jacksjg89
PROCRASTINATOR
That makes sense then. Does all the hungry orphans gather around there at dinner?
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BARB’S DYSTOPIAN DOLCETTISH DEMISE
- Thread starter Barbaria1
- Start date
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
Here is so-called FNPA 'the meat supply of the nation'. Dip it in the sauce, close your eyes and swallow it!
jacksjg89
PROCRASTINATOR
Not judging the poor unfortunate, but is that piece the size of a cup of dipping sauce?View attachment 830664 Here is so-called FNPA 'the meat supply of the nation'. Dip it in the sauce, close your eyes and swallow it!
This is just spot on. Perfectly executed Dolcett setting, with our lovely Barb emoting as the main attraction, and I love the finger on the button in the corner. She is also well set for some attention up front there now that her rear end is occupied, al la Meredith's Last Interview
This isn't my favourite theme but your pic moves straight to my keeper list
Love your style.
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
Stunning.
Two holes used, the third wide open. Waiting for...?
jacksjg89
PROCRASTINATOR
Remember she still has her teeth, and isn't in a good mood. She's got a stick up her ass about something.Stunning.
Good to see professional detachment is alive and well in the public services.
I wondered who had that thing these days. Good to see you got it back.
This is the shoddy way these statutes are drafted. Always lots of loopholes.
That's the spirit. If you eat a mix of fats and grains, you'll be nicely marbled and look better on the plate.
Don't listen, Barb. She's just jealous of your tight little
15.
Rose Whitaker spent her last night on earth languishing on one of the FNPA Goose River Center’s ‘death row’ cells, along with twenty-nine other condemned souls.
Rose had been informed when they moved her from the infirmary ... where she had been treated for cuts and abrasions incurred during her public whipping ... to death row that she would hang at 10 am the next morning with the first batch of 30 sentenced to die ... that being the capacity of the Center’s new ‘mass gallows’. Two other batches of thirty would follow, plus a somewhat smaller batch to dispatch the remainder of the 117 condemned prisoners.
Shoved into the crowded cell in the middle of the night, she had to look around in the dim light for an open space she could occupy. Most of those occupying the cell appeared to be young, and most but not all were female. Everyone was naked and shackled and chained at both wrists and ankles. Some appeared to be asleep. Others eyed her curiously. The place reeked of unwashed bodies.
Shackled and chained, in the same manner as they were, Rose shuffled over to one of the few open spaces available. As she settled herself down on her haunches, a nearby voice said, “Rose ... I mean, Ms. Whitaker, is that you?”
She immediately recognized the intense, high pitched voice as that of Paul Montague, one of her former students at Hamilton High and a militantly revolutionary-minded member of her after school study group.
“I can’t believe you’re here, Rose ... joining us!” he gushed. “I’ve been telling everyone that we need to make a statement when they hang us in the morning ... show them our spirit ... our willingness to die for what’s right ... and now that you are here, our solidarity, as well.”
“Can it will ya, Paul!” groused an unidentified voice from somewhere in the cell.
“Paul, to be honest, I’m not as happy to be here as you are happy to have me here.”
“Oh, you’ll get over that, Ms. Whitaker, once you hear what I have planned,” replied Paul, nonplussed.
Next to Rose a body stirred.
“Oh Rose, I’m so sorry! I’m afraid the reason you’re here is that I ... well actually Paige and I ... were too scared and weak under torture ... we ... uh ... well ... we told them of your involvement. So sorry,” said Cindy, her voice shaking.
“Yeah sorry,” added Paige’s voice from just the other side of Cindy.
“Look, you two. I can well imagine the kind of extreme pressures you were up against. These bastards are not above torture, are they? It’s okay I accept what happened.”
“Thanks Rose,” sighed Cindy. “We’ll still always feel guilty though. And we were told those bastards had you whipped! The light in here is poor, but ... ummm ... you look, ok. I hope the whipping wasn’t too bad.”
“It was ... but they sent me afterwards to the infirmary where they applied a topical medication to the cuts and welts left by the whipping that turned out to be miraculously fast and effective.”
“Have you heard anything about Barb, Rose? Paige and I think of her often. We can’t help but wonder if she’s still alive.”
“Well, yes. I do have some news. They brought Barb into the infirmary while I was there. They didn’t allow talking but I managed to exchange a few words with her. Apparently she was coerced into participating in some kind of mock demonstration of how a piece of spitting equipment works. This was for that scumbag, Guy Wirt, and his television production crew. And during the demonstration there was some kind of accident, apparently caused by that idiot, Guy, himself. The good news is that Barb was not seriously injured, and is on her way to a full recovery. The bad news, though, is that Barb told me that she is scheduled to be spitted and live roasted, along with Hamilton High grads, Sue McDonaugh and Kristin Magruder, in just a few days from now.”
“Sad ... and that’s why we need to have a plan,” insisted Paul.
“What plan?” groaned Paige.
“Simple ... we show solidarity and conviction ... our execution will be televised ... it’s our last opportunity to make a bold statement of defiance.” announced Paul, raising his voice so that the entire cell and adjoining cells could hear. “This is what I have in mind. We refuse the offer of hoods or blindfolds, and then ...when the moment comes ... we ... all ... in unison ... clench our fists and shout ‘end the FNPA culls!’”
No one responded. All were lost in thought.
*********
At 9:30 am the long wait was over. The condemned had been awakened an hour earlier ... that is, those few who had actually been asleep. Everyone was served a light breakfast of buttered toast and coffee ... their last meal ... after which the guards and matrons herded them out of their cell and lined them up for the walk outdoors to the nearby execution grounds.
Rose, Paul, Cindy and Paige were close to the front of the column as they left the cell block and stepped into an already sweltering Midwestern summer morning. Crossing a grassy area, they passed between a pair of makeshift viewing stands full of spectators, and emerged before the Center’s new massive gallows structure ... which consisted of a raised scaffolding topped by three parallel overhead pre-fabricated metal trusses, from which dangled three rows of ten nooses each. Off to each side, was a raised platform on which technicians were manning television cameras emblazoned with Punishment Channel logos.
Awkwardly, they climbed the stairs to the scaffolding ... their shackled ankles making each step of the upward climb a challenging moment ... until they reached the top.
There the matrons and guards quickly arranged them in three ranks of ten, facing the viewing stands, slipped a noose over the head of each of the condemned, and tightened it near the ear on the left side of their heads.
Beneath their feet were three long hinged sections of decking, which were quite obviously and ominously intended to fall away when the fateful moment arrived.
The condemned comported themselves well. Once they had been positioned and noosed, they stood quietly in their respective places ... save for some nervous shifting of feet, an occasional sideways glance at a neighbor, or a craning of the neck to look skyward and check the moorings on the overhead truss of the rope on which they were about to swing.
As for Rose, Paul, Cindy and Paige, they found themselves standing roughly in the center of the front row, facing out onto the nearly-full viewing stands. Rose was doing her best to keep calm, and remember what Paul had instructed them all to do. It was a senseless gesture of defiance, she knew, but it did give everyone something to focus on.
Someone switched on some on some recorded martial music which began to blare from loudspeakers attached to the overhead trusses ...and after a few bars, Guy Wirt and Major Straf strode out to center stage to address the crowd and the viewing audience at home.
Guy walked his way through his usual self-congratulatory nonsense, before introducing Major Straf, who was invited to deliver a brief explanatory speech:
“Ladies and gentlemen, let me briefly go through what you are about to witness. Arrayed before you, are the first 30 of the condemned 20 July rioters to be executed today. By the time this is over a total of 117 will die here.
The process by which they will die is as follows: First the uniformed FNPA officers on stage will ask each of the condemned whether he or she wishes to wear a hood. This is a humane offer ... intended to save them embarrassment from the rather unflattering facial contortions typically associated with death by strangulation. If they wish a hood, one will be provided.
Then a last minute check of the positioning of nooses will be made, and if all is in readiness, the officers will vacate the stage, and on command the trap door panels under the feet of the condemned will be released and fall away,
The method of hanging used here at FNPA Goose River Center is known as ‘slow drop’. The fall, once the trap doors have fallen away, is swiftly arrested by the already taught ropes leading to the nooses around their necks, which means that their necks will not be broken and death will come by slow strangulation.
Be prepared as an audience to witness a prolonged period of struggle ... an erotic dance of death, if you will ... lasting for as long as 20 minutes ... in which the condemned will desperately flail and swing about, shiver and shake, and quite possibly even foul themselves.
Please note that each hanging position has a number posted above it on the overhead trusses. Online betting as to how long any one of the condemned might dance may be placed using your devices at the NailusMartyrs website, but be forewarned that all bets must be placed within the first five minutes after the trapdoors drop.”
“Oh shit!” moaned Cindy, making a face.
“You sound just like Barb,” quipped Paige in a vain attempt to make light of things.”
“Remember our plan!” called Paul.
Rose shook her head as a matron passed by holding out a black cloth hood. No one appeared to be taking one.
The canned martial music blaring from the loudspeakers abruptly faded away, to be replaced by a long drum roll as the officers scurried from the stage. All was in readiness.
Rose closed her eyes and tried to imagine herself in a better place ... teaching a room full of eager students on a warm afternoon in a Hamilton High classroom came to mind. A slight breeze stirred, fanning the sheen of sweat that had broken out on her body, and bringing her back to reality. Someone in one of the rows behind her had begun to sob. Someone else coughed. Another was laughing manically. And Rose found that she was unable to control the trembling of her body as the tempo of the recorded drum roll accelerated towards what promised to be a heart-stopping climax.
With a loud sharp bang, the trapdoor panels fell away and thirty nude bodies dropped about half a meter before their fall was arrested by a snapping of rope and the tightening of nooses. It happened so fast that most forgot to clench their fists and no one, with the exception of Paul, managed to voice the afore agreed upon statement of defiance.
TO BE CONTINUED
Rose Whitaker spent her last night on earth languishing on one of the FNPA Goose River Center’s ‘death row’ cells, along with twenty-nine other condemned souls.
Rose had been informed when they moved her from the infirmary ... where she had been treated for cuts and abrasions incurred during her public whipping ... to death row that she would hang at 10 am the next morning with the first batch of 30 sentenced to die ... that being the capacity of the Center’s new ‘mass gallows’. Two other batches of thirty would follow, plus a somewhat smaller batch to dispatch the remainder of the 117 condemned prisoners.
Shoved into the crowded cell in the middle of the night, she had to look around in the dim light for an open space she could occupy. Most of those occupying the cell appeared to be young, and most but not all were female. Everyone was naked and shackled and chained at both wrists and ankles. Some appeared to be asleep. Others eyed her curiously. The place reeked of unwashed bodies.
Shackled and chained, in the same manner as they were, Rose shuffled over to one of the few open spaces available. As she settled herself down on her haunches, a nearby voice said, “Rose ... I mean, Ms. Whitaker, is that you?”
She immediately recognized the intense, high pitched voice as that of Paul Montague, one of her former students at Hamilton High and a militantly revolutionary-minded member of her after school study group.
“I can’t believe you’re here, Rose ... joining us!” he gushed. “I’ve been telling everyone that we need to make a statement when they hang us in the morning ... show them our spirit ... our willingness to die for what’s right ... and now that you are here, our solidarity, as well.”
“Can it will ya, Paul!” groused an unidentified voice from somewhere in the cell.
“Paul, to be honest, I’m not as happy to be here as you are happy to have me here.”
“Oh, you’ll get over that, Ms. Whitaker, once you hear what I have planned,” replied Paul, nonplussed.
Next to Rose a body stirred.
“Oh Rose, I’m so sorry! I’m afraid the reason you’re here is that I ... well actually Paige and I ... were too scared and weak under torture ... we ... uh ... well ... we told them of your involvement. So sorry,” said Cindy, her voice shaking.
“Yeah sorry,” added Paige’s voice from just the other side of Cindy.
“Look, you two. I can well imagine the kind of extreme pressures you were up against. These bastards are not above torture, are they? It’s okay I accept what happened.”
“Thanks Rose,” sighed Cindy. “We’ll still always feel guilty though. And we were told those bastards had you whipped! The light in here is poor, but ... ummm ... you look, ok. I hope the whipping wasn’t too bad.”
“It was ... but they sent me afterwards to the infirmary where they applied a topical medication to the cuts and welts left by the whipping that turned out to be miraculously fast and effective.”
“Have you heard anything about Barb, Rose? Paige and I think of her often. We can’t help but wonder if she’s still alive.”
“Well, yes. I do have some news. They brought Barb into the infirmary while I was there. They didn’t allow talking but I managed to exchange a few words with her. Apparently she was coerced into participating in some kind of mock demonstration of how a piece of spitting equipment works. This was for that scumbag, Guy Wirt, and his television production crew. And during the demonstration there was some kind of accident, apparently caused by that idiot, Guy, himself. The good news is that Barb was not seriously injured, and is on her way to a full recovery. The bad news, though, is that Barb told me that she is scheduled to be spitted and live roasted, along with Hamilton High grads, Sue McDonaugh and Kristin Magruder, in just a few days from now.”
“Sad ... and that’s why we need to have a plan,” insisted Paul.
“What plan?” groaned Paige.
“Simple ... we show solidarity and conviction ... our execution will be televised ... it’s our last opportunity to make a bold statement of defiance.” announced Paul, raising his voice so that the entire cell and adjoining cells could hear. “This is what I have in mind. We refuse the offer of hoods or blindfolds, and then ...when the moment comes ... we ... all ... in unison ... clench our fists and shout ‘end the FNPA culls!’”
No one responded. All were lost in thought.
*********
At 9:30 am the long wait was over. The condemned had been awakened an hour earlier ... that is, those few who had actually been asleep. Everyone was served a light breakfast of buttered toast and coffee ... their last meal ... after which the guards and matrons herded them out of their cell and lined them up for the walk outdoors to the nearby execution grounds.
Rose, Paul, Cindy and Paige were close to the front of the column as they left the cell block and stepped into an already sweltering Midwestern summer morning. Crossing a grassy area, they passed between a pair of makeshift viewing stands full of spectators, and emerged before the Center’s new massive gallows structure ... which consisted of a raised scaffolding topped by three parallel overhead pre-fabricated metal trusses, from which dangled three rows of ten nooses each. Off to each side, was a raised platform on which technicians were manning television cameras emblazoned with Punishment Channel logos.
Awkwardly, they climbed the stairs to the scaffolding ... their shackled ankles making each step of the upward climb a challenging moment ... until they reached the top.
There the matrons and guards quickly arranged them in three ranks of ten, facing the viewing stands, slipped a noose over the head of each of the condemned, and tightened it near the ear on the left side of their heads.
Beneath their feet were three long hinged sections of decking, which were quite obviously and ominously intended to fall away when the fateful moment arrived.
The condemned comported themselves well. Once they had been positioned and noosed, they stood quietly in their respective places ... save for some nervous shifting of feet, an occasional sideways glance at a neighbor, or a craning of the neck to look skyward and check the moorings on the overhead truss of the rope on which they were about to swing.
As for Rose, Paul, Cindy and Paige, they found themselves standing roughly in the center of the front row, facing out onto the nearly-full viewing stands. Rose was doing her best to keep calm, and remember what Paul had instructed them all to do. It was a senseless gesture of defiance, she knew, but it did give everyone something to focus on.
Someone switched on some on some recorded martial music which began to blare from loudspeakers attached to the overhead trusses ...and after a few bars, Guy Wirt and Major Straf strode out to center stage to address the crowd and the viewing audience at home.
Guy walked his way through his usual self-congratulatory nonsense, before introducing Major Straf, who was invited to deliver a brief explanatory speech:
“Ladies and gentlemen, let me briefly go through what you are about to witness. Arrayed before you, are the first 30 of the condemned 20 July rioters to be executed today. By the time this is over a total of 117 will die here.
The process by which they will die is as follows: First the uniformed FNPA officers on stage will ask each of the condemned whether he or she wishes to wear a hood. This is a humane offer ... intended to save them embarrassment from the rather unflattering facial contortions typically associated with death by strangulation. If they wish a hood, one will be provided.
Then a last minute check of the positioning of nooses will be made, and if all is in readiness, the officers will vacate the stage, and on command the trap door panels under the feet of the condemned will be released and fall away,
The method of hanging used here at FNPA Goose River Center is known as ‘slow drop’. The fall, once the trap doors have fallen away, is swiftly arrested by the already taught ropes leading to the nooses around their necks, which means that their necks will not be broken and death will come by slow strangulation.
Be prepared as an audience to witness a prolonged period of struggle ... an erotic dance of death, if you will ... lasting for as long as 20 minutes ... in which the condemned will desperately flail and swing about, shiver and shake, and quite possibly even foul themselves.
Please note that each hanging position has a number posted above it on the overhead trusses. Online betting as to how long any one of the condemned might dance may be placed using your devices at the NailusMartyrs website, but be forewarned that all bets must be placed within the first five minutes after the trapdoors drop.”
“Oh shit!” moaned Cindy, making a face.
“You sound just like Barb,” quipped Paige in a vain attempt to make light of things.”
“Remember our plan!” called Paul.
Rose shook her head as a matron passed by holding out a black cloth hood. No one appeared to be taking one.
The canned martial music blaring from the loudspeakers abruptly faded away, to be replaced by a long drum roll as the officers scurried from the stage. All was in readiness.
Rose closed her eyes and tried to imagine herself in a better place ... teaching a room full of eager students on a warm afternoon in a Hamilton High classroom came to mind. A slight breeze stirred, fanning the sheen of sweat that had broken out on her body, and bringing her back to reality. Someone in one of the rows behind her had begun to sob. Someone else coughed. Another was laughing manically. And Rose found that she was unable to control the trembling of her body as the tempo of the recorded drum roll accelerated towards what promised to be a heart-stopping climax.
With a loud sharp bang, the trapdoor panels fell away and thirty nude bodies dropped about half a meter before their fall was arrested by a snapping of rope and the tightening of nooses. It happened so fast that most forgot to clench their fists and no one, with the exception of Paul, managed to voice the afore agreed upon statement of defiance.
TO BE CONTINUED
M
montycrusto
Guest
You can’t leave us hanging like that, Barb!!
Fantastic writing, great chapter!!
Fantastic writing, great chapter!!
You can’t leave us hanging like that, Barb!!
Fantastic writing, great chapter!!
I think it’s Rose and company who have been left hanging, Monty
But I’m not finished with them yet. Moore to come
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
FNPA should at least provide a little slice of meat for such a last breakfast!
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
Very Nicely done!
jacksjg89
PROCRASTINATOR
I think Paul was "unfazed" instead of "Non-Plussed"
After "look you two," I was not expecting understanding. Rose definitely knows how to keep her students off balance"
Something had to have happened there. Did the the red button release a cream filling?
Paul has a little bit of a "Barb" complex. Also, amazing chapter, and a very good lesson. Voicing your sexy teachers views in front of government officials allows you to see her naked.
M
montycrusto
Guest
Was just imagining a scene in which Rose would be taken back to her former place of employment, and exhibited naked and in chains in front of an assembly of the entire school. Perhaps a punishment could have been administered, as a warning to others. Could have been highly educational.
Last edited by a moderator:
Was just imagining a scene in which Rose would be taken back to her former place of employment, and exhibited naked and in chains in front of an assembly of the entire school. Perhaps a punishment could have been administered, as a warning to others. Could have been highly educational.
View attachment 831534
Interesting thought
M
montycrusto
Guest
16.
For Joey Farnsworth this was a week in heaven. After traveling all the way to Goose River to watch his former Hamilton High teacher ... whom he detested for awarding him a grade of D- but for who’s lovely ass he had nothing but lustful admiration ... publicly humiliated and flogged, he felt an immense sense of self satisfaction.
But even more fortuitously, he had learned shortly after the conclusion of Ms. Whitaker’s whipping, as he was preparing to drive home, that she ... along with a number of former classmates ... would be executed in but a few days. He had also learned, from consulting an official FNPA annual cull listing, that the long-time imagined love of his life, Barbara Moore, was scheduled to be spitted and live roasted a few days later.
These were opportunities to good to be missed, so rather than returning home, Joey checked in to the Goose River Motel 6 for an extended stay, and bought a ticket to attend the mass hangings in person.
And imagine his delight at the sight, as he sat in a premium bleacher seat, of a stark-naked and shackled Ms. Whitaker brought to the scaffolding and noosed near the middle of the front row ... almost directly in front of him.
And then as an added bonus, also noosed in the front row, were two of his former Hamilton High classmates, Cindy Hauptmann and Paige Deming. Watching tall blond Cindy swing was going to be a pleasure, he thought to himself, as he recalled how she had thrice snubbed him, refusing his invitations for a date with derisive laughter. He would now have the pleasure of watching her swing naked in addition to having the last laugh on her!
He also was going to enjoy the show that big-titted Paige was certain to put on. Although he had never attempted to date Paige ... Joey, like probably every other red-blooded guy in his class, had wet dreams about getting his face into her mammaries.
Although there was no conceivable erotic satisfaction to watching Paul Montague hang, Joey figured it would be a sweet revenge for the way that condescending, sniveling wimpy little pinko creep was often disparaging the likes of Joey and his pals.
Joey also figured there was no way he wanted to be distracted once the show began, so he took out his phone to place his bets on the NailusMartyrs website, spending most of his disposable cash on Rose Whitaker, along with smaller amounts on Cindy and Paige. He also noticed and felt good about the disclaimer that indicated that a portion of the millions being betted that day would go to the families of the brave FNPA and police officers who had lost their lives or were severely injured in the course of suppressing the riot of July 20th.
And he finished placing his bets just in time too, for the drum roll coming from the loudspeakers had begun to quicken.
Rather ominously too, a dark bank of clouds rolled in, blotting out the sun.
‘How fitting’, thought, Joey as he leaned forward in his seat, eager not to miss the start of the impending event.
And then it happened. There was a sharp bang as trapdoors fell, and a collective snap of ropes suddenly pulled taut ... and before Joey’s eyes, thirty bodies ... 27 females and 3 males by Joey’s earlier count ... plunged downward only to have their fall arrested by the nooses around their necks.
Strategically placed microphones picked up the myriad sounds of those dramatic moments, amplifying them for the crowd through the overhead loudspeakers ... a cacophony of half-screams, gasps, grunts, and groans along with the twang and creak of tightening rope and the rattle and jangle of shackle chains.
Joey stared entranced by the desperate struggles playing out before his eyes. He noted how many responded at first by frantically moving their legs as though they were running a marathon, or scrabbling for a foothold that didn’t exist ... and the looks of surprise and terror on their faces.
Focusing on Rose, Cindy and Paige in particular he watched as initial shock gave way to wild gyrations that he found erotically stimulating to watch. There were Paige’s big bouncing boobs, Cindy’s lewdly desperate antics, and Ms. Whitaker’s writhing and twisting as she slowly spun around, offering so many interesting angles from which to admire her charms.
Joey checked the digital ‘count-down’ display mounted high over the stage. Seven minutes forty seconds had gone by. Some of the girls appeared to be weakening, struggling and thrashing about less. Some were simply rotating slowly around, hanging limply, faces red, tongues protruding. He thought that several in the back row, three in the middle row, and two in the front appeared to have already bought it. But all three of his betting choices seemed to still be going strong.
He also noted that overall, the guys seemed to be doing somewhat better than the girls and was amused to see that all three guys had hards on.
But he was angered to see creepy Paul Montague, with his slim little pencil rod dick, swing himself around towards Ms. Whitaker and manage to wrap his legs around her thighs ... so as to leverage himself up and release the strangling pressure on his neck while appearing to be obscenely humping on her at the same time.
“Hey! Stop him!” Joey yelled, rising to his feet and pointing. “Get that little fucker away from her!”
That worked. Joey was soon joined in sounding the alarm by dozens around him and, before long, two officers had run out on stage to break Paul and Rose Whitaker apart.
For Rose, Joey’s intervention brought welcome, if only temporary, relief. Even as she had struggled and spun, the relentless tightening of the noose around her throat had begun to gag and choke her to the point of feeling woozy and nearly blacking out.
She had been vaguely aware a bit earlier of Paul’s erection, which surprised her, but was too focused on her own struggle to avoid the reach of his legs as they locked onto her and dragged her down. But nothing mattered now but the crushing pressure on her throat. Her time was fast running out, the blackness descending.
Fourteen minutes and counting, noted Joey. His chances of collecting a hefty sum hung in the balance. Most of the thirty had succumbed, and hung lifeless. The smell of defecation wafted over the stands, borne by a stiffening breeze that had suddenly picked up. The sky overhead had darkened to the point where the arc lights above the stage and stands switched on.
Paige was gone; Cindy not far from it. Joey’s only jackpot hope rested on Ms. Whitaker who’s body was still twitching, although her reddened face and bulging eyes suggested she had very little time left. There were only two others still showing any real signs of life, a thin girl in the second row, whose identity he didn’t know, and ... wouldn’t you know it ... good old Paul.
“Come on Rosie! Hang in there!” he said quietly to himself, crossing his fingers. “You can do it!”
But at that very instant Joey was blinded by an intense flash of light and knocked over by a thunderous blast of wind and sound. Picking himself up and shaking off the ringing sound in his deafened ears, he peered out through a wind driven deluge of rain at a stage that looked like it had taken a direct hit by a smart bomb ... nothing remained ... but a heap of smoldering planking, timbers and grotesquely twisted steel truss beams.
TO BE CONTINUED
For Joey Farnsworth this was a week in heaven. After traveling all the way to Goose River to watch his former Hamilton High teacher ... whom he detested for awarding him a grade of D- but for who’s lovely ass he had nothing but lustful admiration ... publicly humiliated and flogged, he felt an immense sense of self satisfaction.
But even more fortuitously, he had learned shortly after the conclusion of Ms. Whitaker’s whipping, as he was preparing to drive home, that she ... along with a number of former classmates ... would be executed in but a few days. He had also learned, from consulting an official FNPA annual cull listing, that the long-time imagined love of his life, Barbara Moore, was scheduled to be spitted and live roasted a few days later.
These were opportunities to good to be missed, so rather than returning home, Joey checked in to the Goose River Motel 6 for an extended stay, and bought a ticket to attend the mass hangings in person.
And imagine his delight at the sight, as he sat in a premium bleacher seat, of a stark-naked and shackled Ms. Whitaker brought to the scaffolding and noosed near the middle of the front row ... almost directly in front of him.
And then as an added bonus, also noosed in the front row, were two of his former Hamilton High classmates, Cindy Hauptmann and Paige Deming. Watching tall blond Cindy swing was going to be a pleasure, he thought to himself, as he recalled how she had thrice snubbed him, refusing his invitations for a date with derisive laughter. He would now have the pleasure of watching her swing naked in addition to having the last laugh on her!
He also was going to enjoy the show that big-titted Paige was certain to put on. Although he had never attempted to date Paige ... Joey, like probably every other red-blooded guy in his class, had wet dreams about getting his face into her mammaries.
Although there was no conceivable erotic satisfaction to watching Paul Montague hang, Joey figured it would be a sweet revenge for the way that condescending, sniveling wimpy little pinko creep was often disparaging the likes of Joey and his pals.
Joey also figured there was no way he wanted to be distracted once the show began, so he took out his phone to place his bets on the NailusMartyrs website, spending most of his disposable cash on Rose Whitaker, along with smaller amounts on Cindy and Paige. He also noticed and felt good about the disclaimer that indicated that a portion of the millions being betted that day would go to the families of the brave FNPA and police officers who had lost their lives or were severely injured in the course of suppressing the riot of July 20th.
And he finished placing his bets just in time too, for the drum roll coming from the loudspeakers had begun to quicken.
Rather ominously too, a dark bank of clouds rolled in, blotting out the sun.
‘How fitting’, thought, Joey as he leaned forward in his seat, eager not to miss the start of the impending event.
And then it happened. There was a sharp bang as trapdoors fell, and a collective snap of ropes suddenly pulled taut ... and before Joey’s eyes, thirty bodies ... 27 females and 3 males by Joey’s earlier count ... plunged downward only to have their fall arrested by the nooses around their necks.
Strategically placed microphones picked up the myriad sounds of those dramatic moments, amplifying them for the crowd through the overhead loudspeakers ... a cacophony of half-screams, gasps, grunts, and groans along with the twang and creak of tightening rope and the rattle and jangle of shackle chains.
Joey stared entranced by the desperate struggles playing out before his eyes. He noted how many responded at first by frantically moving their legs as though they were running a marathon, or scrabbling for a foothold that didn’t exist ... and the looks of surprise and terror on their faces.
Focusing on Rose, Cindy and Paige in particular he watched as initial shock gave way to wild gyrations that he found erotically stimulating to watch. There were Paige’s big bouncing boobs, Cindy’s lewdly desperate antics, and Ms. Whitaker’s writhing and twisting as she slowly spun around, offering so many interesting angles from which to admire her charms.
Joey checked the digital ‘count-down’ display mounted high over the stage. Seven minutes forty seconds had gone by. Some of the girls appeared to be weakening, struggling and thrashing about less. Some were simply rotating slowly around, hanging limply, faces red, tongues protruding. He thought that several in the back row, three in the middle row, and two in the front appeared to have already bought it. But all three of his betting choices seemed to still be going strong.
He also noted that overall, the guys seemed to be doing somewhat better than the girls and was amused to see that all three guys had hards on.
But he was angered to see creepy Paul Montague, with his slim little pencil rod dick, swing himself around towards Ms. Whitaker and manage to wrap his legs around her thighs ... so as to leverage himself up and release the strangling pressure on his neck while appearing to be obscenely humping on her at the same time.
“Hey! Stop him!” Joey yelled, rising to his feet and pointing. “Get that little fucker away from her!”
That worked. Joey was soon joined in sounding the alarm by dozens around him and, before long, two officers had run out on stage to break Paul and Rose Whitaker apart.
For Rose, Joey’s intervention brought welcome, if only temporary, relief. Even as she had struggled and spun, the relentless tightening of the noose around her throat had begun to gag and choke her to the point of feeling woozy and nearly blacking out.
She had been vaguely aware a bit earlier of Paul’s erection, which surprised her, but was too focused on her own struggle to avoid the reach of his legs as they locked onto her and dragged her down. But nothing mattered now but the crushing pressure on her throat. Her time was fast running out, the blackness descending.
Fourteen minutes and counting, noted Joey. His chances of collecting a hefty sum hung in the balance. Most of the thirty had succumbed, and hung lifeless. The smell of defecation wafted over the stands, borne by a stiffening breeze that had suddenly picked up. The sky overhead had darkened to the point where the arc lights above the stage and stands switched on.
Paige was gone; Cindy not far from it. Joey’s only jackpot hope rested on Ms. Whitaker who’s body was still twitching, although her reddened face and bulging eyes suggested she had very little time left. There were only two others still showing any real signs of life, a thin girl in the second row, whose identity he didn’t know, and ... wouldn’t you know it ... good old Paul.
“Come on Rosie! Hang in there!” he said quietly to himself, crossing his fingers. “You can do it!”
But at that very instant Joey was blinded by an intense flash of light and knocked over by a thunderous blast of wind and sound. Picking himself up and shaking off the ringing sound in his deafened ears, he peered out through a wind driven deluge of rain at a stage that looked like it had taken a direct hit by a smart bomb ... nothing remained ... but a heap of smoldering planking, timbers and grotesquely twisted steel truss beams.
TO BE CONTINUED
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Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
Wait a minute! Paul does not do foul play! Such wraps should be allowed by the rules of the game! Bad luck for the betters, but it's still a bet, right!?