20
Barb had looked up at the sound of voices in the corridor outside. She was seated by the window in her office easy chair, an open copy of James Baldwin’s "The Fire Next Time" resting on the thigh of her crossed leg.
She’d known in an instant exactly who, out there, was passing by. The male voice had belonged to Dean Windar. His companion was Professor Emilie Girard, who was tittering in her annoying way over some something funny that he had said. They’d passed quickly on, presumably headed for his office. Barb was aware of the fact, as was nearly everyone else on the faculty, that Girard had designs on snagging the affections of the Academy’s eligible bachelor Dean. She chided herself for feeling a tinge of jealousy. Her own feelings with regard to Windar were anything but certain. Her love life, at that moment, was admittedly a bit complicated.
Glancing at the clock sitting over on the desk of Professor Clinton, the silver-haired and gentlemanly older faculty member she’d been assigned to share the office with, she’d noted that it was nearly 8:15. She had an office appointment coming up then with Biff Sutton who’d arranged through the office staff downstairs to schedule an appointment with her about some undisclosed matter, presumably having to do with her American history class
She couldn’t imagine what he needed to see her about, but the appointment had been made, and the Dean expected faculty to be readily accessible to students.
Her mind had flashed back to that dreadful night at that frat house toga party where she’d ended up being thrust up onto a tabletop with Biff, where he’d shamelessly proceeded to grope her, strip her toga away and display her, buck-naked, before a drunken crowd of cheering students.
She’d hoped Biff’s coming visit was on the up and up. She’d also hoped to get through it quickly. The face that, minutes earlier, she’d heard Professor Emilie Girard flirting with the Dean out in the corridor, meant that Harriet’s French class had let out and that Harriet would be along shortly.
Barb and Harriet had planned to attend together the lecture being given that evening by a distinguished visiting faculty member from the University of Georgia. It was to begin at 8:45. The visitor happened to be a well-known historian specializing on interpretations of the Confederate cause, and largely from a viewpoint Barb was more than ready to take issue with. She’d been looking forward to the question and answer period following his lecture, as well as to engaging him at the reception following his lecture.
A quick rap on the door suggested that Biff had arrived.
“Come in, the door’s open,” she’d called, closing her book and resting it on her lap. She had ‘dressed up’ in her best that evening in anticipation of the post-lecture faculty reception … black high heels, short dark-gray pencil skirt and matching jacket, worn over a satiny red blouse, her hair done up in a ponytail.
The door opened and Biff had stepped in, turning briefly to close the door behind him.
“Evening, Professor Moore.”
“Evening to you too, Biff. What brings you in? We’d best get to it straight away as I’m off to this evening’s lecture soon.”
“Sure, no problem. I just thought it was high time you and I had a little chat, given that things between us kinda got off on the wrong foot,” he’d said, smiling disarmingly as he sidled off to her left to perch on the edge of her colleague’s desk.”
“Well, yes. I guess I’d welcome that, …”
She was about to add “… Biff.” But stopped short, interrupted by a loud pounding on the door.
“Hang on a minute, Biff. I’ve got to go see what that’s all about.”
Rising to her feet, she’d tossed her book onto her own desk and crossed over to the door, heels click-clacking on the old building’s hardwood flooring, while Biff unnoticed, slipped quietly into position directly behind her. And before she could lay her hand on the door knob, the door had burst suddenly open, sending her staggering backwards into Biff’s waiting arms.
Wrapping one arm tightly around her waist to pull her to him, he’d clasped his free hand over her mouth to obstruct her cry of shocked surprise, as two burly figures outfitted in Klan garb charged through.
“Got her, Biff?”
“Yeah!”
“Great! Hold on tah the Yankee slut tight now, whiles ah gags her mouth!”
She’d recognized the voice … Billy-Bob!”
Wrestled swiftly to the floor, a rag was forced into her mouth and then bound in place with a second rag knotted behind her head. Flipped onto her side, she’d been forced to submit to having her wrists bound together behind her back.
“Awright, Professor Moore, on yer feet,” commanded Billy-Bob. “Ya gots a date with a noose ‘round yer pretty neck under one of them thar big ole Quad trees.”
Adding hurriedly to Biff, “Ernie heah’s got yer robe and hood. Get ‘em on right quick now. They’s got the nigger bitch awaiting’ out in the hallway.
Pulled to her feet, Barb had found herself roughly propelled out into the hallway. And just as Billy-Bob had said, there was poor Harriet bound and gagged. Her large olive-brown eyes wide with fear.
“Move you two! The Klan boys is all out there awaiting’ fer the show to begin.”
Hustled to the end of the corridor, Barb and Harriet were half-shoved, half-carried, down to the main floor and out the building’s rear quad-facing entrance. There they were made to stand still and wait quietly.
**********
Barb wasn’t sure for how long they were held outside the rear entrance to Main. She thought it might have been as much as twenty minutes for she could see people over on the campus circle drive making their way around to the campus Lecture hall over in one of the classrooms buildings.
Billy-Bob had left them standing there for a few minutes while he made his way over onto the quad, which for some reason was darkened; the ornate wrought-iron pole lamps around its perimeter extinguished.
Biff took the lull as an opportunity to grope Barb, his hand intruding through a gap that opened on the front of her blouse, after he’d popped one of its buttons, to force its way under the band of her bra and crawl upwards bit by bit, over the soft and pliable underside of her left breast, in search of a nipple.
“You bastard!” She hissed through her gag, when his fingers succeeded in locating their intended target. But little more came of that, for Billy-Bob had returned, and Biff removed his hand.
At that moment the pole lamps around the quad perimeter came back to life. And there it was, before their very eyes. The scene they’d never expected … wanted … to see. Exactly the kind of horrific scene Barb had ironically planned to describe herself in one of her coming week’s classroom lectures!
Barb and Harriet were both given a shove toward the Quad. And as they drew nearer the scene, what they were witnessing became ever more frightening. On Billy-Bob’s shouted command, four very large kerosene-soaked wooden crosses were simultaneously set ablaze. Arranged in a neat row, they provided a dramatic KKK backdrop to the scene.
While a few of the Klansmen present appeared to be simply standing around, others, silhouetted against the fiery glow of the burning crosses, were very much engaged in beating and kicking a lone figure, huddled on the ground. Hooded with hands bound behind his back, the victim of their ire was helplessly absorbing the relentless punishment being meted out to him.
An exuberant Billy-Bob, dashing forward, was calling out, “Alright boys we’s all heah now, turn on them headlamps.”
On his command the headlamps of a dozen or more pickup trucks arranged in a wide semi-circle simultaneously bathed the scene in white light. The Klansmen were now fully illuminated, the scene more distinct. And to the horror of first Harriet, and then Barb, as they were led forward and their gags removed, the identity of the figure being beaten so savagely became shockingly apparent.
“Alvin? No!” cried Harriet. Alvin’s head may have been hooded, but Harriet had recognized immediately his prized ‘Converse Chuck Taylor All-Stars’ sneakers, one of which was still on his left foot, the other lying on the ground a short distance away.
“Dear God, say it isn’t so!”
“Shore as hell is!” chortled Billy-Bob.
Driven further forward into the circle of light, the girls became aware of yet another horror.
Barb saw it first, as Harriet was still fixated on Alvin. There, off to one side of the blazing crosses and directly behind the Civil War monument to the Confederate hero for whom the Academy was named, dangling from the lower branches of the largest and most ancient of the white hickory trees that graced the Quad, were four hangman’s nooses! Directly beneath the nooses stood one of the Quad’s long iron and wood park benches.
“Oh dear God!” gasped Barb. “They’re planning to hang us!”
“What?” gasped Harriet.
“Read the signs!”
Placed on the bench beneath each noose was a cardboard sign. The one on the far left read, ‘nigger loving dike Yankee Prof’. The one next to it, ‘uppity nigger bitch’, and to its right, ‘fancy-ass college boy nigger’. The sign on the far right, “Jew boy troublemaker’.
Billy-Bob could be heard, demanding from his crew what had happened with Jerry Goldman, and being told he couldn’t be found.
“Probably a hightailin’ it ta back where’s he’s cum from. No mattah! We’s got these heah three. Good nuff.”
Looking frantically about, Barb took note of the small but growing crowd of onlookers, mostly students, gathering around the fringes. She’d hoped for a rescue, imaging that no one could possibly condone, passively witness, what was about to take place.
But they seemed complacent, curious. Some were pointing and conversing among themselves. There were a few, she observed, who turned away from the unsettling scene, acting as though they wished to eschew being involved, but unwilling to take any action to stop it.
Her mind turned to the lecture. It seemed incongruous to her that a scholarly lecture on the old Confederacy could be going on but a few hundred yards away from a KKK lynching. Why didn’t someone alert those attending the lecture to what was happening? Where was Dean Windar, when she needed him?
“Help!” she shouted. “Somebody do something! Call the police! Stop this madness! Somebody please help us!”
No one seemed to respond.
Turning to Biff … his pale blue eyes appearing rather spooky, staring out at her as they did through the eye holes in his hood … she pleaded desperately, “Biff! Enough is enough! You’re a big man on campus. You can stop this madness before it goes any further! Surely, they’ll listen to you!”
“Sorry Prof. you’ve brought this one on yourself.”
“Really? I can’t believe you! I wonder what Carolyn thinks about you being involved with the Klan!”
She thought that may have struck home. She’d seen him blink. Not that it mattered much, for the goings on seemed about to enter a new ugly phase. Billy-Bob was speaking, calling on his crew to feel free to have their way with both she and Harriet!
Biff responded to the call by giving Barb a shove, causing her to stumble forward several steps before falling to her knees. A moment later Harriet ended up alongside her.
Klansmen began to close in on them from all directions. Someone grabbed Barb’s suit jacket by the lapels and yanked it up and back over her shoulders and down her arms to just short of her wrists which were still bound behind her back. A moment later her thin red satin blouse was gone, violently ripped to shreds and tossed aside. Someone forced the blade of a pocketknife under the front of her bra, slicing clean through and baring her breasts.
Nearby, poor Harriet, screaming hysterically, was being relieved of her clothing too. Someone was tugging her jeans and panties down over her kicking legs, while another Klansman used a knife to cut away her top.
While not far away, they’d removed Alvin’s hood and sat him up, forcing him to watch poor Harriet’s stripping and impending gang rape.
It didn’t take long before both Barb and Harriet were naked, save for a few torn remnants gathered around their bound wrists. Both had been forced onto their knees and leaning forward. Strong hands held them firmly in place.
What happened to next was horrible beyond description. Helplessly, they were forced to endure the repeated sexual assaults by one klansman after another, the most prolonged and forceful of which was administered to Barb by Billy-Bob, who hissed in her ear as he leaned over her and rammed his shaft in, “been awaitin’ this fer a damn long time, Yankee bitch! It’s what ya gets fer snubbin’ ole Billy-Bob and gettin’ him fired! Enjoy it while ya can, ‘cause it’s the last fuck yer evah gonna git!”
And then, mercifully, it was over with both girls left lying on their sides in the grass, dazed and hurting after the unimaginable ordeal they’d just been put through, Alvin sitting but a short distance away.
Barb eventually raised her head slightly. Although partially blinded by the headlamps, she noted that many of the onlookers had either drifted away or seemed to be about to leave. She hoped that was a good sign … that things had gone too far … that help might be on the way before it was too late.
But time for anything like that to happen was running short.
“Alright, we’s gonna give em a good whippin’ now before we gets to the grand event, right boss?” declared one of the Klansmen.
“At’s right! Let’s get ‘em up and over ta the lamp post over thar. Untie their wrists from behind their backs fust, and re-tie ‘em overhead to the arms of the post. Can’t wait ta see ‘em squirmin’ and twistin’ about up aginst that ole post, and aginst one another, under the bite of the lash!”
“Why don’t they just get on with it and hang us now?” groaned Harriet as a Klansmen removed the binding cord from her wrists while planting a knee in her back to pin her face down in the grass.
“Don’t complain!” hissed Barb, enduring much the same treatment. “Anything to buy time.”
“Shaddup bitch!” growled her handler, delivering a sharp cuff to the back of her head.
Alvin took the removal of the bindings on his wrists to make one last desperate bid for freedom, but they were ready for that and he was quickly subdued. And before long all three were secured, wrists tied once again but this time high over their heads to the designated lamppost.
“Line up boys!” enthused Billy-Bob. “Everyone heah gets ta give the three of ‘em together six lashes. Don’t anyone hold back now. We wants tah see em squirm and bleed!”
And for what seemed to be an eternity the lashes kept coming, one after another. Striking here, there and everywhere, at times driving the three victims up hard against the pole, and at other times into one another … twisting and turning about, offering themselves up … front and back .. to the relentless bite of the lash … some landing weak, some hard; not a few leaving behind trails of blood.
Alvin took it most stoically … mostly grunting and occasionally gasping. The girls kicked and flinched, screamed and gasped as they frantically twisted and turned in vain attempts to avoid the next stroke.
The flogging continued on and on until every Klansman had had his turn and their victims had all but ceased to respond, hanging limply with heads bowed.
“Awright boys, whiippin’s over! Time tah see these two cunts and their nigger lover boy a swingin’ and a dancin’! Gonna be quite a show, ah reckon. Pour some water o’er their heads. Get ‘‘em on their feets an’ up thar on that bench. Re-tie their wrists behind their backsides. And be shore ta noose ‘em all good and proper like!”
Eager hands rushed to comply. To struggle seemed pointless. In a matter of no time at all, Barb, Harriet and Alvin found themselves manhandled into position up on the seat of the bench, nooses drawn tight around their necks.
Flashes from hand-held cameras washed over their whiplashed nude bodies, gobs of cum clinging to the girl’s thighs glinting back, as several Klansmen recorded the scene.
“Any last words, ol’ bigmouth high-faluttin’ Yankee professor,” taunted Billy-Bob, his face only inches from Barb’s. “Maybe ya’d like ta thank me for sendin’ ya off with a good old Billy-Bob fuck? Ya must know t’was the best ya ever had!”
Barb simply glared at him, her vision blurred by tears.
Alvin took the moment to tell Harriet how sorry he was.
“For what?” she asked.
“For this and the fact we’ll never get to know one another better.”
She didn’t respond to that.
Barb shivered and glanced up at the clock face on the tower of Old Main. Blinking her tears aside, she saw the time to be about 10:20. Surely, the lecture over in the classrooms building must be letting out by now, she thought desperately, thinking that might offer their only remaining chance.
“Awright now. On mah signal, pull the bench out from under ‘em,” instructed Billy-Bob.
“Oh, my God!” sobbed Harriet.
TBC
Barb had looked up at the sound of voices in the corridor outside. She was seated by the window in her office easy chair, an open copy of James Baldwin’s "The Fire Next Time" resting on the thigh of her crossed leg.
She’d known in an instant exactly who, out there, was passing by. The male voice had belonged to Dean Windar. His companion was Professor Emilie Girard, who was tittering in her annoying way over some something funny that he had said. They’d passed quickly on, presumably headed for his office. Barb was aware of the fact, as was nearly everyone else on the faculty, that Girard had designs on snagging the affections of the Academy’s eligible bachelor Dean. She chided herself for feeling a tinge of jealousy. Her own feelings with regard to Windar were anything but certain. Her love life, at that moment, was admittedly a bit complicated.
Glancing at the clock sitting over on the desk of Professor Clinton, the silver-haired and gentlemanly older faculty member she’d been assigned to share the office with, she’d noted that it was nearly 8:15. She had an office appointment coming up then with Biff Sutton who’d arranged through the office staff downstairs to schedule an appointment with her about some undisclosed matter, presumably having to do with her American history class
She couldn’t imagine what he needed to see her about, but the appointment had been made, and the Dean expected faculty to be readily accessible to students.
Her mind had flashed back to that dreadful night at that frat house toga party where she’d ended up being thrust up onto a tabletop with Biff, where he’d shamelessly proceeded to grope her, strip her toga away and display her, buck-naked, before a drunken crowd of cheering students.
She’d hoped Biff’s coming visit was on the up and up. She’d also hoped to get through it quickly. The face that, minutes earlier, she’d heard Professor Emilie Girard flirting with the Dean out in the corridor, meant that Harriet’s French class had let out and that Harriet would be along shortly.
Barb and Harriet had planned to attend together the lecture being given that evening by a distinguished visiting faculty member from the University of Georgia. It was to begin at 8:45. The visitor happened to be a well-known historian specializing on interpretations of the Confederate cause, and largely from a viewpoint Barb was more than ready to take issue with. She’d been looking forward to the question and answer period following his lecture, as well as to engaging him at the reception following his lecture.
A quick rap on the door suggested that Biff had arrived.
“Come in, the door’s open,” she’d called, closing her book and resting it on her lap. She had ‘dressed up’ in her best that evening in anticipation of the post-lecture faculty reception … black high heels, short dark-gray pencil skirt and matching jacket, worn over a satiny red blouse, her hair done up in a ponytail.
The door opened and Biff had stepped in, turning briefly to close the door behind him.
“Evening, Professor Moore.”
“Evening to you too, Biff. What brings you in? We’d best get to it straight away as I’m off to this evening’s lecture soon.”
“Sure, no problem. I just thought it was high time you and I had a little chat, given that things between us kinda got off on the wrong foot,” he’d said, smiling disarmingly as he sidled off to her left to perch on the edge of her colleague’s desk.”
“Well, yes. I guess I’d welcome that, …”
She was about to add “… Biff.” But stopped short, interrupted by a loud pounding on the door.
“Hang on a minute, Biff. I’ve got to go see what that’s all about.”
Rising to her feet, she’d tossed her book onto her own desk and crossed over to the door, heels click-clacking on the old building’s hardwood flooring, while Biff unnoticed, slipped quietly into position directly behind her. And before she could lay her hand on the door knob, the door had burst suddenly open, sending her staggering backwards into Biff’s waiting arms.
Wrapping one arm tightly around her waist to pull her to him, he’d clasped his free hand over her mouth to obstruct her cry of shocked surprise, as two burly figures outfitted in Klan garb charged through.
“Got her, Biff?”
“Yeah!”
“Great! Hold on tah the Yankee slut tight now, whiles ah gags her mouth!”
She’d recognized the voice … Billy-Bob!”
Wrestled swiftly to the floor, a rag was forced into her mouth and then bound in place with a second rag knotted behind her head. Flipped onto her side, she’d been forced to submit to having her wrists bound together behind her back.
“Awright, Professor Moore, on yer feet,” commanded Billy-Bob. “Ya gots a date with a noose ‘round yer pretty neck under one of them thar big ole Quad trees.”
Adding hurriedly to Biff, “Ernie heah’s got yer robe and hood. Get ‘em on right quick now. They’s got the nigger bitch awaiting’ out in the hallway.
Pulled to her feet, Barb had found herself roughly propelled out into the hallway. And just as Billy-Bob had said, there was poor Harriet bound and gagged. Her large olive-brown eyes wide with fear.
“Move you two! The Klan boys is all out there awaiting’ fer the show to begin.”
Hustled to the end of the corridor, Barb and Harriet were half-shoved, half-carried, down to the main floor and out the building’s rear quad-facing entrance. There they were made to stand still and wait quietly.
**********
Barb wasn’t sure for how long they were held outside the rear entrance to Main. She thought it might have been as much as twenty minutes for she could see people over on the campus circle drive making their way around to the campus Lecture hall over in one of the classrooms buildings.
Billy-Bob had left them standing there for a few minutes while he made his way over onto the quad, which for some reason was darkened; the ornate wrought-iron pole lamps around its perimeter extinguished.
Biff took the lull as an opportunity to grope Barb, his hand intruding through a gap that opened on the front of her blouse, after he’d popped one of its buttons, to force its way under the band of her bra and crawl upwards bit by bit, over the soft and pliable underside of her left breast, in search of a nipple.
“You bastard!” She hissed through her gag, when his fingers succeeded in locating their intended target. But little more came of that, for Billy-Bob had returned, and Biff removed his hand.
At that moment the pole lamps around the quad perimeter came back to life. And there it was, before their very eyes. The scene they’d never expected … wanted … to see. Exactly the kind of horrific scene Barb had ironically planned to describe herself in one of her coming week’s classroom lectures!
Barb and Harriet were both given a shove toward the Quad. And as they drew nearer the scene, what they were witnessing became ever more frightening. On Billy-Bob’s shouted command, four very large kerosene-soaked wooden crosses were simultaneously set ablaze. Arranged in a neat row, they provided a dramatic KKK backdrop to the scene.
While a few of the Klansmen present appeared to be simply standing around, others, silhouetted against the fiery glow of the burning crosses, were very much engaged in beating and kicking a lone figure, huddled on the ground. Hooded with hands bound behind his back, the victim of their ire was helplessly absorbing the relentless punishment being meted out to him.
An exuberant Billy-Bob, dashing forward, was calling out, “Alright boys we’s all heah now, turn on them headlamps.”
On his command the headlamps of a dozen or more pickup trucks arranged in a wide semi-circle simultaneously bathed the scene in white light. The Klansmen were now fully illuminated, the scene more distinct. And to the horror of first Harriet, and then Barb, as they were led forward and their gags removed, the identity of the figure being beaten so savagely became shockingly apparent.
“Alvin? No!” cried Harriet. Alvin’s head may have been hooded, but Harriet had recognized immediately his prized ‘Converse Chuck Taylor All-Stars’ sneakers, one of which was still on his left foot, the other lying on the ground a short distance away.
“Dear God, say it isn’t so!”
“Shore as hell is!” chortled Billy-Bob.
Driven further forward into the circle of light, the girls became aware of yet another horror.
Barb saw it first, as Harriet was still fixated on Alvin. There, off to one side of the blazing crosses and directly behind the Civil War monument to the Confederate hero for whom the Academy was named, dangling from the lower branches of the largest and most ancient of the white hickory trees that graced the Quad, were four hangman’s nooses! Directly beneath the nooses stood one of the Quad’s long iron and wood park benches.
“Oh dear God!” gasped Barb. “They’re planning to hang us!”
“What?” gasped Harriet.
“Read the signs!”
Placed on the bench beneath each noose was a cardboard sign. The one on the far left read, ‘nigger loving dike Yankee Prof’. The one next to it, ‘uppity nigger bitch’, and to its right, ‘fancy-ass college boy nigger’. The sign on the far right, “Jew boy troublemaker’.
Billy-Bob could be heard, demanding from his crew what had happened with Jerry Goldman, and being told he couldn’t be found.
“Probably a hightailin’ it ta back where’s he’s cum from. No mattah! We’s got these heah three. Good nuff.”
Looking frantically about, Barb took note of the small but growing crowd of onlookers, mostly students, gathering around the fringes. She’d hoped for a rescue, imaging that no one could possibly condone, passively witness, what was about to take place.
But they seemed complacent, curious. Some were pointing and conversing among themselves. There were a few, she observed, who turned away from the unsettling scene, acting as though they wished to eschew being involved, but unwilling to take any action to stop it.
Her mind turned to the lecture. It seemed incongruous to her that a scholarly lecture on the old Confederacy could be going on but a few hundred yards away from a KKK lynching. Why didn’t someone alert those attending the lecture to what was happening? Where was Dean Windar, when she needed him?
“Help!” she shouted. “Somebody do something! Call the police! Stop this madness! Somebody please help us!”
No one seemed to respond.
Turning to Biff … his pale blue eyes appearing rather spooky, staring out at her as they did through the eye holes in his hood … she pleaded desperately, “Biff! Enough is enough! You’re a big man on campus. You can stop this madness before it goes any further! Surely, they’ll listen to you!”
“Sorry Prof. you’ve brought this one on yourself.”
“Really? I can’t believe you! I wonder what Carolyn thinks about you being involved with the Klan!”
She thought that may have struck home. She’d seen him blink. Not that it mattered much, for the goings on seemed about to enter a new ugly phase. Billy-Bob was speaking, calling on his crew to feel free to have their way with both she and Harriet!
Biff responded to the call by giving Barb a shove, causing her to stumble forward several steps before falling to her knees. A moment later Harriet ended up alongside her.
Klansmen began to close in on them from all directions. Someone grabbed Barb’s suit jacket by the lapels and yanked it up and back over her shoulders and down her arms to just short of her wrists which were still bound behind her back. A moment later her thin red satin blouse was gone, violently ripped to shreds and tossed aside. Someone forced the blade of a pocketknife under the front of her bra, slicing clean through and baring her breasts.
Nearby, poor Harriet, screaming hysterically, was being relieved of her clothing too. Someone was tugging her jeans and panties down over her kicking legs, while another Klansman used a knife to cut away her top.
While not far away, they’d removed Alvin’s hood and sat him up, forcing him to watch poor Harriet’s stripping and impending gang rape.
It didn’t take long before both Barb and Harriet were naked, save for a few torn remnants gathered around their bound wrists. Both had been forced onto their knees and leaning forward. Strong hands held them firmly in place.
What happened to next was horrible beyond description. Helplessly, they were forced to endure the repeated sexual assaults by one klansman after another, the most prolonged and forceful of which was administered to Barb by Billy-Bob, who hissed in her ear as he leaned over her and rammed his shaft in, “been awaitin’ this fer a damn long time, Yankee bitch! It’s what ya gets fer snubbin’ ole Billy-Bob and gettin’ him fired! Enjoy it while ya can, ‘cause it’s the last fuck yer evah gonna git!”
And then, mercifully, it was over with both girls left lying on their sides in the grass, dazed and hurting after the unimaginable ordeal they’d just been put through, Alvin sitting but a short distance away.
Barb eventually raised her head slightly. Although partially blinded by the headlamps, she noted that many of the onlookers had either drifted away or seemed to be about to leave. She hoped that was a good sign … that things had gone too far … that help might be on the way before it was too late.
But time for anything like that to happen was running short.
“Alright, we’s gonna give em a good whippin’ now before we gets to the grand event, right boss?” declared one of the Klansmen.
“At’s right! Let’s get ‘em up and over ta the lamp post over thar. Untie their wrists from behind their backs fust, and re-tie ‘em overhead to the arms of the post. Can’t wait ta see ‘em squirmin’ and twistin’ about up aginst that ole post, and aginst one another, under the bite of the lash!”
“Why don’t they just get on with it and hang us now?” groaned Harriet as a Klansmen removed the binding cord from her wrists while planting a knee in her back to pin her face down in the grass.
“Don’t complain!” hissed Barb, enduring much the same treatment. “Anything to buy time.”
“Shaddup bitch!” growled her handler, delivering a sharp cuff to the back of her head.
Alvin took the removal of the bindings on his wrists to make one last desperate bid for freedom, but they were ready for that and he was quickly subdued. And before long all three were secured, wrists tied once again but this time high over their heads to the designated lamppost.
“Line up boys!” enthused Billy-Bob. “Everyone heah gets ta give the three of ‘em together six lashes. Don’t anyone hold back now. We wants tah see em squirm and bleed!”
And for what seemed to be an eternity the lashes kept coming, one after another. Striking here, there and everywhere, at times driving the three victims up hard against the pole, and at other times into one another … twisting and turning about, offering themselves up … front and back .. to the relentless bite of the lash … some landing weak, some hard; not a few leaving behind trails of blood.
Alvin took it most stoically … mostly grunting and occasionally gasping. The girls kicked and flinched, screamed and gasped as they frantically twisted and turned in vain attempts to avoid the next stroke.
The flogging continued on and on until every Klansman had had his turn and their victims had all but ceased to respond, hanging limply with heads bowed.
“Awright boys, whiippin’s over! Time tah see these two cunts and their nigger lover boy a swingin’ and a dancin’! Gonna be quite a show, ah reckon. Pour some water o’er their heads. Get ‘‘em on their feets an’ up thar on that bench. Re-tie their wrists behind their backsides. And be shore ta noose ‘em all good and proper like!”
Eager hands rushed to comply. To struggle seemed pointless. In a matter of no time at all, Barb, Harriet and Alvin found themselves manhandled into position up on the seat of the bench, nooses drawn tight around their necks.
Flashes from hand-held cameras washed over their whiplashed nude bodies, gobs of cum clinging to the girl’s thighs glinting back, as several Klansmen recorded the scene.
“Any last words, ol’ bigmouth high-faluttin’ Yankee professor,” taunted Billy-Bob, his face only inches from Barb’s. “Maybe ya’d like ta thank me for sendin’ ya off with a good old Billy-Bob fuck? Ya must know t’was the best ya ever had!”
Barb simply glared at him, her vision blurred by tears.
Alvin took the moment to tell Harriet how sorry he was.
“For what?” she asked.
“For this and the fact we’ll never get to know one another better.”
She didn’t respond to that.
Barb shivered and glanced up at the clock face on the tower of Old Main. Blinking her tears aside, she saw the time to be about 10:20. Surely, the lecture over in the classrooms building must be letting out by now, she thought desperately, thinking that might offer their only remaining chance.
“Awright now. On mah signal, pull the bench out from under ‘em,” instructed Billy-Bob.
“Oh, my God!” sobbed Harriet.
TBC