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Trust
- Thread starter Cella
- Start date
windar
Teller of Tales
When the detectives come asking if he sold any solid oak beams, I'll bet he can give a VERY detailed description.
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
messaline
Crucified Amazon
Why does it be "tremendous" ? Is it giving more pleasure to you ? For us, lesbians, only two fingers are suffiscient ...
But, perhaps am I wrong: after all, I dont know ...
I also like to do like you, Marcie , even towards men ! It's exciting !!!
Often, I dont wear a "petite culotte" (panthy) under my mini skirt !!!
I hope that it's coming from my Premium French Crucifixion Wood ! 
All that is well done, Marcie ! You make me also wet in reading !!!
Ted Parry
Governor
View attachment 520341
I also like to do like you, Marcie , even towards men ! It's exciting !!!
Oh Messaline …. Just thinking of you “sans petite culotte” is making me “tremendous”.
I can just imagine following you from the Metro platform to street level and not noticing whether it was sunny or raining …. my concentration being totally on that beautiful form ascending in front of me …..
windar
Teller of Tales
Why does it be "tremendous" ? Is it giving more pleasure to you ? For us, lesbians, only two fingers are suffiscient ...
Tremendous is a relative term. Like a certain President I won't name, who can't use a noun without "great" or "beautiful" or the like. She finds her husband's parts "tremendous". He no doubt feels the same way about her various parts.. That's love...
messaline
Crucified Amazon
Alas, there is no "metro" in Angers, only a tramway ! But we have some "escalators"...
Attachments
Cella
Spectator
Say the word . . .
“So, Marcie, you ready for your big day tomorrow?”
Alex and I are relaxing on the couch as he whispers this question in my ear while stroking my still damp hair. I had just gotten back from my last workout at the gym and had a long, hot shower to soothe my tired muscles. I’m lying curled up on my side, with my head on his lap, wearing a simple cotton nightdress. Alex’s other hand is resting on my ass cheek, giving it a soft squeeze every now and then. I smile, reveling in the simple, sweet intimacy between us. My happiness, at this moment, could not be greater.
Yes! Tomorrow is my big day. My cross is ready. I am so anxious to be doing this after fantasizing about it for so many years. I’m really going to be crucified! Though I know it will be painful, even agonizing, I fully expect the sensual experience of it will be wonderful! (I wonder if I'll have an orgasm?) In addition, the first-hand knowledge of how it feels to hang on a cross will help me write believable, erotic crux-fiction. Alex will see me as a woman reacting naturally as she hangs on a cross, which will help him create extremely realistic crucifixion imagery. It’s a win-win for two people with a serious crux fantasy.
I roll over on my back and raise my hand to Alex’s neck, pulling his head down to mine. I give him a long, deep, passionate kiss.
“Yes, my dear,” I reply breathily, in response to his question. I feel his warm hand sliding up my toned leg, pulling the nightdress along with it. We kiss some more, our tongues entwined. Alex’s hand strokes the insides of my thighs, as I reflexively spread my legs a bit further apart. Excitement and heat build in me. “So, what’s on your mind, pal?” I coyly ask him.
“This,” he says, lowering his head again to softly kiss me as his hand moves into my crotch.
I gasp as his fingers slip into my wet cleft. I moan as he strokes my clit. Waves of pleasure course through me. My heart is pounding. His hand brushes my nipple.
We dash upstairs to the bedroom.
****************
As the day for my crucifixion approached Alex and I worked out the final details of how the event would unfold. We had discussed a more complete scenario which included me being tied up in a “dungeon” the night before, walking semi-naked with the crossbeam across my shoulders, being stripped, and even having my cross raised up with me tied to it. All of this was heart-poundingly attractive to me. Especially the part about carrying the crossbeam and having the cross raised up with me on it. I would have loved doing those things. However, it seemed a bit ambitious for this first time. We would need at least another person to help with the cross raising and, despite being something of an exhibitionist (I had frolicked naked on a beach in Mexico!), I wasn’t ready for anyone except for Alex looking at my hoo-ha as I hanged naked on a cross erected on our patio. And who would this person even be? One of my friends? His? A family member? A stranger? No fucking way! So, we went with me standing naked on a stool in front of an already raised cross. Alex would attach my wrists to the ends of the crossbeam and I would raise up my legs when ready and slip my feet into the ropes around the upright. Just the anticipated sensual thrill and the inevitable pain and discomfort would have to be enough for now.
Alex was as concerned about my physical well-being as was I. Nerve damage, strained or torn muscles, the effects of restricted blood flow, and possible scarring of my skin were of paramount concern. I certainly didn’t want to suffer any permanent, or even long-lasting injuries!
My wrists were my biggest concern since they would have to support my whole body weight at times. We researched BDSM sites to determine the kind of wrist restraints that would be best. We learned how to bind my wrists properly that spread the pressure of their bindings over the widest possible area of my hand and wrist. I expected that my hands and fingers would likely turn blue, somewhat, and was okay with that. I was less concerned about my feet since they’d be under my body and flat against the upright. They seemed they would be more resistant to damage and would not be subjected to as much twisting or straining as would my wrists. Overall, I was fully expecting and prepared for some bruising, temporary numbness, tingling, and muscle aches and pains after I came off the cross.
Still, I told Alex, I wanted everything to be as realistic as possible within the limited scenario we had. Of course, that might be determined by how much struggling I did on the cross and how far I pushed myself to stay on the cross as long as possible. I had no idea how long this would be. I estimated at least thirty minutes and, hopefully, longer if I could tolerate the pain.
To be better physically prepared to pull and push my body up and down on the cross, I joined a cross-fit training group at a local gym to improve my core strength, flexibility and upper body strength. I was in pretty good shape already from jogging and working out at home, but I needed a more high-intensity workout program to better prepare myself and gain muscle mass.
By the date for my crucifixion I was 135 pounds of sleek, feminine strength!
As much as I hoped to enjoy the anticipated sensual experience of my crucifixion—even thinking about it made me quite horny—I knew there would be real pain and it would be escalating. After all, I’m placing my body in an utterly unnatural position that would subject it to severe stresses and strains. Crucifixion was a method of execution, after all. Not sexual foreplay! It was meant to be as painful and horrible as possible for those condemned to such a gruesome death. What started out as sexually stimulating for me playing out a fantasy might soon become just plain, awful, fucking painful. But I wanted to experience all of it—the pleasure as well as the pain. (Shit! What the hell does that say about me?)
I decided I was going to just let my body respond naturally to hanging on the cross, and not act out for the camera. Alex was sure to get all the pussy shots he wanted! No doubt the longer I hanged the more I would groan, swear, yell, scream out and say terrible things to Alex. I wouldn't be acting either. It would come naturally from my increasing tension and pain. We decided I’d use a “safe word” to let Alex know it was time to end my crucifixion. Until I said that word, though, it was okay for him to leave me hanging, no matter what I said or no matter how much I begged to be taken down. I would know my physical limits when it was time to come off the cross. We picked a word that I would have to consciously decide to say, not anything I was likely to blurt out unintentionally.
The issue of me being unable to get off the cross by my own means was always a bit troubling for me. I was to be truly dependent on Alex to get me down. Otherwise I would just hang, as perfectly crucified as anyone in ancient times, until I horribly died. What would start off as a sensual thrill would become sheer terror and unimaginable agony. But I understood that giving up the freedom to get myself off the cross was crucial to the experience of being crucified. I had to have some loss of control. There had to be some real fear involved, otherwise it would just be play-acting. I wanted some appreciation of how a condemned person actually hanging on a cross would feel, both physically and mentally. The total loss of control over one’s life at that point had to be horrifying. I just had to know something of what it was like.
Alex agreed that he would give help me have as realistic a crucifixion experience as possible. Until, that is, I said the word.
So, on that last night before my crucifixion, as we lay in bed spooning after amazing sex, with Alex’s big hand softly cupping my breast and his warm breath against the back of my neck as he drifted off into sleep, I realized I was putting my full trust in my dear and loving husband. And I was at peace with that.
After all, what could go wrong?
“So, Marcie, you ready for your big day tomorrow?”
Alex and I are relaxing on the couch as he whispers this question in my ear while stroking my still damp hair. I had just gotten back from my last workout at the gym and had a long, hot shower to soothe my tired muscles. I’m lying curled up on my side, with my head on his lap, wearing a simple cotton nightdress. Alex’s other hand is resting on my ass cheek, giving it a soft squeeze every now and then. I smile, reveling in the simple, sweet intimacy between us. My happiness, at this moment, could not be greater.
Yes! Tomorrow is my big day. My cross is ready. I am so anxious to be doing this after fantasizing about it for so many years. I’m really going to be crucified! Though I know it will be painful, even agonizing, I fully expect the sensual experience of it will be wonderful! (I wonder if I'll have an orgasm?) In addition, the first-hand knowledge of how it feels to hang on a cross will help me write believable, erotic crux-fiction. Alex will see me as a woman reacting naturally as she hangs on a cross, which will help him create extremely realistic crucifixion imagery. It’s a win-win for two people with a serious crux fantasy.
I roll over on my back and raise my hand to Alex’s neck, pulling his head down to mine. I give him a long, deep, passionate kiss.
“Yes, my dear,” I reply breathily, in response to his question. I feel his warm hand sliding up my toned leg, pulling the nightdress along with it. We kiss some more, our tongues entwined. Alex’s hand strokes the insides of my thighs, as I reflexively spread my legs a bit further apart. Excitement and heat build in me. “So, what’s on your mind, pal?” I coyly ask him.
“This,” he says, lowering his head again to softly kiss me as his hand moves into my crotch.
I gasp as his fingers slip into my wet cleft. I moan as he strokes my clit. Waves of pleasure course through me. My heart is pounding. His hand brushes my nipple.
We dash upstairs to the bedroom.
****************
As the day for my crucifixion approached Alex and I worked out the final details of how the event would unfold. We had discussed a more complete scenario which included me being tied up in a “dungeon” the night before, walking semi-naked with the crossbeam across my shoulders, being stripped, and even having my cross raised up with me tied to it. All of this was heart-poundingly attractive to me. Especially the part about carrying the crossbeam and having the cross raised up with me on it. I would have loved doing those things. However, it seemed a bit ambitious for this first time. We would need at least another person to help with the cross raising and, despite being something of an exhibitionist (I had frolicked naked on a beach in Mexico!), I wasn’t ready for anyone except for Alex looking at my hoo-ha as I hanged naked on a cross erected on our patio. And who would this person even be? One of my friends? His? A family member? A stranger? No fucking way! So, we went with me standing naked on a stool in front of an already raised cross. Alex would attach my wrists to the ends of the crossbeam and I would raise up my legs when ready and slip my feet into the ropes around the upright. Just the anticipated sensual thrill and the inevitable pain and discomfort would have to be enough for now.
Alex was as concerned about my physical well-being as was I. Nerve damage, strained or torn muscles, the effects of restricted blood flow, and possible scarring of my skin were of paramount concern. I certainly didn’t want to suffer any permanent, or even long-lasting injuries!
My wrists were my biggest concern since they would have to support my whole body weight at times. We researched BDSM sites to determine the kind of wrist restraints that would be best. We learned how to bind my wrists properly that spread the pressure of their bindings over the widest possible area of my hand and wrist. I expected that my hands and fingers would likely turn blue, somewhat, and was okay with that. I was less concerned about my feet since they’d be under my body and flat against the upright. They seemed they would be more resistant to damage and would not be subjected to as much twisting or straining as would my wrists. Overall, I was fully expecting and prepared for some bruising, temporary numbness, tingling, and muscle aches and pains after I came off the cross.
Still, I told Alex, I wanted everything to be as realistic as possible within the limited scenario we had. Of course, that might be determined by how much struggling I did on the cross and how far I pushed myself to stay on the cross as long as possible. I had no idea how long this would be. I estimated at least thirty minutes and, hopefully, longer if I could tolerate the pain.
To be better physically prepared to pull and push my body up and down on the cross, I joined a cross-fit training group at a local gym to improve my core strength, flexibility and upper body strength. I was in pretty good shape already from jogging and working out at home, but I needed a more high-intensity workout program to better prepare myself and gain muscle mass.
By the date for my crucifixion I was 135 pounds of sleek, feminine strength!As much as I hoped to enjoy the anticipated sensual experience of my crucifixion—even thinking about it made me quite horny—I knew there would be real pain and it would be escalating. After all, I’m placing my body in an utterly unnatural position that would subject it to severe stresses and strains. Crucifixion was a method of execution, after all. Not sexual foreplay! It was meant to be as painful and horrible as possible for those condemned to such a gruesome death. What started out as sexually stimulating for me playing out a fantasy might soon become just plain, awful, fucking painful. But I wanted to experience all of it—the pleasure as well as the pain. (Shit! What the hell does that say about me?)
I decided I was going to just let my body respond naturally to hanging on the cross, and not act out for the camera. Alex was sure to get all the pussy shots he wanted! No doubt the longer I hanged the more I would groan, swear, yell, scream out and say terrible things to Alex. I wouldn't be acting either. It would come naturally from my increasing tension and pain. We decided I’d use a “safe word” to let Alex know it was time to end my crucifixion. Until I said that word, though, it was okay for him to leave me hanging, no matter what I said or no matter how much I begged to be taken down. I would know my physical limits when it was time to come off the cross. We picked a word that I would have to consciously decide to say, not anything I was likely to blurt out unintentionally.
The issue of me being unable to get off the cross by my own means was always a bit troubling for me. I was to be truly dependent on Alex to get me down. Otherwise I would just hang, as perfectly crucified as anyone in ancient times, until I horribly died. What would start off as a sensual thrill would become sheer terror and unimaginable agony. But I understood that giving up the freedom to get myself off the cross was crucial to the experience of being crucified. I had to have some loss of control. There had to be some real fear involved, otherwise it would just be play-acting. I wanted some appreciation of how a condemned person actually hanging on a cross would feel, both physically and mentally. The total loss of control over one’s life at that point had to be horrifying. I just had to know something of what it was like.
Alex agreed that he would give help me have as realistic a crucifixion experience as possible. Until, that is, I said the word.
So, on that last night before my crucifixion, as we lay in bed spooning after amazing sex, with Alex’s big hand softly cupping my breast and his warm breath against the back of my neck as he drifted off into sleep, I realized I was putting my full trust in my dear and loving husband. And I was at peace with that.
After all, what could go wrong?
Last edited:
Hey, your last line is a Tree favorite! I knew I should have copywrited it!!
Great chapter Marcella
Cella
Spectator
Second thoughts . . .
“Marcie. You ready yet?”
I’ve been standing on this stool with my arms stretched to the ends of the crossbeam for maybe ten minutes now as Alex takes pictures of me and sets up his camcorders. He wants all possible angles—left, right, front, back, and even one looking down my body from one end of the crossbeam. He’s ready now, and seems to be impatient. He wants me to get on with it. And I want to do it. Oh, I want to do this so fucking badly! This is the moment. So, what’s keeping me from proceeding? All I have to do is bend my legs at the knees so my feet come off the stool and I’m hanging from my wrists. Then I insert my feet in the ropes on the upright. It’s no more complicated than that. Alex will remove the stool and I’ll be crucified. Really crucified! Yes! I’ll finally know what it feels like to hang on a cross, just as though I’m being crucified for some crime in ancient Roman times. Wow!
Well, crucified absent nails and a whipping, but some were crucified with ropes, I’m sure. Over time it was probably just as agonizing as with nails—and took longer to die! But I’m here for the sensuality of hanging on a cross. After all, this is my fantasy. I guess I’ll see just how sensual and turned on I am as I start hanging. Will it live up to my expectations?
The cross is beautiful and solid. I'm aching to begin. But why am I hesitating? Perhaps it’s knowing that once the stool is taken away and I’m hanging on my cross my life is literally in Alex’s hands. I will not be able to get myself off the cross. If I pull my feet out of the ropes I’m still dangling a couple feet of the ground by my wrists. I’d be forced to keep my feet in the ropes for support, as painful as it becomes. If Alex just walked out of my life and left me hanging here, I’d be as fully crucified until death as anyone has ever been. So much for sensuality! That one fact makes me nervous and this whole enactment a bit scary. I might as well be stepping off the stool with a noose around my neck. I’m dead either way if Alex isn’t there to save me. Only with the noose it’s far quicker.
But why shouldn’t I trust Alex? He is my husband and we love each other. I know I can trust him to not leave me crucified. Stop being a twat, Marcella, I mumble to myself. Just get on with it!
I never felt nervous or scared when Alex tied me spread-eagle to our bed. I couldn’t free myself then, but it was so exciting! I was using him as much as he used me for sexual gratification. He wanted to be tied too so I could pleasure him in my own special way. But here, tied to this cross, I don’t feel like his loving wife, but like a powerless, condemned woman. I mean, a cross is an instrument of torture and execution after all, not a big sex toy! It excites me but also terrifies me. The thought of hanging on a cross for real is very terrifying. Yet, I desperately want to experience it.
I’m amazed at how immersed I am in this scenario. I’m really fucking scaring myself! And Alex suddenly seems distant, almost threatening, as he walks around with his boner leading the way, positioning camcorders and staring up at me. Is he trying to scare me? Is this part of his promise to make this realistic? Well, then, it’s fucking working! I’m the naked woman on the cross, helpless. I can’t do anything but hang. Alex is standing on the patio bricks, free to do anything he wants. He has all the power. I have none. We live almost isolated from other people. Who would hear my screams? No one! Oh, shit!
He’s staring between my legs, at my pussy. His face is a mask, dark and malevolent. He’s not the Alex I know and love. He begins stroking his cock. Shit! He’s really creeping me out! Instinctively I try to close my legs closer together, to protect myself. Why? I never closed my legs to Alex out of fear before. Certainly, to tease him and to make him work harder to get his reward. But that was just sex play. Fun for both of us. This, this is different. So different.
Maybe I should get down. End this for now. Try again later when I’ve had a chance to talk with Alex about how I feel. I’m genuinely feeling scared. And I need to pee. The stool rocks a little on the uneven patio stones as my weight shifts. I nervously suck in my breath as though it’s ready to tip over. What would I do if it tipped over? Would I proceed or scream and shout out my safe word? More importantly, what would Alex do? I have to admit I don’t know the answer to that. And that scares me. My heart races as Alex keeps robotically taking pics, as though he’s trying to capture my fears frame by fucking frame.
“Alex, sweetie,” I begin, preparing to say my safe word so he’ll release my wrists and allow me step down from the cross. I just hope he won’t be mad after all this work he’s done. But just as I'm about to utter my word his grim face breaks out into a broad smile. It's the familiar smile of the man I love so much.
“Wow, Marcella,” he says. ‘You look scared. Are you okay with this, babe? We can stop if you want? But you sure seem to be getting into it!”
I breathe a sigh of relief. Alex seems to be his normal self. Should I get down? Or continue? I really want to do this now. My fear is relieved so I think I’ll continue. My bladder is full, but the pressure will help me express my feelings on the cross once I begin to hang. I can hold it for another twenty 20 or thirty minutes. No problem.
I look down at Alex. He looks at me with concern. “You okay, honey? He asks. “You want to stop? Just say the word.”
“No,” I say. “I’m good.”
Yeah. To end this at any time I just have to say my safe word. If I do, Alex will immediately begin taking me off the cross. No questions, no delay.
Fuck! Why was I worried? He’s my loving husband! He’s ready to end this now if I want to, but why ruin the moment? He’s got a fucking hard-on, for crying out loud! He’s excited to see me ready to be crucified! He’s put so much work into this day. I must keep going. I’ll start with a little tease.
“Enjoying the view, my love?” I ask him, grinning, as I lean forward from the cross, arms and legs stretched, as I thrust out my breasts and shake them.
“Oh yes,” he says enthusiastically, his eyes widening, as he looks me up and down. “Oh yes, I am!” I coyly pull one leg across the other, covering my exposed crotch in mock modesty and stick out my tongue as takes a picture.
With my best overly-dramatic southern belle accent I reply. “Sir, where are your manners? Must you ravish me with your gaze!” With a dramatic turn of my head I look away from him, continuing with the tease and clearly over-acting. It helps to calm my nerves about being unable to get myself off this cross.
I go on. He leers back at me as I meet his gaze, pretending to twist the ends of an imaginary moustache. I pretend to be shocked. I suck in my breath and reply with a flourish of mock outrage. “Do not forget, sir, I am a lady! And please do not forget that you are a gentleman!”
Alex’s face suddenly goes dark, threatening, and cruel again. Alex spits back a reply, his lips in a snarl. “You’re no lady, bitch! You’re just a worthless fucking cunt, soon to be crucified!”
Wow! Alex is really getting into this. I never knew he could act this well. The kindly Dr. Jekyll has become Mr. Hyde! He’s not my loving husband any longer but someone I should fear. Indeed, a shiver of fear goes through me as I reflexively tug on my bound wrists. I’m suddenly sick in the pit of my stomach as I’m again very aware that I couldn’t get off this cross now if I wanted, even as I’m standing on the stool. I’m feeling like a real lady in distress. I’m fucking helpless in my current position. I need to pee. Should have foreseen this and not had so much to drink before stepping up to my cross. But Alex recommended–actually, he insisted--that I hydrate well before hanging. What’s his game?
Alex approaches my cross. His erect cock is like a weapon pointed at my vagina. Fuck me! I’ve never been the least bit shy or reluctant about being naked around Alex. But now, because of how he’s acting (I assume), I feel exposed and vulnerable in front of my own husband.
But I’ll play along. It'll help calm me. The stool rocks a little on the uneven patio stones as I somewhat nervously deliver my next line.
“Oh, will no one save me from this monster? Oh, help, help!” Scarlett O’Hara couldn’t have delivered that line any better.
Alex smiles back at me. I’m sure he’s laughing at my over-acting and atrocious southern accent.
Then he reaches in between my legs with his hand and gently strokes the insides of my thighs. It is such a gentle, loving, very sexual touch. It takes my breath away! My thighs tremble as I spread my feet apart on the stool. He brings his hand to my pussy, sliding his fingers into my cleft, finding my clit. I’m about to swoon with the pleasure that is radiating through me.
Staying with my southern belle accent I reply indignantly. “Sir, I fear you are taking advantage of me! You must stop! No man has ever touched me there before. Stop! You brute!”
The last few words barely leave my mouth as I’m quickly building to a climax. All I can mumble now is “Uh, huh! Yes, oh yes!”
I’m pulling hard on my arms as my back arches out from the upright. My body shudders; I’m close to an orgasm. Just a few more strokes, please! “Oh, Alex! Oh! Oh! I love you . . .”
I scream as I suddenly feel the stool pulled out from under me. My body drops hard against the upright as my arms and shoulders are stretched to their fullest. Pain blossoms in my upper body as my legs flail about seeking purchase with the wood behind me. The pleasurable sensations building and running through my body just moments ago have vanished.
I shout “Alex, you fucking bastard! Why did you do that?” as he just stands back laughing and taking photos. “Fuck! We didn’t agree to this!” I pull my legs up and slip them into the ropes around the upright. I push up to take strain off my arms. My thighs quickly become stressed supporting my weight.
I’m suddenly aware of the stream of piss splashing down between my legs as I hang. I’m humiliated, in pain, frustrated, and it shows on my face. Alex is busy taking photos.
My crucifixion has begun!
“Marcie. You ready yet?”
I’ve been standing on this stool with my arms stretched to the ends of the crossbeam for maybe ten minutes now as Alex takes pictures of me and sets up his camcorders. He wants all possible angles—left, right, front, back, and even one looking down my body from one end of the crossbeam. He’s ready now, and seems to be impatient. He wants me to get on with it. And I want to do it. Oh, I want to do this so fucking badly! This is the moment. So, what’s keeping me from proceeding? All I have to do is bend my legs at the knees so my feet come off the stool and I’m hanging from my wrists. Then I insert my feet in the ropes on the upright. It’s no more complicated than that. Alex will remove the stool and I’ll be crucified. Really crucified! Yes! I’ll finally know what it feels like to hang on a cross, just as though I’m being crucified for some crime in ancient Roman times. Wow!Well, crucified absent nails and a whipping, but some were crucified with ropes, I’m sure. Over time it was probably just as agonizing as with nails—and took longer to die! But I’m here for the sensuality of hanging on a cross. After all, this is my fantasy. I guess I’ll see just how sensual and turned on I am as I start hanging. Will it live up to my expectations?
The cross is beautiful and solid. I'm aching to begin. But why am I hesitating? Perhaps it’s knowing that once the stool is taken away and I’m hanging on my cross my life is literally in Alex’s hands. I will not be able to get myself off the cross. If I pull my feet out of the ropes I’m still dangling a couple feet of the ground by my wrists. I’d be forced to keep my feet in the ropes for support, as painful as it becomes. If Alex just walked out of my life and left me hanging here, I’d be as fully crucified until death as anyone has ever been. So much for sensuality! That one fact makes me nervous and this whole enactment a bit scary. I might as well be stepping off the stool with a noose around my neck. I’m dead either way if Alex isn’t there to save me. Only with the noose it’s far quicker.
But why shouldn’t I trust Alex? He is my husband and we love each other. I know I can trust him to not leave me crucified. Stop being a twat, Marcella, I mumble to myself. Just get on with it!
I never felt nervous or scared when Alex tied me spread-eagle to our bed. I couldn’t free myself then, but it was so exciting! I was using him as much as he used me for sexual gratification. He wanted to be tied too so I could pleasure him in my own special way. But here, tied to this cross, I don’t feel like his loving wife, but like a powerless, condemned woman. I mean, a cross is an instrument of torture and execution after all, not a big sex toy! It excites me but also terrifies me. The thought of hanging on a cross for real is very terrifying. Yet, I desperately want to experience it.
I’m amazed at how immersed I am in this scenario. I’m really fucking scaring myself! And Alex suddenly seems distant, almost threatening, as he walks around with his boner leading the way, positioning camcorders and staring up at me. Is he trying to scare me? Is this part of his promise to make this realistic? Well, then, it’s fucking working! I’m the naked woman on the cross, helpless. I can’t do anything but hang. Alex is standing on the patio bricks, free to do anything he wants. He has all the power. I have none. We live almost isolated from other people. Who would hear my screams? No one! Oh, shit!
He’s staring between my legs, at my pussy. His face is a mask, dark and malevolent. He’s not the Alex I know and love. He begins stroking his cock. Shit! He’s really creeping me out! Instinctively I try to close my legs closer together, to protect myself. Why? I never closed my legs to Alex out of fear before. Certainly, to tease him and to make him work harder to get his reward. But that was just sex play. Fun for both of us. This, this is different. So different.
Maybe I should get down. End this for now. Try again later when I’ve had a chance to talk with Alex about how I feel. I’m genuinely feeling scared. And I need to pee. The stool rocks a little on the uneven patio stones as my weight shifts. I nervously suck in my breath as though it’s ready to tip over. What would I do if it tipped over? Would I proceed or scream and shout out my safe word? More importantly, what would Alex do? I have to admit I don’t know the answer to that. And that scares me. My heart races as Alex keeps robotically taking pics, as though he’s trying to capture my fears frame by fucking frame.
“Alex, sweetie,” I begin, preparing to say my safe word so he’ll release my wrists and allow me step down from the cross. I just hope he won’t be mad after all this work he’s done. But just as I'm about to utter my word his grim face breaks out into a broad smile. It's the familiar smile of the man I love so much.
“Wow, Marcella,” he says. ‘You look scared. Are you okay with this, babe? We can stop if you want? But you sure seem to be getting into it!”
I breathe a sigh of relief. Alex seems to be his normal self. Should I get down? Or continue? I really want to do this now. My fear is relieved so I think I’ll continue. My bladder is full, but the pressure will help me express my feelings on the cross once I begin to hang. I can hold it for another twenty 20 or thirty minutes. No problem.
I look down at Alex. He looks at me with concern. “You okay, honey? He asks. “You want to stop? Just say the word.”
“No,” I say. “I’m good.”
Yeah. To end this at any time I just have to say my safe word. If I do, Alex will immediately begin taking me off the cross. No questions, no delay.
Fuck! Why was I worried? He’s my loving husband! He’s ready to end this now if I want to, but why ruin the moment? He’s got a fucking hard-on, for crying out loud! He’s excited to see me ready to be crucified! He’s put so much work into this day. I must keep going. I’ll start with a little tease.
“Enjoying the view, my love?” I ask him, grinning, as I lean forward from the cross, arms and legs stretched, as I thrust out my breasts and shake them.
“Oh yes,” he says enthusiastically, his eyes widening, as he looks me up and down. “Oh yes, I am!” I coyly pull one leg across the other, covering my exposed crotch in mock modesty and stick out my tongue as takes a picture.With my best overly-dramatic southern belle accent I reply. “Sir, where are your manners? Must you ravish me with your gaze!” With a dramatic turn of my head I look away from him, continuing with the tease and clearly over-acting. It helps to calm my nerves about being unable to get myself off this cross.
I go on. He leers back at me as I meet his gaze, pretending to twist the ends of an imaginary moustache. I pretend to be shocked. I suck in my breath and reply with a flourish of mock outrage. “Do not forget, sir, I am a lady! And please do not forget that you are a gentleman!”
Alex’s face suddenly goes dark, threatening, and cruel again. Alex spits back a reply, his lips in a snarl. “You’re no lady, bitch! You’re just a worthless fucking cunt, soon to be crucified!”
Wow! Alex is really getting into this. I never knew he could act this well. The kindly Dr. Jekyll has become Mr. Hyde! He’s not my loving husband any longer but someone I should fear. Indeed, a shiver of fear goes through me as I reflexively tug on my bound wrists. I’m suddenly sick in the pit of my stomach as I’m again very aware that I couldn’t get off this cross now if I wanted, even as I’m standing on the stool. I’m feeling like a real lady in distress. I’m fucking helpless in my current position. I need to pee. Should have foreseen this and not had so much to drink before stepping up to my cross. But Alex recommended–actually, he insisted--that I hydrate well before hanging. What’s his game?
Alex approaches my cross. His erect cock is like a weapon pointed at my vagina. Fuck me! I’ve never been the least bit shy or reluctant about being naked around Alex. But now, because of how he’s acting (I assume), I feel exposed and vulnerable in front of my own husband.
But I’ll play along. It'll help calm me. The stool rocks a little on the uneven patio stones as I somewhat nervously deliver my next line.
“Oh, will no one save me from this monster? Oh, help, help!” Scarlett O’Hara couldn’t have delivered that line any better.
Alex smiles back at me. I’m sure he’s laughing at my over-acting and atrocious southern accent.
Then he reaches in between my legs with his hand and gently strokes the insides of my thighs. It is such a gentle, loving, very sexual touch. It takes my breath away! My thighs tremble as I spread my feet apart on the stool. He brings his hand to my pussy, sliding his fingers into my cleft, finding my clit. I’m about to swoon with the pleasure that is radiating through me.
Staying with my southern belle accent I reply indignantly. “Sir, I fear you are taking advantage of me! You must stop! No man has ever touched me there before. Stop! You brute!”
The last few words barely leave my mouth as I’m quickly building to a climax. All I can mumble now is “Uh, huh! Yes, oh yes!”
I’m pulling hard on my arms as my back arches out from the upright. My body shudders; I’m close to an orgasm. Just a few more strokes, please! “Oh, Alex! Oh! Oh! I love you . . .”
I scream as I suddenly feel the stool pulled out from under me. My body drops hard against the upright as my arms and shoulders are stretched to their fullest. Pain blossoms in my upper body as my legs flail about seeking purchase with the wood behind me. The pleasurable sensations building and running through my body just moments ago have vanished.
I shout “Alex, you fucking bastard! Why did you do that?” as he just stands back laughing and taking photos. “Fuck! We didn’t agree to this!” I pull my legs up and slip them into the ropes around the upright. I push up to take strain off my arms. My thighs quickly become stressed supporting my weight.
I’m suddenly aware of the stream of piss splashing down between my legs as I hang. I’m humiliated, in pain, frustrated, and it shows on my face. Alex is busy taking photos.
My crucifixion has begun!
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messaline
Crucified Amazon
I advise against this feet position in a real crucifixion (at least for somebody who is not familiarized with crucifixion) :
if your feet are flat to the wood, your thighs are obliged to be horizontal and you've no potency to relieve your arms ;
why do you not use of a rest'feet ? It could permit to your legs to easier support your body'weight and to better breathe ;
Alice is Alice and she can assume this kind of position: she's practically a professional crux'girl !
(though that I'm not sure that she's not in a great pain !)
... even I, I prefer to have this position: it's better to let the dreams invading my mind ... 
... and not only the sufferings ...
Great story Marcella, I love the build up, the exploration of desire and anticipation of the reality of the cross. A fit young woman giving herself to her man, to her cross, mmm yes. She is uncertain, but she wants it, she needs it and she is ready for it.
"I decided I was going to just let my body respond naturally to hanging on the cross, and not act out for the camera"
oh yes please, live the moment, embrace it, share it with us!
Dear heaven stop toying with us and put that on a cross now!
"I decided I was going to just let my body respond naturally to hanging on the cross, and not act out for the camera"
oh yes please, live the moment, embrace it, share it with us!
Dear heaven stop toying with us and put that on a cross now!
AlexArts
Soul of Cinder
I am indeed
Another great chapter and Messa brings up a good point about the feet flat against the stipe but really do we care?!?!
messaline
Crucified Amazon
Yes, I agree ! Fantasy is not reality and Messa has yet lost an opportunity to shut up ...
Never shut up! Ideas shared are more valuable than thoughts held backYes, I agree ! Fantasy is not reality and Messa has yet lost an opportunity to shut up ...
messaline
Crucified Amazon
Mmmmm ! A great thought !Never shut up! Ideas shared are more valuable than thoughts held back
