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Do we have to wait until Marcella is taken down to find out how this went???

Tree

They do take her down, don't they???:confused::eek:

I don't know. Nice view up here. Getting some sun and attention. Pain's not quite excruciating--at least I'm not nailed!:eek:
The footrest was a good touch--gives me more support. And Messaline is so good at keeping me company!;)

It is just such an incredibly hard to explain experience. So painful and humiliating, yet so fucking sensual! I can't believe how horny it makes me to hang here. I want to come down, yet I do not. Getting off the cross ends the experience. I'll never do this for the first time again. And not knowing if I can even get down just makes it so fucking intense. I have to mentally prepare myself that I might not be getting down. Yikes! How will I handle it?

Actually, everyone, I've not posted a new chapter lately because I kind of hit a dry spell in creativity. So, please don't write me off yet. All your comments are so wonderful and kind. I will finish this, and soon.

I know, I said that also about my Marcella's Dangerous Liaison thread which sits unfinished. I'm really not a very disciplined writer!:mad: Just a horny crux bitch who needs to get her act together!

Some of Bartnel's recent postings have inspired me, so maybe I'll get off my lazy writer's ass soon.
 
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Ecstasies . . .

I thrust my pelvis forward, offering my pussy to Messaline’s lips, fingers and tongue. She’s incredible! Waves of pleasure surge through as I pull and tug on my bindings. I feel the indescribable sensations of both hanging on a cross while being seriously sexually stimulated. I throw my head back against the upright, groaning with a mixture of pain and awesome pleasure as I shamelessly spread my legs as wide as possible so Messaline’s tongue can probe between my pussy lips and lick my engorged clit. I can hear the spectators cheering and shouting.

“She’s really enjoying it now!”

“Yeah, go bitch go! Spread those legs girlie! Show us what you got!”

“Fucking cunt is putting on quite a show for us!”

"What a sweet pussy! Yes sir! Show it off bitch! Lets see it!"

As my passions rise I feel Messaline’s hands on my breasts, squeezing them and rolling my nipples between her fingers. I gasp as waves of pleasure roll through me. My pussy is dripping! Then her lips are on my lips. What the fuck! How did she get up here? She must be standing on the stool now. I never saw Alex or anyone else put it in place for her. I must have missed it as my arousal was escalating.

Messaline grinds her hips between my spread thighs as our breasts are crushed together. Our tongues probe deep into each other’s mouths as I feel her fingers digging deep into my cunt as though she’s trying to fuck me. Then softly, with increasing pressure and speed, she strokes my clit with a single finger, expertly rubbing my tumescent little bean so as to bring on the most amazing waves of sheer sexual pleasure I have ever felt. I begin to breathe in and out rapidly as I feel an orgasm building in me. Suddenly it erupts and I push myself up as high as possible on the cross, tensing my body as wave after wave or orgasmic pleasure sweep through me. I must have screamed out in my ecstasy as I hear clapping and jeering from the spectators as my exhausted and sweat-drenched body drops back down on the cross.

My muscles are quivering in spasms as my orgasm slowly fades. I try squeezing my legs together to preserve the feeling, but, alas, soon it is gone. If I were in bed now I’d be drifting off into a wonderful post-orgasmic sleep. But I’m crucified, and a crucified woman does not sleep on the cross. No! Soon my shoulder muscles are again burning fiercely hot as the weight of my exhausted body pulls my arms taut. I cannot enjoy the sweet bliss that follows an amazing orgasm. I must be about the business of dancing on my cross as my tortured body overrides my desire for peace and comfort.

As I push I look around for Messaline. Where is she? She’s gone! I’m suddenly feeling very alone, abandoned even. Her presence with me had become such a comfort and thrill. I need her even more now.

“Where are you,” I shout, over and over. Messaline does not respond. I look around and do not see her with the others. All I hear are their jeers and insults that I try to ignore, thinking only of Messaline as I hang in utter misery. I pray she comes back. I’m not ready to get down off the cross. I could endure this much better if she were here with me.

The hours pass. The sun has moved across the sky. I continue to piss and get water. The spectators take turns in bringing it to me. Everyone but Messaline. (Where the hell is she?) Some of them taunt me and fuck with me as they do, especially the old guy named Tree. He seems to take special pleasure in watching me suffer. He really makes me stretch myself out to reach the cup! What an asshole! The women are more business-like about it. Just unemotionally bringing the cup too my lips. Like Messaline, Barb has remained naked most of the time I’ve seen her around my cross. I have to admit, she’s got a great body. The other women are attractive too, but have covered up when not in the swimming pool. They spend time strolling around the property, talking and laughing, sometimes going inside for a while. (Are they with Alex? Fucking bitches better not be!) The women individually or together stand by my cross from time to time watching me as I hang. How the hell can I be sustaining any interest after all these hours? And Rafi, my asshole of a brother? I haven’t seen him since this morning, soon after his arrival. Alex either. What the fuck? Why isn’t Alex, my loving husband, here? His absence makes me increasingly uneasy. The guys? Well, they just lounge around eating, drinking and listening to the ballgame. Sometimes they disappear for a while into the house or garage when they aren’t verbally abusing me. What’s going on?

There are only strangers around me. The only person I really miss right now is Messaline. She’s been absent too long. Why? Why?

Nobody other than Alex or Messaline has touched me in my hours on the cross. That’s fine by me! Barb’s hand inadvertently brushed against my erect nipple once as she was raising up the water cup to my lips. I gave a little yelp as a pleasurable sensation shot through me. She almost apologized for it, then stopped. I mean, who apologizes to a crucified woman? I think she wanted to kiss me—or did I just imagine it? To be honest, I wouldn’t have minded at all if she did.

My lips are parched and cracked and I know I’ve gotten a sunburn despite the fact I started out this morning slathered with a high SPF UVB protection sunscreen. After hours of hanging and sweating its protection has been greatly diminished. I was never the type to burn easily but I can feel a fiery glow now! Not good for me at all, I know, so why don’t I just say my word and get down? I know why: I’m just not fucking ready yet! Or maybe I’m just too afraid that my plea to be taken down will be met with mockery and laughter. Am I ready to know if that’s the case?

By late afternoon I’m all alone on my cross. My spectators have wandered off, probably too bored watching me any longer. My pain has increased considerably and I’m so exhausted. I’ve pissed a couple of times since last watered. Have I been abandoned to die?! I groan at the thought. Just say the fucking word, I mutter to myself. Stop trying to be such a hard-assed bitch. Just end this! I’m just about to shout out my word, praying that someone hears it, when I see Messaline standing by my cross again, in front of me, looking up with sorrowful eyes. She’s wearing the dress I saw her in this morning.

“Oh, ma chère,” she says softly, ‘you are suffering so terribly!”

“Where, where have you been?” I gasp, as tears begin welling up in my eyes.

“Marcella, my dear, I’ve been here all along.”

“How? I haven’t seen you in hours . . .”

Before I could say more she’s suddenly face to face with me, and now naked. She presses her body to mine and kisses me with exquisitely soft, moist, red lips. I try to speak but her presence has stolen my voice. Messaline wraps her arms around me, just loving me. My body responds as her lips and hands bring me to another throbbing orgasm. I drop down on the cross yet again, trembling with the passion surging through me.

Time passes. I endure just for the sake of enduring. I want to wrest every possible pleasure and pain this experience has for me before I’m forced to quit.

It’s now twilight. I’ve been hanging all day. I’m alone on the patio as the outdoor lights begin coming on. It’s cooler now. Messaline appears and disappears. I must be delirious. I want to cry out my word but cannot. Who would hear it? Would Messaline? Would she notify the others? I try to form the words but my mouth is so dry. I collapse and feel myself falling into a deep, dark, cool, pool.

I dream. Messaline is with me.

I awake suddenly as my eyes pop open. I’m in my bed, lying on my back, naked, uncovered. It’s night. The bedroom is dark except for the lamp on my bedside table. My skin is tight and hot. There’s a glass of water on the table. I try to reach for it but cannot raise my arm. I cry out for help.

The door swings open. Four women enter: Barb, Thessela, Erin and Eulalia. They stand around my bed. Barb pulls a chair up. “So glad to see you’re awake sweetheart. We were very worried about you.”

The women seem friendly and genuinely concerned about my welfare. There's compassion in their eyes. Not at all like the severe, mocking, uncaring bitches they seemed as I was hanging on my cross.

“Where’s Messaline?” I ask. “Is she still here?” My eyes dart around the room, looking for her.

Barb looks at me as though she doesn’t understand what I just asked.

“Who do you want dear?” She asks.

“Messaline.” I reply. “Please tell me. Is she still here? I want to see her.”

Barb looks at the others and they just shrug.

Barb looks at me again.

“Who is Messaline?”
 
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Ecstasies . . .

I thrust my pelvis forward, offering my pussy to Messaline’s lips, fingers and tongue. She’s incredible! Waves of pleasure surge through as I pull and tug on my bindings. I feel the indescribable sensations of both hanging on a cross while being seriously sexually stimulated. I throw my head back against the upright, groaning with a mixture of pain and awesome pleasure as I shamelessly spread my legs as wide as possible so Messaline’s tongue can probe between my pussy lips and lick my engorged clit. I can hear the spectators cheering and shouting.

“She’s really enjoying it now!”

“Yeah, go bitch go!”

“Fucking cunt is putting quite a show for us!”

As my passions rise I feel Messaline’s hands on my breasts, squeezing them and rolling my nipples between her fingers. Then her lips are on my lips. What the fuck! How did she get up here? She must be standing on the stool now. I never saw Alex or anyone else put it in place for her. I must have missed it as my arousal was escalating.

Messaline grinds her hips between my spread thighs as our breasts are crushed together. Our tongues probe deep into each other’s mouths as I feel her fingers digging deep into my cunt as though she’s trying to fuck me. Then softly, with increasing pressure and speed, she strokes my clit with a single finger, expertly rubbing my tumescent little bean so as to bring on the most amazing waves of sheer sexual pleasure I have ever felt. I begin to breathe deeply as I feel an orgasm building in me. Suddenly it erupts and I push myself up as high as possible on the cross, tensing my body as wave after wave or orgasmic pleasure sweep through me. I must have screamed out my pleasure as I hear clapping and jeering from the spectators as my exhausted and sweat-drenched body drops back down on the cross.

My muscles are quivering in spasms as my orgasm slowly fades. I try squeezing my legs together to preserve the feeling, but, alas, soon it is gone. If I were in bed now I’d be drifting off into a wonderful post-orgasmic sleep. But I’m crucified, and a crucified woman does not sleep on the cross. No! Soon my shoulder muscles are again burning fiercely hot as the weight of my exhausted body pulls my arms taut. I cannot enjoy the sweet bliss that follows an amazing orgasm. I must be about the business of dancing on my cross as my tortured body overrides my desire for peace and comfort.

As I push I look around for Messaline. Where is she? She’s gone! I’m suddenly feeling very alone, abandoned even. Her presence with me had become such a comfort and thrill. I need her even more now.

“Where are you,” I shout, over and over. Messaline does not respond. I look around and do not see her with the others. All I hear are their jeers and insults that I try to ignore, thinking only of Messaline as I hang in utter misery. I pray she comes back. I’m not ready to get down off the cross. I could endure this much better if she were here with me.

The hours pass. The sun has moved across the sky. I continue to piss and get water. The spectators take turns in bringing it to me. Everyone but Messaline. (Where the hell is she?) Some of them taunt me and fuck with me as they do, especially the old guy named Tree. He seems to take special pleasure in watching me suffer. He really makes me stretch myself out to reach the cup! What an asshole! The women are more business-like about it. Just unemotionally bringing the cup too my lips. Like Messaline, Barb has remained naked most of the time I’ve seen her around my cross. I have to admit, she’s got a great body. The other women are attractive too, but have covered up when not in the swimming pool. They spend time strolling around the property, talking and laughing, sometimes going inside for a while. (Are they with Alex? Fucking bitches better not be!) The women individually or together stand by my cross from time to time watching me as I hang. How the hell can I be sustaining any interest after all these hours? And Rafi, my asshole of a brother? I haven’t seen him since this morning, soon after his arrival. Alex either. What the fuck? Why isn’t Alex, my loving husband, here? His absence makes me increasingly uneasy. The guys? Well, they just lounge around eating, drinking and listening to the ballgame. Sometimes they disappear for a while into the house or garage when they aren’t verbally abusing me. What’s going on?

There are only strangers around me. The only person I really miss right now is Messaline. She’s been absent too long. Why? Why?

Nobody other than Alex or Messaline has touched me in my hours on the cross. That’s fine by me! Barb’s hand inadvertently brushed against my erect nipple once as she was raising up the water cup to my lips. I gave a little yelp as a pleasurable sensation shot through me. She almost apologized for it, then stopped. I mean, who apologizes to a crucified woman? I think she wanted to kiss me—or did I just imagine it? To be honest, I wouldn’t have minded at all if she did.

My lips are parched and cracked and I know I’ve gotten a sunburn despite the fact I started out this morning slathered with a high SPF UVB protection sunscreen. After hours of hanging and sweating its protection has been greatly diminished. I was never the type to burn easily but I can feel a fiery glow now! Not good for me at all, I know, so why don’t I just say my word and get down? I know why: I’m just not fucking ready yet! Or maybe I’m just too afraid that my plea to be taken down will be met with mockery and laughter. Am I ready to know if that’s the case?

By late afternoon I’m all alone on my cross. My spectators have wandered off, probably too bored watching me any longer. My pain has increased considerably and I’m so exhausted. I’ve pissed a couple of times since last watered. Have I been abandoned to die?! I groan at the thought. Just say the fucking word, I mutter to myself. Stop trying to be such a hard-assed bitch. Just end this! I’m just about to shout out my word, praying that someone hears it, when I see Messaline standing by my cross again, in front of me, looking up with sorrowful eyes. She’s wearing the dress I saw her in this morning.

“Oh, ma chère,” she says softly, ‘you are suffering so terribly!”

“Where, where have you been?” I gasp, as tears begin welling up in my eyes.

“Marcella, my dear, I’ve been here all along.”

“How? I haven’t seen you in hours . . .”

Before I could say more she’s suddenly face to face with me, and now naked. She presses her body to mine and kisses me with exquisitely soft, moist, red lips. I try to speak but her presence has stolen my voice. Messaline wraps her arms around me, just loving me. My body responds as her lips and hands bring me to another throbbing orgasm. I drop down on the cross yet again, trembling with the passion surging through me.

Time passes. I endure just for the sake of enduring. I want to wrest every possible pleasure and pain this experience has for me before I’m forced to quit.

It’s now twilight. I’ve been hanging all day. I’m alone on the patio as the outdoor lights begin coming on. It’s cooler now. Messaline appears and disappears. I must be delirious. I want to cry out my word but cannot. Who would hear it? Would Messaline? Would she notify the others? I try to form the words but my mouth is so dry. I collapse and feel myself falling into a deep, dark, cool, pool.

I dream. Messaline is with me.

I awake suddenly as my eyes pop open. I’m in my bed, lying on my back, naked, uncovered. It’s night. The bedroom is dark except for the lamp on my bedside table. My skin is tight and hot. There’s a glass of water on the table. I try to reach for it but cannot raise my arm. I cry out for help.

The door swings open. Four women enter: Barb, Thessela, Erin and Eulalia. They stand around my bed. Barb pulls a chair up. “So glad to see you’re awake sweetheart. We were very worried about you.”

The women seem friendly and genuinely concerned about my welfare. There's compassion in their eyes. Not at all like the severe, mocking, uncaring bitches they seemed as I was hanging on my cross.

“Where’s Messaline?” I ask. “Is she still here?” My eyes dart around the room, looking for her.

Barb looks at me as though she doesn’t understand what I just asked.

“Who do you want dear?” She asks.

“Messaline.” I reply. “Please tell me. Is she still here? I want to see her.”

Barb looks at the others and they just shrug.

Barb looks at me again.

“Who is Messaline?”
Tree would never mock one of his charges but then he had nothing to with Marcella's crux, so he may have here...

The door swings open. Four women enter: Barb, Thessela, Erin and Eulalia. They stand around my bed. Barb pulls a chair up. “So glad to see you’re awake sweetheart. We were very worried about you.”

The women seem friendly and genuinely concerned about my welfare. There's compassion in their eyes. Not at all like the severe, mocking, uncaring bitches they seemed as I was hanging on my cross.

“Where’s Messaline?” I ask. “Is she still here?” My eyes dart around the room, looking for her.

Barb looks at me as though she doesn’t understand what I just asked.

“Who do you want dear?” She asks.

“Messaline.” I reply. “Please tell me. Is she still here? I want to see her.”

Barb looks at the others and they just shrug.

Barb looks at me again.

“Who is Messaline?”
oz 001 a.jpg

"But she was there and..."

"Shh, Marcella. You have had a long day. Get some sleep" Barb says.

I am exhausted and take her advice. Sometime during the night I turn onto my side. I here metal against metal and cold steel roll against my belly. I turn on the light on the end table and find three long thick rusty spikes with blood stains between the flaking metal. The three tips are shiny and honed to sharp points. There is a note that reads "Good tale, Marcella. I look forward to helping you and Alex with your next adventure."
I look at Alex and swear I must be dreaming. I sleep...

Great story Marcella...

Tree
 
Ecstasies . . .

I thrust my pelvis forward, offering my pussy to Messaline’s lips, fingers and tongue. She’s incredible! Waves of pleasure surge through as I pull and tug on my bindings. I feel the indescribable sensations of both hanging on a cross while being seriously sexually stimulated. I throw my head back against the upright, groaning with a mixture of pain and awesome pleasure as I shamelessly spread my legs as wide as possible so Messaline’s tongue can probe between my pussy lips and lick my engorged clit. I can hear the spectators cheering and shouting.

“She’s really enjoying it now!”

“Yeah, go bitch go! Spread those legs girlie! Show us what you got!”

“Fucking cunt is putting on quite a show for us!”

"What a sweet pussy! Yes sir! Show it off bitch! Lets see it!"

As my passions rise I feel Messaline’s hands on my breasts, squeezing them and rolling my nipples between her fingers. I gasp as waves of pleasure roll through me. My pussy is dripping! Then her lips are on my lips. What the fuck! How did she get up here? She must be standing on the stool now. I never saw Alex or anyone else put it in place for her. I must have missed it as my arousal was escalating.

Messaline grinds her hips between my spread thighs as our breasts are crushed together. Our tongues probe deep into each other’s mouths as I feel her fingers digging deep into my cunt as though she’s trying to fuck me. Then softly, with increasing pressure and speed, she strokes my clit with a single finger, expertly rubbing my tumescent little bean so as to bring on the most amazing waves of sheer sexual pleasure I have ever felt. I begin to breathe in and out rapidly as I feel an orgasm building in me. Suddenly it erupts and I push myself up as high as possible on the cross, tensing my body as wave after wave or orgasmic pleasure sweep through me. I must have screamed out in my ecstasy as I hear clapping and jeering from the spectators as my exhausted and sweat-drenched body drops back down on the cross.

My muscles are quivering in spasms as my orgasm slowly fades. I try squeezing my legs together to preserve the feeling, but, alas, soon it is gone. If I were in bed now I’d be drifting off into a wonderful post-orgasmic sleep. But I’m crucified, and a crucified woman does not sleep on the cross. No! Soon my shoulder muscles are again burning fiercely hot as the weight of my exhausted body pulls my arms taut. I cannot enjoy the sweet bliss that follows an amazing orgasm. I must be about the business of dancing on my cross as my tortured body overrides my desire for peace and comfort.

As I push I look around for Messaline. Where is she? She’s gone! I’m suddenly feeling very alone, abandoned even. Her presence with me had become such a comfort and thrill. I need her even more now.

“Where are you,” I shout, over and over. Messaline does not respond. I look around and do not see her with the others. All I hear are their jeers and insults that I try to ignore, thinking only of Messaline as I hang in utter misery. I pray she comes back. I’m not ready to get down off the cross. I could endure this much better if she were here with me.

The hours pass. The sun has moved across the sky. I continue to piss and get water. The spectators take turns in bringing it to me. Everyone but Messaline. (Where the hell is she?) Some of them taunt me and fuck with me as they do, especially the old guy named Tree. He seems to take special pleasure in watching me suffer. He really makes me stretch myself out to reach the cup! What an asshole! The women are more business-like about it. Just unemotionally bringing the cup too my lips. Like Messaline, Barb has remained naked most of the time I’ve seen her around my cross. I have to admit, she’s got a great body. The other women are attractive too, but have covered up when not in the swimming pool. They spend time strolling around the property, talking and laughing, sometimes going inside for a while. (Are they with Alex? Fucking bitches better not be!) The women individually or together stand by my cross from time to time watching me as I hang. How the hell can I be sustaining any interest after all these hours? And Rafi, my asshole of a brother? I haven’t seen him since this morning, soon after his arrival. Alex either. What the fuck? Why isn’t Alex, my loving husband, here? His absence makes me increasingly uneasy. The guys? Well, they just lounge around eating, drinking and listening to the ballgame. Sometimes they disappear for a while into the house or garage when they aren’t verbally abusing me. What’s going on?

There are only strangers around me. The only person I really miss right now is Messaline. She’s been absent too long. Why? Why?

Nobody other than Alex or Messaline has touched me in my hours on the cross. That’s fine by me! Barb’s hand inadvertently brushed against my erect nipple once as she was raising up the water cup to my lips. I gave a little yelp as a pleasurable sensation shot through me. She almost apologized for it, then stopped. I mean, who apologizes to a crucified woman? I think she wanted to kiss me—or did I just imagine it? To be honest, I wouldn’t have minded at all if she did.

My lips are parched and cracked and I know I’ve gotten a sunburn despite the fact I started out this morning slathered with a high SPF UVB protection sunscreen. After hours of hanging and sweating its protection has been greatly diminished. I was never the type to burn easily but I can feel a fiery glow now! Not good for me at all, I know, so why don’t I just say my word and get down? I know why: I’m just not fucking ready yet! Or maybe I’m just too afraid that my plea to be taken down will be met with mockery and laughter. Am I ready to know if that’s the case?

By late afternoon I’m all alone on my cross. My spectators have wandered off, probably too bored watching me any longer. My pain has increased considerably and I’m so exhausted. I’ve pissed a couple of times since last watered. Have I been abandoned to die?! I groan at the thought. Just say the fucking word, I mutter to myself. Stop trying to be such a hard-assed bitch. Just end this! I’m just about to shout out my word, praying that someone hears it, when I see Messaline standing by my cross again, in front of me, looking up with sorrowful eyes. She’s wearing the dress I saw her in this morning.

“Oh, ma chère,” she says softly, ‘you are suffering so terribly!”

“Where, where have you been?” I gasp, as tears begin welling up in my eyes.

“Marcella, my dear, I’ve been here all along.”

“How? I haven’t seen you in hours . . .”

Before I could say more she’s suddenly face to face with me, and now naked. She presses her body to mine and kisses me with exquisitely soft, moist, red lips. I try to speak but her presence has stolen my voice. Messaline wraps her arms around me, just loving me. My body responds as her lips and hands bring me to another throbbing orgasm. I drop down on the cross yet again, trembling with the passion surging through me.

Time passes. I endure just for the sake of enduring. I want to wrest every possible pleasure and pain this experience has for me before I’m forced to quit.

It’s now twilight. I’ve been hanging all day. I’m alone on the patio as the outdoor lights begin coming on. It’s cooler now. Messaline appears and disappears. I must be delirious. I want to cry out my word but cannot. Who would hear it? Would Messaline? Would she notify the others? I try to form the words but my mouth is so dry. I collapse and feel myself falling into a deep, dark, cool, pool.

I dream. Messaline is with me.

I awake suddenly as my eyes pop open. I’m in my bed, lying on my back, naked, uncovered. It’s night. The bedroom is dark except for the lamp on my bedside table. My skin is tight and hot. There’s a glass of water on the table. I try to reach for it but cannot raise my arm. I cry out for help.

The door swings open. Four women enter: Barb, Thessela, Erin and Eulalia. They stand around my bed. Barb pulls a chair up. “So glad to see you’re awake sweetheart. We were very worried about you.”

The women seem friendly and genuinely concerned about my welfare. There's compassion in their eyes. Not at all like the severe, mocking, uncaring bitches they seemed as I was hanging on my cross.

“Where’s Messaline?” I ask. “Is she still here?” My eyes dart around the room, looking for her.

Barb looks at me as though she doesn’t understand what I just asked.

“Who do you want dear?” She asks.

“Messaline.” I reply. “Please tell me. Is she still here? I want to see her.”

Barb looks at the others and they just shrug.

Barb looks at me again.

“Who is Messaline?”
I am not sure. Is that The End?
 
The guys? Well, they just lounge around eating, drinking and listening to the ballgame.

That can be fun too.:cool:

I know I’ve gotten a sunburn despite the fact I started out this morning slathered with a high SPF UVB protection sunscreen.

Now you see, this is where a modern crucifixion has it all over the Roman version. Did those guys care a whit that their victims might develop melanoma years later? No.

Very good story, Marcella. I look forward to the Epilogue.
 
Revelations . . .

“What do you mean?” I ask, confused by the question. “She was with me! She was there!”

I’m suddenly uncomfortably aware of my nakedness and look around for something to cover myself. There’s nothing; just me lying on the fitted sheet over the mattress. I don’t really know these women around me and feel uneasy with them staring at me lying on my bed. I try to bend one leg up to roll it over the other and conceal my privates, but the muscles ache and tremble so much I give up trying. I get blank stares and awkward silence from everyone. They begin to look away, aware of my embarrassment.

“All four of us were with you from time to time.” Says Eulalia. “Perhaps you’ve confused one of us with . . .”

I cut her off, sharply. “No! I’m not confused! She’s the one with blonde hair and a French accent. She was wearing a flowery summer dress with spaghetti straps and heels . . . when she wasn’t naked. She told me her name. How could you not have seen her?”

Barb looks at me, moving her head slightly side to side. “Sorry to have to tell you,” she says, “there was no one dressed like that among us.”

“Well, then,” I go on, desperate to prove that Messaline was there, “was there another woman here? Not part of your group. Someone who arrived later?”

Barb looks at me with concern. “Marcella, dear, there was no one named ‘Messaline’ present among us, nor did any other woman arrive separately. There were just the four of us you see in your bedroom now, and, of course, the guys—Tree, Madiosi, Windar and Wragg--your brother and Alex. No one else was present to witness your crucifixion, certainly no other woman as you described with a French accent.”

“No, no! She was there with me! How can you say you didn’t see her?” Tears begin to well up in my eyes.

I try to sit up in bed, but when I push up my arms are like rubber and my shoulders burn with pain. I collapse back down.

“You should just lie there,” says Eulalia, leaning over me, “and rest. Your body—and mind—have been through a great deal of stress. Far more than most people could have possibly endured. You need to recover, and process everything that happened.”

How do I “process” Messaline, I wonder to myself. I ache to see her, to feel her touch on my body. She was alive to me. Now it seems I’m mourning her as a loved one who has died. I roll my head to the side and my welling tears roll down my face. I deep sense of loss envelopes me, as deep as the loss of real person.

“Would you like something over you?” Asks Thessela, holding up a sheet that had been pulled to the end of the bed last night. “You couldn’t bear the touch last night, but perhaps now, to cover your . . . umm…” Her voice trails off as I can see she she’s not comfortable looking at my nakedness.

“Okay,” I say, let’s try it.” But even the light touch of the sheet over my sunburned skin is too much. “Please, take it off,” I say urgently. “It hurts!”

“I want to sit up. Would you help me sit up? I ask. Barb and Thessela put their hands behind my back and gently help me to a sitting position. I try to push back with my legs use my arms to help to get my back against the headboard and groan and I groan and grimace with the pain of using my overstressed muscles. They plump a couple of down pillows for behind my back. At least that skin isn’t sunburned. I let my upper body rest against the cool, soft pillows.

My mouth is incredibly dry and I ask for water. Eulalia pours a glass from a pitcher on my nightstand. She passes it to me but does not let go as I can hardly grasp it with my numb and tingling hands. I drink but some dribbles down my chest. Thessela grabs a towel but I yelp and tense as she wipes it across my reddened skin.

“Oh, so sorry,” she says apologetically. ‘I don’t mean to hurt you.” As she tries to just gently pat my skin the towel brushes against my stiff nipple. The touch is painful, yet sensual. It seems to connect directly to my pussy. Fuck if I’m not getting aroused! It’s surreal feeling this way around these women I barely know. Then again, everything since I mounted my cross yesterday has been totally fucking strange—and marvelous, and sensual and everything and more that I could have ever expected!

I look at my hands and wrists. There is dark bruising around my wrists from where my bindings were especially tight; my fingers are tingly and there’s a deep ache at the base of my thumbs with some bruising there too probably caused by my bindings pushing up into the meaty parts of my hands as I hanged from my wrists. I remember how blue my hands appeared while I was hanging, but their color now seems normal. All my fingers move. Good! I look down at my feet. The tops of my feet are bruised and there is numbness in my toes. I wriggle my toes. Again good! But it hurts to move my toes—a lot! I try to pull my legs up and that hurts too. Big surprise. It seems all my leg muscles are overstretched and strained. So, I can barely move my arms and legs, my fingers and toes are numb, I have shooting pains in my joints and extremities, and I have what feels like a third-degree sunburn! Yet, despite all that, I had the most incredible experience of my life. I was crucified! And for much, much longer than I ever imagined. I was tortured, orgasmic, terrified, helpless and utterly humiliated. It was . . . it was . . . indescribable.

The heat in my pussy is spreading outward. I wish I were alone so I could masturbate . . . thinking about Messaline. Oh god, how I fucking miss her!

“How long was I on the cross?” I throw out a question to all the women, trying to get my mind off Messaline.

“About thirteen hours in all.” Says Erin, who until now had been quiet. The other three nod in agreement.

Erin goes on. “You were somewhat out of your mind last night, Marcella, when we took you down from the cross. Alex carried you to the bedroom.”

“I don’t remember saying my safe word?”

“You never said it.”

“Then why did you take me down? I groaned. I wanted to stay on the cross as long as I could. Messaline was with me . . . it was so wonderful. She made me feel so wonderful.” Thinking of Messaline again—her touch, her lips, her body against mine—makes me wet. Without even thinking I cup my hands over my vulva and press to intensify the building pleasure.

“Perhaps we should leave,” says Thessela, a bit uncomfortably. “She may want to be alone.”

Barb gently touches my thigh. “Sweetie, Alex decided on his own to end your crucifixion. Poor man, he was beside himself with concern for you for much of your hanging. He couldn’t even watch you. At some point you began babbling nonsensically and we all greatly feared you had reached the extent of your endurance. Any longer and you might permanently damage yourself.”

“But it wasn’t long enough! I wanted more time . . . Messaline was with me. I wasn’t in any danger . . .”

“You were in danger Marcella. Despite trying to keep you watered as much as possible, you were becoming dangerously dehydrated. We were worried you were delirious. You were acting strange, talking to yourself and acting as though someone was with you, touching you intimately. I imagine, now, that that was when Messaline was with you—right? You appeared to have an orgasm or two. Either that or your acting was worthy of an Oscar!”

I chuckle a bit, then blush realizing I was doing all of this in front of strangers. I ask Barb if I could get something to eat. She brings me some fruit and yogurt and tea. I can barely hold a spoon but manage to feed myself. I wasn’t about to have someone feed me. Barb insists I drink more water, which I do, but then I feel the urge to pee. The girls (seems I’m getting to know them) help me stagger to the bathroom on wobbly, rubbery, spasming legs. Finished I tell Barb I really need to take a shower. I’m too wobbly to stand so she sits me in the tub and using the tub hand wand gently rinses me off with cool water. She tells me she can help me with my sexual frustration. I’m hesitant at first, not really knowing her, but I agree. My fingers are too numb and shaky to properly take care of myself. She leans me back in the tub and has me spread my legs. With warm water from the shower wand and her nimble fingers she brings me to a shattering orgasm. Once I’ve recovered enough to stand she helps to pat me dry and then assists me back to bed. My orgasm has left me relaxed and very sleepy. The girls leave me and I sleep for the rest of the day and through the night.

I wake up early in the morning. I glance around the room to see Alex sound asleep in a cushy chair in the corner. I do not want to wake him. I’m still sore and wobbly, but able to walk easily enough. I put on a robe and head downstairs. I’m famished. I fix myself breakfast and wait for Alex and anyone else staying over to come down.

Alex comes down as I’m finishing my meal. He puts on another pot of coffee and we talk about what happened to me. I admit to him I’m angry about how he basically terrorized and humiliated me by fucking me on the cross and then bringing in strangers—not to mention my nutty brother--to watch my crucifixion. He tried to explain that he was only trying to give me the experience he knew I really wanted. The pictures and videos he took would be a great help to both of us: He’d be able to better create the amazing crux animations he wanted to make, and I had a real-life experience that would infuse my crux stories with an intense, erotic realism. I tried to explain that that was all well and good, but it would take me a while to get over how he treated me, even though the experience was truly awesome and satisfying for me.

The day passes with us largely avoiding each other as I gather my strength back. I’m able to wear light clothing and I go for a long walk around the property. Later in the day the girls and guys Alex invited to my crucifixion come by. The guys have to leave the next and wanted to make their farewells. They explain to me that they and the four women are all friends of Alex whom they met through a crucifixion fetish blog. They agreed to act as spectators in my crucifixion to add the sense of realism that Alex wanted to give me. And, as crux aficionados, they could hardly pass up an opportunity to witness a newbie being crucified for the first time. They’re actually very nice, especially Tree who has a pleasant, avuncular personality once you get to know him. We all parted as friends after tears and gentle hugs.

Rafi comes by too. We have a long-overdue brother-sister talk and reconcile our differences. He assures me the photos he had taken when we were younger were only observed by him, and never shared. I’ll take him at his word. He shows me as he deletes them from his phone and further assures me that there are no other copies. He confesses he had wild sexual fantasies about me growing up but now feels quite ashamed about all of it. At Alex’s invitation, he agreed to take part in my crucifixion as a way of getting his feelings out into the open and adding to the realistic humiliation of my crucifixion. Odd way of going about, I thought, but, then again, Rafi is kind of different. We agree to talk about his feelings towards me again, but part, for now, on good terms. We hug (again, gently); I tell him I love him. He nearly breaks down crying, saying he was afraid our relationship had been ruined. I assure him it isn’t. He is my only brother, after all.

The girls say that they would like to stay around a couple of more days as I recovered. I had to admit it was a good idea. Alex and I are still a bit uncomfortable around each other and I needed people to talk to about what I experienced.

The four women, now my friends, and I are relaxing in the soaking pool. We are naked, of course. It’s Sunday evening. My crucifixion was on Friday and I slept away Saturday. The guys are all gone and Alex is up in the house. The cross is still standing on the patio. I wonder if we’ll take it down, or if I’ll ever use it again.

The bubble jets in the pool are turned on. Bottles of crisp white wine are opened. We toast our new friendships. The frothing water feels so wonderful against my skin. We’re immersed up to the tops of our boobs. I have some blisters and I’ll start peeling soon. Ugh! We talk, revealing deep, very rarely expressed emotions and revelations of how the crux kink has affected our lives. We’re a special bunch, we know. My new girlfriends have all experienced crucifixion themselves. More than once, for all of them, but never for nearly as long as I managed. Soon we are all reduced to tears as we tell our stories and hold each close. I wish Messaline was with us.

The girls leave on Tuesday. We cry again as we embrace, kiss, and vow to keep in close touch. After all, we only have each other to share our unique and slightly weird interests. That night Alex and I make love for the first time since my crucifixion. As usual, it is awesome feeling him inside me. He’s a fantastic lover. Whatever anger I felt toward him for changing the rules of my crucifixion has been forgotten. In fact, I love him even more for the experience he gave me.

Late at night I wake from a dream. Alex is over on his side of the bed. I hear him breathing. The dream was one of those you can’t wait to get back to. I roll onto my side and just as I’m drifting off again to recapture the dream I feel a warm body pressing against me. I assume it’s Alex and expect to feel his stiff cock poking me in the back. Though middle-of-the-night sex has always been something I loved, tonight I wish Alex hadn’t initiated it. I feel sad, and kind of lonely. I get ready to tell him I’m just too tired and not in the mood.

But before I say anything I feel large, soft breasts press into my back as a body spoons me. A leg slips between mine and a knee gently yet firmly presses against my vulva. The pressure is instantly exciting, and sensual. There’s a warm breath on my neck followed by soft, wet kisses on the back of my neck and shoulder. A hand reaches around and cups my breast, squeezing my warm flesh as a finger finds my nipple. It grows stiff as I feel a sudden, intense rush of sexual longing flowing through me.

A woman’s voice, with a lilting French accent, whispers in my ear. “Oh, ma chere! I’ve missed you so much!”

I roll over onto my back. Her lips press against mine. Our tongues probe each other’s mouths. Fingers trace a path from my breasts, down over my belly to between my legs. They find my wet cleft . . . I eagerly spread my legs apart . . .

Messaline is back! I am in ecstasy!


Finis
 
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This was a great story, Marcella. I loved the subject, and the way you kept us guessing, leaving us uncertain what was going on. Was Alex a loving partner, or a deviant monster? We share her anxiety, her humiliation. I think you did a wonderful job of conveying her state of mind, her determination to carry on despite her misgivings, and then you leave us again with that feeling of uncertainty, of wondering what is real and what isn't.
 
With warm water from the shower wand and her nimble fingers she brings me to a shattering orgasm.

xM_10.jpg Oh ! I'm sure that it wasn't so much intensen than with me ...:D

I roll over onto my back. Her lips press against mine. Our tongues probe each other’s mouths. Fingers trace a path from my breasts, down over my belly to between my legs. They find my wet cleft . . . I eagerly spread my legs apart . . .

Messaline is back! I am in ecstasy!

xM_12 (2).jpg Of course that you're, Marcella ! You have not only learn the crucifixion, but also the different woman'pleasure that only a woman can bring to you ...
Mmmmmmmm ! Perhaps that a day, we'll be both crucified by Judith ! So, you'll see really what is the deepest ecstasy !!!
Even that Tree, with three nails for each of us, could do that and ........... Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm !!!

PS : in waiting ? ... be calm and confident , Messaline will always be with you, now ! WE'RE SISTERS !:):rolleyes:

f5a9697853d4e1bdb97bbb3a96ad0a51.jpg
 
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