guard detail, as well as the other prisoners, begins to gather around them.

Forgetting all about us, the three eager slugs before us stand and run to see the fun, struggling to pull up their pants as they run. We are left alone, still kneeling in fear as the little rodent-faced man waves us to the outer edges of the quarry and points to the eastern sky.

A roar goes up, as the younger French girl neatly sidesteps a rush from the older woman who goes sprawling on the dusty ground, but she is quick and throws out one foot to bring the French girl to the ground as well. The y come to grips, rolling nakedly over and over in the dust, the cheering onlookers backing away to give the two combatants space.

It seems the older, stronger woman is now getting the best of it. She has the young blonde on her back, has straddled her hips, and as the younger girl kicks and squirms helplessly, the older woman leans forward to pin her arms. The onlookers close in, anticipating a quick victory, only to see the young girl squirm free and leap to her feet.

Sensing that the time is right -- everyone is distracted -- we back slowly away, then turn and run like the wind, crossing the quarry ground quickly, passing through the entrance gate, hoping we will find a blaze or a path someone had laid out for us.

It’s there; the rodent-faced man has left a white rag on a bush pointing the way. Naked and still cringing from our near miss, we scramble down the narrow path and out into the open bush.

It is a wide expanse and we are not sure which way is our path to freedom. But Emma says she knows the quickest way to the coast, so we follow like blind dogs. She takes the lead, we trail behind, wincing at the sharp rocks beneath our feet.

In the distance, I can hear the clanging of the Quarry bell, and the shouting of the guards. Our absence has been discovered.

We quicken our pace and head for the only wooded area around in hopes we will find some water and some shade from the midday sun. Emma is quick to tell us that our time is short and we can’t waste time or linger long. The woods is the obvious place for us to go and the guards know this and will be heading straight for them.

After 15 minutes or so of hard running, we find a stream and greedily drink our fill. Emma seems to think we should head deeper into the woods. We begin to climb a small hill. With each step the brush becomes thicker, branches and brambles scratch and prick our bare skin as we make our way through the thicket.

On the other side of the hill, we find a small clearing. As we step out of the woods a Roo darts across the open area. We all scream in surprise.

We stop to rest, flopping down on the cool meadow grass. But within minutes Emma is on her feet. She had grabbed a coil of rope as we left the quarry, and now she begins pulling on the older saplings near the edge of the woods.

“What are you doing?” Siss asks. “Let’s see if we can slow those bastards down a bit,” Emma replies as she begins to fashion a crude snare and then another. Emma also magically produces a key allowing us to rid ourselves of our chains and irons. We cover the ropes as best we can and run to the other side of the clearing and into the woods again.

Before too long after we hear two loud panicked yells and a string of curses. The voices of Bull and Gunner are unmistakable. We know our traps had worked, laughing hysterically we leave the woods and run into the open bush once more.

We make good time. It is late afternoon and yet there is still many hours of day light to come. The coast is still not in sight and I have no idea what we will do once we finally arrive; perhaps we will find a boat that will take us away from the island.

But suddenly we are surrounded by more than twenty Aborigines. They are as surprised to see us as we are to see them. Quickly they draw their weapons. Siss looks over at me and says, “You call that a knife?” Yet we have little choice but to raise our arms in surrender.

They quickly take us, throwing us to the ground and binding us by our wrists and ankles to long sturdy hunting poles. An aborigine takes hold of each end of the pole and we are suddenly suspended, arms and legs high, backs low to the ground.

I am not sure of their customs but am fairly sure that we will not be on the menu tonight. As to our fate, right now I am only concerned with the rough wooden pole scraping at my wrists and ankles as they carry us along, swaying back and forth like wild hogs at the end of a day’s hunting.

Our captors head out, single file, through the forest. My carriers are in the lead, Siss and Emma behind. We are being carried feet first, so my view is an upside down view of where I have been rather than where I am going. Every now and then I wince as branches swipe at my flanks and shoulders as we follow the narrow trail.

I see the trussed bodies of my companions every time we round a bend in the trail. My arms and legs begin to ache from the strain. The blood rushes to my head.

I hear Siss complaining loudly behind me, “What the hell is going on here … who are these people?

Emma hangs silently from her pole.

Eventually the procession comes to a halt. We have entered a clearing filled with huts. Women and children come running out, ogling us curiously. Three naked white women are obviously a curiosity to them. They point at us and laugh nervously.

One of the men gesticulates and calls out. Three women come running with gourds filled with some kind of yellow liquid that has a sickly sweet smell about it. Someone grabs my hair, lifts my head and begins forcing me to drink.

I resist, but my nose is held, and the liquid poured into my open mouth. I gag and choke and turn my head from side to side, but to no avail. The thick yellow liquid slops over my cheeks and chin, but also goes down my throat.

The same is happening to the other two. I can hear Emma protesting loudly, “No! I’m not drinking that! Stop! Stop!”

Siss is gagging and retching. I try to call out to her, but then the world begins to spin out of control. I feel woozy, and can no longer focus my eyes. Everything goes black.

I slowly come to a while later. Blinking my eyes, I try to take stock of the situation. We are still in the clearing with the aborigines. But we are no longer bound to the long poles. Each of us has been dragged over to and stood up against a thick wooden post, our hands tied behind it.

I straighten up and look around. Siss and then Emma are tied to posts directly to my left. Both are still unconscious, their butts pressed tightly against the posts, and their upper torsos and heads hanging forward. They are beginning to stir.

The men of the village are gathered together not far away, and talking excitedly. Emma, who is coming around quickly, listens intently. She says, “I know a little of their language; I picked it up from an aborigine woman at the labor camp. I think they are planning to sell us to the guards.”

At that moment, the heated conference seems to end and the men hurriedly troop off together into the forest, presumably to contact the search parties. We are left bound naked to our posts, warily eyeing the women and children as they come curiously toward us.

“I don’t like the looks of this,” I whisper to the others. The older one, who seems to be in charge, has a mean look in her eye.

“I think she likes us … I mean, I think she is givin’ us the eye … God! I hope I’m wrong! Yuck!” Siss says as she cringes and shakes her head.

More liquid is brought out. The women began smearing the sticky sweet smelling stuff all over our bodies, their hands and fingers probing everywhere. One woman brings out a basket full of snakes, and another with what look like lizards of some kind. One of the lizards is held out close to Siss’ face, its forked tongue darting in and out.

“Snakes! I hate snakes … I don’t mind bugs and mice, but I hate snakes” Siss screams as she squirms against the post.

A hissing spitting snake is released on the ground in front of each of us. The reptiles coil at first, and then begin advancing toward our feet. We shift around nervously against our posts.

Other women begin sharpening the ends of sticks and placing them on burning coals. Wisps of black smoke begin to rise from their glowing tips.

“Oh my God”, I scream. “They are gonna’ torture us while the men are away. “Quick, we ‘ave to do somethin!”

“What?” cries Siss hysterically, eyeing the snake slithering over her feet and winding its body around her ankles.

“I don’t know,” I yell, as a woman begins to poke experimentally at the nipple of one of my breasts with the hot smoldering blackened tip of a stick. “Ouch” I scream at the searing pain that courses through my breast.

As calmly as possible, Emma says in an even voice, “I know these people are terribly superstitious; they don’t really know what to make of us. They seem to be fascinated with Siss’ fair hair. Quick Siss! Do something to distract them.”

Picking up on Emma’s suggestion, Siss suddenly begins to shake and moan, and then to call out shrilly to the sky in a weird torrent of mumbo-jumbo type nonsense.

It works! The women suddenly back away, seem confused, and then following the lead of the elder woman, they bow down before us, chanting something unintelligible but otherworldly in Siss’ direction.

“Quick, get them to set us free”, shouts Emma. In the distance, I can already hear the baying of hounds. The men and the guards are approaching.

The snake begins uncoil it’s self from around Siss’ ankles and with one motion she places her foot behind its head and grips the snake with her toes and flips it into the air. The elder woman gasps and quickly orders the others to untie us, pointing and gesturing for us to run in the opposite direction of the oncoming guards.

Rubbing our chafed wrists we run from the clearing, into the bush, putting as much distance as possible between us and our pursuers as we can.

We run up a rise as we flee. We keep climbing, making our way around boulders, stumbling and sliding down the slopes of gullies, and struggling up the opposite sides.

We are nearly exhausted, on the point of collapse, when at last we come to a meadow. I can smell the sea. We are close now! “Hurry”, I yell, grabbing Siss by the hand and pulling her along.

We run across the grassy surface, the sound of the surf growing louder in our ears as we run. We reach the edge of the meadow. We stop suddenly, and step back. Out of breath, our hands on our knees, gasping for air, we look down over a cliff at the waves rolling in on a rocky beach hundreds of feet below.

“Oh, God no!” I scream, tears running from my eyes. Behind us we hear shouts and the baying of hounds. Moments later our pursuers burst on to the meadow. Pointing excitedly at us, they come running in our direction, the dogs in the lead, snarling menacingly, fangs bared.

“I think we are up the paddle without a stream unless we want to jump 500 feet into this one!!!” Siss says as the dogs surround us and the guards and the guards close in.

As they close in on us, we embrace in a desperate hug – the three of us naked and terrified, clinging desperately to each other. We are trapped. All our efforts have been in vain. Grasping for breathe, our choices are both bleak …


JUMP OR SURRENDER?


To Be Continued …
Click to expand...

Congratulations, good and exciting writing! As a manager of the prison production company, I have the following reflections:

1) You and Siss must be regarded as whiners! Complaining about lifting heavy rocks, during your prison time! In the 21:st century people PAY a lot of money to go to gym's and do weight lifting, and you are allowed to do it for free! Whiners! 10 extra lashes when you are caught from your escape!

2) I like the general rule that slackers are whipped! I really hate slackers!

3) Stop to complain about special duty! Normal company procedure, it is just exercised in different ways in different organizations!

Finally: SURRENDER!!! The prison authorities will be forgiving and understanding!!!!!!! (As you are executed in the cruellest way possible!)

(Pic showing how you will be welcomed in your cells, prior to your executions)

prison welcome.jpg
 
Congratulations, good and exciting writing! As a manager of the prison production company, I have the following reflections:

1) You and Siss must be regarded as whiners! Complaining about lifting heavy rocks, during your prison time! In the 21:st century people PAY a lot of money to go to gym's and do weight lifting, and you are allowed to do it for free! Whiners! 10 extra lashes when you are caught from your escape!

Whiners? We never whine, do we Siss? We pretty much to stick to complaining and bellyaching.

2) I like the general rule that slackers are whipped! I really hate slackers!

Only seems fair, I guess.

3) Stop to complain about special duty! Normal company procedure, it is just exercised in different ways in different organizations!

And who runs most organizations? Not us poor slaves!

Finally: SURRENDER!!! The prison authorities will be forgiving and understanding!!!!!!! (As you are executed in the cruellest way possible!)

So, how should we be executed in the next episode?

a) firing squad
b) crucified
c) burned at the stake
d) hung
e) impaled
f) garrotted
g) broken on the wheel
h) thrown to the dogs
i) other?

The polls are now open .....
 
A) Firing squad...that is probably the most likely way at a British military establishment
B) Crucified...does have its charms
C) Burned at the stake...well it is only about 45 years since the British legal system stopped considering this as the de jure way of disposing of criminal women in favour of...
D) Hanging....yes the sign of the times, progress, equality now women are hanged the same as men...that is if the Governor is one of those lefty Whigs of course
E) Impaled....did I tell you fellows about this nifty idea I learned off the wogs, you stick a sharp stake up a woman's bottom, raise her to vertical and watch as it takes her several hours to slide down
F) Garroted...nah too Spanish
G) Broken on the Wheel...well it does have a certain novelty value
H) Thrown to the dogs....what put the poor dears off their supper, show some feeling for the poor animals
I) other....well I would vote for death by old age but I expect to be outvoted :D
 
Barbaria1 said:
Congratulations, good and exciting writing! As a manager of the prison production company, I have the following reflections:

1) You and Siss must be regarded as whiners! Complaining about lifting heavy rocks, during your prison time! In the 21:st century people PAY a lot of money to go to gym's and do weight lifting, and you are allowed to do it for free! Whiners! 10 extra lashes when you are caught from your escape!

Whiners? We never whine, do we Siss? We pretty much to stick to complaining and bellyaching.

2) I like the general rule that slackers are whipped! I really hate slackers!

Only seems fair, I guess.

3) Stop to complain about special duty! Normal company procedure, it is just exercised in different ways in different organizations!

And who runs most organizations? Not us poor slaves!

Finally: SURRENDER!!! The prison authorities will be forgiving and understanding!!!!!!! (As you are executed in the cruellest way possible!)

So, how should we be executed in the next episode?

Garroted until you faint, then revived and hanged on a cross with ropes, taken down and put on a wheel where every bone in your body is broken. Finally your remains are thrown to the dogs!

a) firing squad
b) crucified
c) burned at the stake
d) hung
e) impaled
f) garrotted
g) broken on the wheel
h) thrown to the dogs
i) other?

The polls are now open .....
Click to expand...
 
...tree, Admi, RR, and others think that you being turned over to them is equivalent of being 'thrown to the dogs' insulting and insensitive, Barbaria...

T

...thank you, Ulrika, a drink will help my spirits....
 
Barbaria1 said:
Congratulations, good and exciting writing! As a manager of the prison production company, I have the following reflections:

1) You and Siss must be regarded as whiners! Complaining about lifting heavy rocks, during your prison time! In the 21:st century people PAY a lot of money to go to gym's and do weight lifting, and you are allowed to do it for free! Whiners! 10 extra lashes when you are caught from your escape!

Whiners? We never whine, do we Siss? We pretty much to stick to complaining and bellyaching.

2) I like the general rule that slackers are whipped! I really hate slackers!

Only seems fair, I guess.

3) Stop to complain about special duty! Normal company procedure, it is just exercised in different ways in different organizations!

And who runs most organizations? Not us poor slaves!

Finally: SURRENDER!!! The prison authorities will be forgiving and understanding!!!!!!! (As you are executed in the cruellest way possible!)

So, how should we be executed in the next episode?

a) firing squad
b) crucified
c) burned at the stake
d) hung
e) impaled
f) garrotted
g) broken on the wheel
h) thrown to the dogs
i) other?

The polls are now open .....
Click to expand...
a bit of each....
 
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