One never knows …. Could well happen before this story concludes. I’ll take it under advisement
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A Legendary Heroic Tale: They Say It Actually Happened in Nottingham in 1191
- Thread starter Barbaria1
- Start date
Davec5299
Magistrate
One never knows …. Could well happen before this story concludes. I’ll take it under advisement
Barb's surely fearing the worst.
Of the old executioner's thirst.
His cock up the ass
of the sorely-whipped lass
Would leave the poor girl forever cursed.
Migoz2
Senator
Who are you and what have you done with @Barbaria1?
Well, that's a bit about the robbing from the rich that didn't make it into other accounts.
He seems to have left Barb in a bit of a pickle though.
Tmaster
Governor
You sent me on a Google search there, Loxuru. I couldn't think of the name of the actor from the 1950's tv show. It was Richard Greene.View attachment 1412890 That's Carcasonne, not Nottingham in the background! That guy is clearly a French imposter!
You know me too well
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
He has the tools to do so!
Aslin nee 8ball
Governor
I have just come across this wonderful tale. Very strong work indeed. And they say women have no writing skills. Absurd.
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
Yeah! Barb's writings read like savouring excellent Riesling!
Aslin nee 8ball
Governor
Crowd in frenzy threw hands in the air
Hurry constable and strip her bare
Big man’s arm at the ready
Whip cracks loud and steady
Screams and writhing in total despair
Hurry constable and strip her bare
Big man’s arm at the ready
Whip cracks loud and steady
Screams and writhing in total despair
Episode 05
Nottingham Market Square, near the noon hour, Saturday 15th June 1191
Eyes closed, forehead pressed against the whitewashed patina of the whipping post, she waited grimly for the first stroke of that fearsome looking whip across her bared back.
Not far above the crown of her head, two iron wrist cuffs secured her in place. Set just high enough by the town executioner to keep her tethered tight against the post, but also low enough to allow her the freedom to squirm and writhe about … exactly the kind of reactive dance under the lash he knew would titillate the crowd.
She knew that instinctively. And true to character, she’d resolved to deny them the pleasure. She would do her absolute best to stand calmly in place and absorb the punishment about to be meted out to her without so much as a flinch.
She was not prepared, however, for the abrupt and sudden manner in which the loose-fitting shift she wore was ripped from her shoulders and tugged downward … until it came to rest clinging precariously to her hips. Nor to the thunderous volume of the cheer that evoked from the eager crowd.
Recovering quickly, she reconfirmed her resolve in her mind. She cast a brave thin smile towards the executioner as he withdrew his whip from the bucket of brine. Then turned her face to the post, focusing intently on a prominent gnarl on the surface of the wood.
The moment had come. The executioner took his place several measured paces behind and off to her left. And an anticipatory hush fell over the crowded market square, broken only by the voice of one of her sisters bawling, “C’mon! Get on with it! We haven’t got all day! Give it to her … Let her have it!”
It was exactly at that moment that Friar Tuck raised two fingers … the signal that Maid Marion was expected to have relayed to Little John, one of Robin’s most trusted men.
Little John had secured himself, according to plan, atop the Chapel Bar Gate, which stood just beyond and directly to the west of the market square. From that vantage point he was well positioned to relay signals from down on the square to Robin and his Merry Men. All of whom were secluded, along with their horse mounts, some distance outside the town along the Derby Road.
Tuck’s two finger signal was to alert Robin to the fact that the whipping was about to begin … and cautioning him that the Sheriff’s men were lying in wait and that to take appropriate cautionary action.
Unfortunately, Marion, by that time … having now seen Barbara’s exceptional beauty … and experiencing a rather serious bout of jealousy … had decided to pass on only a one-finger signal, indicating that the whipping was about to commence and that there were no soldiers present. She had decided that it might be in her interest if the rescue were to be surprised, beaten off and aborted.
From atop Chapel Bar Gate, just as the first lash broke across Barbara’s back, little John dutifully relayed the signal.
That first lash had been both well-aimed and extraordinarily forceful. The executioner, ever conscious of the need to get the spectators into the game early, always took care to make that first stroke a particularly shocking one for the recipient.
And it was.
Delivered with both precision and force, it sliced squarely from left to right across Barbara’s bare back, the knotted end sailing around her side to grab at and dig into the soft flesh of her right breast at a point just barely below the nipple.
The reaction was instantaneous. Her determination to show no response had evaporated immediately. As her body was driven forward into the post, the sharp intensity of the strike forced her to throw her head back and to voice a full-throated scream.
That along with the spontaneously appreciative roar of the crowd was exactly what the executioner had hoped for. And he smiled to himself with satisfaction as he viewed the inflamed track left by the first lash across her back and thoughtfully considered the placement of the second.
Out in a copse of trees flanking the Derby Road, Robin and his men hastened to mount up. The plan called for them to pass through Chapel Bar Gate at full gallop, whooping at the top of their lungs to frighten and scatter the crowd. Then Robin, was to leap from his horse to the scaffolding, quickly subdue the executioner, and then, with the assistance of Friar Tuck, free Barbara from the post, toss her onto his waiting mount, held in place by Maid Marion, and ride away with her to the safety of Sherwood Forest.
As the rescue was thus being mounted outside the town, up on the scaffolding the executioner delivered the second lash … this time aimed to strike low, close to where the folds of her half-removed shift clung to the curve of her narrow hips.
The strike hit home with a vengeance, causing her to twist sharply to one side, raise a leg, cry out, and stomp her feet several times. All of which was too much for the shift, which slipped from her hips to settle down around her ankles.
Once again the crowd roared its delight.
“That’s our Barbara!” shouted one of her sister gleefully above the din. “Never one to leave anything half done!”
The executioner affected a theatrical bow before returning to the task at hand.
Mounted on his horse, strategically and safely placed at the very edge of the south side of the square, the High Sheriff smiled. His harlot wife was getting all she deserved and more. And, with any luck, his men just might bag her lover too!
TBC
Nottingham Market Square, near the noon hour, Saturday 15th June 1191
Eyes closed, forehead pressed against the whitewashed patina of the whipping post, she waited grimly for the first stroke of that fearsome looking whip across her bared back.
Not far above the crown of her head, two iron wrist cuffs secured her in place. Set just high enough by the town executioner to keep her tethered tight against the post, but also low enough to allow her the freedom to squirm and writhe about … exactly the kind of reactive dance under the lash he knew would titillate the crowd.
She knew that instinctively. And true to character, she’d resolved to deny them the pleasure. She would do her absolute best to stand calmly in place and absorb the punishment about to be meted out to her without so much as a flinch.
She was not prepared, however, for the abrupt and sudden manner in which the loose-fitting shift she wore was ripped from her shoulders and tugged downward … until it came to rest clinging precariously to her hips. Nor to the thunderous volume of the cheer that evoked from the eager crowd.
Recovering quickly, she reconfirmed her resolve in her mind. She cast a brave thin smile towards the executioner as he withdrew his whip from the bucket of brine. Then turned her face to the post, focusing intently on a prominent gnarl on the surface of the wood.
The moment had come. The executioner took his place several measured paces behind and off to her left. And an anticipatory hush fell over the crowded market square, broken only by the voice of one of her sisters bawling, “C’mon! Get on with it! We haven’t got all day! Give it to her … Let her have it!”
It was exactly at that moment that Friar Tuck raised two fingers … the signal that Maid Marion was expected to have relayed to Little John, one of Robin’s most trusted men.
Little John had secured himself, according to plan, atop the Chapel Bar Gate, which stood just beyond and directly to the west of the market square. From that vantage point he was well positioned to relay signals from down on the square to Robin and his Merry Men. All of whom were secluded, along with their horse mounts, some distance outside the town along the Derby Road.
Tuck’s two finger signal was to alert Robin to the fact that the whipping was about to begin … and cautioning him that the Sheriff’s men were lying in wait and that to take appropriate cautionary action.
Unfortunately, Marion, by that time … having now seen Barbara’s exceptional beauty … and experiencing a rather serious bout of jealousy … had decided to pass on only a one-finger signal, indicating that the whipping was about to commence and that there were no soldiers present. She had decided that it might be in her interest if the rescue were to be surprised, beaten off and aborted.
From atop Chapel Bar Gate, just as the first lash broke across Barbara’s back, little John dutifully relayed the signal.
That first lash had been both well-aimed and extraordinarily forceful. The executioner, ever conscious of the need to get the spectators into the game early, always took care to make that first stroke a particularly shocking one for the recipient.
And it was.
Delivered with both precision and force, it sliced squarely from left to right across Barbara’s bare back, the knotted end sailing around her side to grab at and dig into the soft flesh of her right breast at a point just barely below the nipple.
The reaction was instantaneous. Her determination to show no response had evaporated immediately. As her body was driven forward into the post, the sharp intensity of the strike forced her to throw her head back and to voice a full-throated scream.
That along with the spontaneously appreciative roar of the crowd was exactly what the executioner had hoped for. And he smiled to himself with satisfaction as he viewed the inflamed track left by the first lash across her back and thoughtfully considered the placement of the second.
Out in a copse of trees flanking the Derby Road, Robin and his men hastened to mount up. The plan called for them to pass through Chapel Bar Gate at full gallop, whooping at the top of their lungs to frighten and scatter the crowd. Then Robin, was to leap from his horse to the scaffolding, quickly subdue the executioner, and then, with the assistance of Friar Tuck, free Barbara from the post, toss her onto his waiting mount, held in place by Maid Marion, and ride away with her to the safety of Sherwood Forest.
As the rescue was thus being mounted outside the town, up on the scaffolding the executioner delivered the second lash … this time aimed to strike low, close to where the folds of her half-removed shift clung to the curve of her narrow hips.
The strike hit home with a vengeance, causing her to twist sharply to one side, raise a leg, cry out, and stomp her feet several times. All of which was too much for the shift, which slipped from her hips to settle down around her ankles.
Once again the crowd roared its delight.
“That’s our Barbara!” shouted one of her sister gleefully above the din. “Never one to leave anything half done!”
The executioner affected a theatrical bow before returning to the task at hand.
Mounted on his horse, strategically and safely placed at the very edge of the south side of the square, the High Sheriff smiled. His harlot wife was getting all she deserved and more. And, with any luck, his men just might bag her lover too!
TBC
settantuno
MUTUS PICTOR
Attachments
settantuno
MUTUS PICTOR
sorry...I had translated the English badly and left clothes around the hips (instead of the ankles).
Attachments
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
Gangster's sweethearts rarely excel in intelligence and long-term thinking!
settantuno
MUTUS PICTOR
Gangster's sweethearts rarely excel in intelligence and long-term thinking!
ok....gasp
Last edited by a moderator:
settantuno
MUTUS PICTOR
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
Barb and Marion shackled to one stake and both whipped!