M
montycrusto
Guest
No nit goes unpicked, no hair unsplit..
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BARB’S DYSTOPIAN DOLCETTISH DEMISE
- Thread starter Barbaria1
- Start date
twonines
LIMERICUS
This is so well done its good to know that you can be fallible too.
old slave
FELIS RESPICIENS
Does anyone know who this 'Barb' is, no-one here seems to fit the above description.
Spike Sharp
Guard
You wouldn't know fine journalism if it hit you on the head.Ah
Journalism at its very finest!
But for once I'll agree with you; great writing, Barb!
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
Although I gave this a "Love" upon reading it, my day has been such that I've had no time to write any detailed reaction. My favored technique of making wry or sarcastic remarks about bits of the chapter had been preempted by the fact that the chapter itself is written with such wry and sarcastic humor dripping off of every part, that there is no more to add.
Of course, behind the rolickingly funny set up here of the people and situation and attitudes, is a droolingly delicious foreview of a sound, one hopes devastating and erotic, whipping of the smug feminist teacher who was clearly responsible for all the carnage.
One feels like a unwashed Plebeian, sweating in the sun of the Flavian Amphitheater (nicknamed many years later as the Colosseum), munching on the stale but free bread donated by the Divine Caesar, coated with cheap but pungent garum sauce and watching a comely Christian lass being dragged half naked into the arena while a lion is brought in from the other side, and shouting, through multiple burps of that half-fermented British wine that was on irresistable sale at the merchant's on the way here this morning -
LET THERE BE BLOOD!
M
montycrusto
Guest
Ted Parry
Governor
That should tenderise the rump steaks
Hopefully not mine Monty ... she can be a bit touchy ...
jacksjg89
PROCRASTINATOR
Sue: "We shall have three holes"
Barb: "We already do"
Sue: We shall call them them Harri(et), Gina, and Titties.
This has to be based on some irl. Not that they are this hammy, but I can't imagine Barb would create a fake "guy-who-claims-he's-my-boyfriend" cause that would just be sad.
twonines
LIMERICUS
Tenderising before slaughter, that could create a whole new trend.That should tenderise the rump steaks
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
Don't count on it! The stress of the whipping strains her muscles to the extent that, when she is roasted immediately after, the impact is irreversible, and the meat will be so leathery, it will only be good for use in a bouillon or stock.That should tenderise the rump steaks
13.
Barb, Sue, Kristin and the three Graingers were seated around a table in the working sows’ canteen, taking a morning break from the meat-packing work detail to which they had been assigned, when Kristin suddenly pointed to the canteen’s large overhead screen, and exclaimed, “Look! Isn’t that our Ms. Whitaker?”
Barb, looked up ... just as the camera zoomed in for a close-up of Rose’s wide-eyed, frantic reaction to a pair of matrons’ spread-eagling her between two whipping posts ... and gasped, “Holy Shit ... you’re right ... that is Rose!”
“What’s going on?” cried Kristin. “It looks like they’re preparing to whip her! Why? What in the world could Ms. Whitaker have done to deserve that?”
“If you had been paying attention to what is happening in the world, Kristin, instead of focusing on all that stupid cheerleader shit, you might actually have a clue!” snapped Barb irritably.
“Kristin, what Barb is saying,” intervened Sue diplomatically,” is that Ms. Whitaker was a big, behind the scenes, backer of the idea to protest this year’s FNPA cull. Judging from what’s going on up on that screen, it appears the FNPA has figured that out, arrested Rose and is making a public example of her.”
“What protest was that?”
Barb rolled her eyes.
The Graingers looked on in apparent puzzlement.
“So, I take it you three always bicker.” observed Megan drily.
Barb started to say something, but everyone’s attention was drawn back to the screen, where an ad break had come to an end, and an action shot of the naked figure of Rose Whitaker ... straining desperately at her bonds ... had appeared, followed by a panning shot of the intently eager faces of the live audience.
“Oh, my God!”
“What is it, Barb? You look like you’ve seen a ghost?” said Sue.
“There! In the front row! It’s Joey Farnsworth!”
“Hmmmm ... so it is!”
“That little shit! Wouldn’t you know he’d show up for something like this?”
The screen image shifted to a shot of Rose, taken from behind ... capturing a sudden horizontal blur, a flinching Rose and the near immediate appearance of a thin red line across her shoulder blades. The audio part featured a sharp zinging sound, followed by a reactive yelp of pain and a round of applause from the live audience.
For the next 10 minutes Barb and the others watched, mouths agape, as nine more slashing lashes were systematically administered to Rose’s bare backside, ranging downward in steady measured progression from the top of her shoulders to the very top of her thighs. And to which she reacted, with frenzied bodily twists and turns that rattled the shackles that held her in place between the uprights. The girls took that all in ... along with listening to Rose’s accompanying grunts, plaintive cries and curses.
“Well, there you have it folks ... the first ten lashes ... one quarter of Rose’s sentence! Time for a pause,” announced the program host, Guy Wirt, as the camera picked him up and tracked him circling around to hold a microphone in front of Rose’s face.
“Ms. Whitaker! You were doing a lot of jumping around, and I detected some swear words there that one certainly wouldn’t expect to hear from an educator like yourself. Would you care to tell our viewing audience what it was like to take those first ten lashes, and how you are feeling about the fact that you have thirty more to go?”
She looked at him incredulously, but said nothing.
“Cat’s got her tongue,” he quipped, laughing at his own joke and mugging for the camera.”
“What a jerk!” said Megan.
The other Graingers nodded in solemn agreement.
Meanwhile the camera was tracking the nonplussed emcee as he headed over to the live audience.
“Well viewers, since Ms. Whitaker appears to be uncommunicative, let’s ask Joey Farnsworth whether he thinks he’s seeing what he came to see.”
“Duh. Of course he has!” declared Barb with a look of disdain.
“Well, what can I say,” smirked Joey wolfishly. Those three ass strokes were spectacular. Loved the way Rosie’s scrumptious globes responded! Did you catch how they jiggled? Hope all my pals back home were watching!”
“Indeed, now let’s get back to the main event. I see they have activated the turntable, which means Ms. Whitaker will be facing the whipping machine for the next ten!”
The camera zoomed in to do a full frontal body scan of the poor woman, as she looked in terror at the whipping machine, which was making whirring noises as it positioned itself to deliver the next ten.
Barb and the others stared transfixed as the camera scan played in deliberate fashion over Rose’s lightly freckled upper chest, lingered over each of her full pale breasts, tracked a tiny droplet of sweat meandering down her breast bone, descended over her noticeably trembling midriff, zooming in briefly on her navel before moving on to loiter over her mound and its neatly trimmed triangular patch of fine auburn hair, before zooming in on the sweet spot between her spread legs.
“Oooooh, gross! exclaimed Kristin, hands covering her eyes.”
“Shameless televised voyeurism!” commented Sue.
Seconds later, the camera zoomed out to capture the delivery of the first of ten frontal lashes, which swept across Rose’s chest at armpit level. The next one tore straight across her nipples, slicing into one ... drawing blood and eliciting an anguished howl of pain. From there, the whipping machine subjected her to the the same kind of downward methodical progression of strokes she had experienced earlier, until the eighth reached mid-hips and cut across her mound.
Then with a mechanical whirring and grinding sound, the whipping machine repositioned itself along with the angle of its striking arm, in preparation for directing the final two strokes of the ten-lash set to cut into her sex from below.
Panning upward, shortly thereafter, the camera captured Rose’s head resting momentarily, eyes closed, against an outstretched arm before slumping forward, chin to chest.
“Well viewers, it appears Ms. Whitaker has passed out after a mere twenty, but not before showing us some world class writhing and bucking moves as well as some really great screaming and shrieking! We’re going to take advantage of the time required for the matrons to revive her and turn her around for the next ten lashes, to pause for station identification and a commercial bre..........”
The screen had abruptly gone blank, startling Barb, Sue, Kristin and the Graingers ... who turned their attention in unison towards the canteen door where, much to there surprise and dismay, stood the head matron, hands on hips, surrounded by at least a dozen other matrons and guards.
“What the fuck do you stupid sows think you’re doing? Did you forget that you were supposed to report back to your meat packing detail more than 15 minutes ago!”
“Oh sorry, the time ... it ... got ... got away from us,” stammered Kristin. “You see ... this teacher from our school ... she appeared on that screen ... and ... “
“Shut the fuck up! You’d all better report back to work immediately, but not before we take a moment to administer a ‘correction’. Sloth will not be tolerated here. Line up over here ... all of you and make it snappy! Now lift those tees, bend over and grip your knees.”
TO BE CONTINUED
Barb, Sue, Kristin and the three Graingers were seated around a table in the working sows’ canteen, taking a morning break from the meat-packing work detail to which they had been assigned, when Kristin suddenly pointed to the canteen’s large overhead screen, and exclaimed, “Look! Isn’t that our Ms. Whitaker?”
Barb, looked up ... just as the camera zoomed in for a close-up of Rose’s wide-eyed, frantic reaction to a pair of matrons’ spread-eagling her between two whipping posts ... and gasped, “Holy Shit ... you’re right ... that is Rose!”
“What’s going on?” cried Kristin. “It looks like they’re preparing to whip her! Why? What in the world could Ms. Whitaker have done to deserve that?”
“If you had been paying attention to what is happening in the world, Kristin, instead of focusing on all that stupid cheerleader shit, you might actually have a clue!” snapped Barb irritably.
“Kristin, what Barb is saying,” intervened Sue diplomatically,” is that Ms. Whitaker was a big, behind the scenes, backer of the idea to protest this year’s FNPA cull. Judging from what’s going on up on that screen, it appears the FNPA has figured that out, arrested Rose and is making a public example of her.”
“What protest was that?”
Barb rolled her eyes.
The Graingers looked on in apparent puzzlement.
“So, I take it you three always bicker.” observed Megan drily.
Barb started to say something, but everyone’s attention was drawn back to the screen, where an ad break had come to an end, and an action shot of the naked figure of Rose Whitaker ... straining desperately at her bonds ... had appeared, followed by a panning shot of the intently eager faces of the live audience.
“Oh, my God!”
“What is it, Barb? You look like you’ve seen a ghost?” said Sue.
“There! In the front row! It’s Joey Farnsworth!”
“Hmmmm ... so it is!”
“That little shit! Wouldn’t you know he’d show up for something like this?”
The screen image shifted to a shot of Rose, taken from behind ... capturing a sudden horizontal blur, a flinching Rose and the near immediate appearance of a thin red line across her shoulder blades. The audio part featured a sharp zinging sound, followed by a reactive yelp of pain and a round of applause from the live audience.
For the next 10 minutes Barb and the others watched, mouths agape, as nine more slashing lashes were systematically administered to Rose’s bare backside, ranging downward in steady measured progression from the top of her shoulders to the very top of her thighs. And to which she reacted, with frenzied bodily twists and turns that rattled the shackles that held her in place between the uprights. The girls took that all in ... along with listening to Rose’s accompanying grunts, plaintive cries and curses.
“Well, there you have it folks ... the first ten lashes ... one quarter of Rose’s sentence! Time for a pause,” announced the program host, Guy Wirt, as the camera picked him up and tracked him circling around to hold a microphone in front of Rose’s face.
“Ms. Whitaker! You were doing a lot of jumping around, and I detected some swear words there that one certainly wouldn’t expect to hear from an educator like yourself. Would you care to tell our viewing audience what it was like to take those first ten lashes, and how you are feeling about the fact that you have thirty more to go?”
She looked at him incredulously, but said nothing.
“Cat’s got her tongue,” he quipped, laughing at his own joke and mugging for the camera.”
“What a jerk!” said Megan.
The other Graingers nodded in solemn agreement.
Meanwhile the camera was tracking the nonplussed emcee as he headed over to the live audience.
“Well viewers, since Ms. Whitaker appears to be uncommunicative, let’s ask Joey Farnsworth whether he thinks he’s seeing what he came to see.”
“Duh. Of course he has!” declared Barb with a look of disdain.
“Well, what can I say,” smirked Joey wolfishly. Those three ass strokes were spectacular. Loved the way Rosie’s scrumptious globes responded! Did you catch how they jiggled? Hope all my pals back home were watching!”
“Indeed, now let’s get back to the main event. I see they have activated the turntable, which means Ms. Whitaker will be facing the whipping machine for the next ten!”
The camera zoomed in to do a full frontal body scan of the poor woman, as she looked in terror at the whipping machine, which was making whirring noises as it positioned itself to deliver the next ten.
Barb and the others stared transfixed as the camera scan played in deliberate fashion over Rose’s lightly freckled upper chest, lingered over each of her full pale breasts, tracked a tiny droplet of sweat meandering down her breast bone, descended over her noticeably trembling midriff, zooming in briefly on her navel before moving on to loiter over her mound and its neatly trimmed triangular patch of fine auburn hair, before zooming in on the sweet spot between her spread legs.
“Oooooh, gross! exclaimed Kristin, hands covering her eyes.”
“Shameless televised voyeurism!” commented Sue.
Seconds later, the camera zoomed out to capture the delivery of the first of ten frontal lashes, which swept across Rose’s chest at armpit level. The next one tore straight across her nipples, slicing into one ... drawing blood and eliciting an anguished howl of pain. From there, the whipping machine subjected her to the the same kind of downward methodical progression of strokes she had experienced earlier, until the eighth reached mid-hips and cut across her mound.
Then with a mechanical whirring and grinding sound, the whipping machine repositioned itself along with the angle of its striking arm, in preparation for directing the final two strokes of the ten-lash set to cut into her sex from below.
Panning upward, shortly thereafter, the camera captured Rose’s head resting momentarily, eyes closed, against an outstretched arm before slumping forward, chin to chest.
“Well viewers, it appears Ms. Whitaker has passed out after a mere twenty, but not before showing us some world class writhing and bucking moves as well as some really great screaming and shrieking! We’re going to take advantage of the time required for the matrons to revive her and turn her around for the next ten lashes, to pause for station identification and a commercial bre..........”
The screen had abruptly gone blank, startling Barb, Sue, Kristin and the Graingers ... who turned their attention in unison towards the canteen door where, much to there surprise and dismay, stood the head matron, hands on hips, surrounded by at least a dozen other matrons and guards.
“What the fuck do you stupid sows think you’re doing? Did you forget that you were supposed to report back to your meat packing detail more than 15 minutes ago!”
“Oh sorry, the time ... it ... got ... got away from us,” stammered Kristin. “You see ... this teacher from our school ... she appeared on that screen ... and ... “
“Shut the fuck up! You’d all better report back to work immediately, but not before we take a moment to administer a ‘correction’. Sloth will not be tolerated here. Line up over here ... all of you and make it snappy! Now lift those tees, bend over and grip your knees.”
TO BE CONTINUED
Last edited:
M
montycrusto
Guest
Whipped live on television??
Wow, that’s taking it to another levelSuper story Barb, so much to enjoy
Clearly this Joey was never going to be a keeper, although that seems a bit of an academic point now. Sorry I'm so far behind in my reading, incidentally.
New friends?
Not really fair. Doesn't this FPNA outfit work like a finishing feed lot. Plenty of time to become Prime.
