• Sign up or login, and you'll have full access to opportunities of forum.

The Pilgrim Girl - The Story of a Submission in 43 chapters

  • Thread starter Deleted member 16639
  • Start date
Go to CruxDreams.com
Every chapter just a little further along a long road of submission.

The promise of a room with Sister Zita sounds ominous------was a monastic bedroom called a cell because the door locked? From the outside?

43 chapters. Christa will have a holiday to remember.
 
Exactly, even if given impossible tasks, even if she is punished unfairly and unjustly,
she must accept, try to obey, never challenge or resist what the Superior has said or done.
That is the Rule of Humility for a penitent slavegirl.
 
Sassi, love the story and its pacing. If English is not your native language, I am even more impressed. Looking forward to more.

As a newbie here, I must say your depiction of the "grooming" by Siste Zita is deadly accurate. I am a survivor of childhood sexual abuse by a sexual sadist (from ages 8 thru 12) so I can verify both the the "kind, helpful friend" approach and the strict "perfection" discipline approach. It also rings true how Christa develops a submissive attitude in the face of the dominant behavior of Sister Zita. The same happened to me. Well Done!

I am curious. I have never been crucified nor been present at a crucifixion, but am interested in having the actual experience. Your details describing the pain of crucifixion feels very realistic, have you had the actual experience yourself or talk to the those who have?
Also, are you interested in receiving detailed feedback (i.e., critique) of the story? I am not a writer myself, but would be happy to provde it where I can.

Finally, an entirely selfish request to anyone reading this post. If you live anywhere in the United States, and have personally experienced a crucifixion or attended one, I would love talk with you via private message. I would like to find a active crucifixion group in the U.S. and join it. Right now, I am thinking through a safe method of self-crucifixion, having done many years of self-bondage. I did see thread about self-crucifixion here, but would appreciate any additional information you can give.

Well, so much for a first post. Hopefully many more to come. The cruxforum is impressive. Hats off to the Admin people.
 
The Pilgrim Girl - The Story of a Submission - 16

April 26, 2080:
When Christa woke up the next morning, she immediately knew she would dare. Today she would ask Sister Zita to hang her up and whip her before the crucifixion in the adjoining room.
As she walked barefoot along the old pilgrimage, she thought of nothing else. She was afraid of the whip. Didn´t sister Zita say that she would flog her very hard? It should be a real flogging. That's what the nun said.

Christa thought with a pounding heart of how the sister had hit her with the stick on the palms of her hands, of the marvelous severity the nun had displayed. And of course Christa thought of the cross. The cross in the Zita Chapel was the main thing. Everything else was accessory, but highly welcome.
Christa liked everything. She also considered Sister Zita's offer to live in the monastery. She liked the idea.

Then I would spend the whole day in the monastery, she mused. Sister Zita could give me orders. She could force me to wipe floors or clean windows. She could be ... strict to me.
That was what mattered. Strict! The sister should not be fair, but strict; strict and unforgiving.

I do not want to be treated fairly, Christa thought as she walked barefoot across the forest path, I want to be treated severely. I want to be punished! Hard and unyielding. I need a firm hand. Yes, exactly, a firm hand. Sister Zita is exactly what I need. Because she knows what I need. A firm hand.

Christa came to the turnoff at the old, bleached sign. She turned off. Sister Zita was waiting for her at the monastery gate. She let her in and closed behind her. She looked at Christas bare feet: "You came here barefoot again, my child." She smiled. "Fine. Come, Christa, let's go to the chapel."

She went ahead to the back of the monastery grounds. The inner wall, behind which the Zita chapel hid, grew before them. How high this wall was! It was tall and stout, Christa had seen that. This monastery was built after the Thirty Years' War, she reflected. The original wall was built to protect the chapel against marauding hordes. That's why the wall is so tall and so massive.

Inside, in the chapel, the cross was waiting for Christa. It seemed to greet her in a friendly way.
"Hello Christa, there you are, cross girl. Nice that you came. I'm here for you. Lie down on me, then I hold you tight. I will hold you and not release you. Come to me, dear."

Christa stripped naked. She did not wait for the sister's order. She was nervous and anxious. She was afraid to recoil. She had to be quick and say it before she got too scared. She turned to the nun and dropped to her knees in front of her.
"Sister Zita," she said as she humbly looked up at the nun, "please whip me before the crucifixion. I am ready for it. And then I go to the cross for three hours."

The nun looked down at her benevolently. "Oh, what is this beautiful, my child! You do not believe how happy your decision makes me! You show true penitence." She stroked Christa's cheek. "Dear child," she said. "What kind of a nice child you are!"

She made a gesture to the door to the adjoining room: "Well! Stand up! Let's go next door." She went ahead.
Christa followed her with soft knees. When she saw the chain dangling from the ceiling, she stopped. Her heart began to race. She got scared. I'd rather not! She thought. No, I'll not do it! It's enough if I let myself be crucified.

Sister Zita noticed exactly what was wrong with her. Her eyes became hard and stern. "Come here!" She ordered in a hard voice. When Christa hesitated, the nun's voice became even harder: "Here, I said!"

Christa hesitantly strode to the nun who was standing under the dangling chain. The opened hand irons swung slowly at eye level back and forth. It was a hypnotic sight. Christa swallowed hard. Her fear increased. She did not want to be flogged anymore.

But sister Zita knew no mercy. "Hands up!" she snapped. "Will you!"
Christa obeyed, trembling. She was unable to escape the nun's command. Sister Zita closed her wrists in her hand irons. Christa groaned softly. Now it was too late to retreat. She was tied up. She was put in iron. There was no escape for her. She let out a whimper.

The nurse went to the crank on the wall and began to crank. The chain straightened and pulled up Christas hands until she stood there stretched out, her hands clipped to the chain. Again Christa made the low whimper.

Sister Zita came to her. All hardness was gone from her face. "Do not worry, dear child. You do not have to be afraid. There is no point in being scared. What comes, that comes one way or the other. Accept it with humility and dedication."

She stepped aside and fetched something that lay on a table against the wall. Christa swallowed hard. It was a rolled-up leather whip. She was scared.
Sister Zita held the whip in front of Christas face: "That's the whip with which I'll beat you, Christa. Look, it is not tough. It does not creak. It is a special, very soft leather. You do not need to worry about your skin bursting under the blows. That will not happen. You will wear welts, nothing else."

The sister smiled knowingly, "Of course it will hurt a lot. This whip may hurt even more than one made of hard leather. It was specially made to cause great pain." Christa whimpered again.

The nun stroked her cheek. "Do not whimper, Christa! There's plenty of time left for that when the flogging begins." She stepped close to Christa and kissed her mouth. Her tongue imperiously gained access. Christa returned the kiss and let sister Zita in. She surrendered to the sister.
The nun's free hand brushed against Christa's bare body until she arrived between the thighs. Strong fingers touched Christa down there. They played with the clitoris piercing and drove up and down the furrow. Then they invaded Christa. Christa groaned.

"Yes, that's better," praised Sister Zita. "You have to be flogged. You should surrender! Take the whip, Christa!" She stepped back and unfolded the whip. Christa watched in horror.
The nun circled around her. Christa could not see her anymore. But she heard Sister Zita go behind her.
"Not!", she wanted to call. "Do not beat me, sister Zita! I've changed my mind. I would rather just be crucified. For a long time. As long as you want, sister, but please do not whip me!"

She heard a humming and rushing in the air. Then the whip slammed on her unprotected back. Christa reared up. She gave a startled gasp. Flaming pain overflowed her back. She gasped in horror. The second blow hit her even more ruthlessly. It pressed all the air out of Christa's lungs. She made a strangled sound.

Then the third blow arrived and now all the dams broke. Christa reared up in her iron handcuffs. She screamed like crazy. More punches followed. Christa screamed. She turned and twisted under the whip. The pain was horrible. It were absolutely unbearable. Christa sobbed. She howled and screamed. She wanted to plead with sister Zita for mercy, but she could only scream. Scream endlessly.

The pain almost robbed her of her mind. She had not believed that anything could hurt so much. She wriggled in wild convulsions on the chain, which held her mercilessly. She roared with all her might. She tried to free herself from the chain. In her distress, she even tried to climb the chain, all to escape the terrible whip.

Sister Zita circled Christa, who twisted and squirmed on the chain. She beat mercilessly. She let Christa dance on the chain. Christa's bare feet stomped a beat of torment on the cool stone floor. She howled and screamed. She turned her back. She wanted to climb the chain just to escape the terrible whip, at least for a single moment.

But there was no escape. Christa was helpless at the whip. Again and again the leather slammed on her bare back. Christa screamed. Christa sobbed. She was crying streams of tears as she turned on the chain howling. She lost control of her bladder. It was bubbling wildly out of her. A finger-thick stream spurted between her dancing thighs and wet the floor beneath her bare feet.

Christa screamed and screamed. "Stop!", she wanted to call, but she had to scream in pain so that she could not speak any words. She could only roar like on a spit.

As the beatings ended, Christa sank sobbing into her iron handcuffs. Had she not been hung on the chain, she would have collapsed on the ground.
 
The Pilgrim Girl - The Story of a Submission - 17

"I'll bring the whip away," said Sister Zita. She left the room.
Christa remained sobbing at the chain. She cried extensively. Her back was pure pain. Under her feet she felt wetness. She looked down. She stood in a puddle of her own urine.
She remembered how she had lost control of herself and how it had sprayed her wildly as the whip mercilessly made her dance.

Never again! she thought. I'll never do that again! That was too much!
She was exhausted as after a marathon. She hung limply on the chain, her head bowed and cried.
I'll never do that again, she thought again. Never again! My God, that was terrible!

She had to think of the crucifixions in antiquity. At that time, the convicts had also been brutally flogged before the crucifixion, even worse than she had endured. The Romans had used the infamous Flagrum, a short whip with several leather straps in which iron pieces were woven. With this terrible instrument it was possible to beat a man to death.

Gradually, Christa calmed down. Her back was on fire. No broken skin, sister Zita had promised, but had she kept her promise? Christa felt her back was an open wound. It hurt terribly. The pain went away very slow.

No Flagrum, she thought. Only a leather whip. But it was horrible. And with this sore back, I'm about to be strapped to the cross. How did the poor convicts did feel at the time of the Romans? They had been nailed to the cross with their bloody backs broken. Christa had seen photos of the nails with which they had done that. She had been sick of the sight.
No, she did not want to be crucified with nails. No way! Shackles were nice. Nailing was horrible.

"Just as horrible as the flogging!" she croaked. Her mouth was dry. It was hoarse from screaming. The sweat poured down her face and body. Her back burned as if sweat was pouring over open wounds.

"I'll never do that again!" she gasped. "No way!"
No, that was nothing for her. She had tried it and now: stop it! No flogging anymore! Gradually her tears dried. Christa hung silently on the iron chain.

"Drink, Christa!" Sister Zita suddenly stood next to Christa and held out her drink bottle. Thankfully, Christa drank the fresh cool water. The poor convicts did not receive that during the time of the Romans, she thought. They let them thirsty, as additional agony.

The nun put the bottle away. She released Christa and led her into the chapel.
On shaky legs Christa walked next to the sister. She was completely exhausted. The flogging had exhausted her.
On the order of the sister, she bravely layed on the cross, even though her maltreated back vigorously protested when it came to rest on the hard wood. Christa endured it bravely and stretched out on the cross.

Sister Zita grabbed her wrists an ankles, fastened them and cranked the cross upright. Christa drew in a sharp breath as the cross struck with a small jolt and she was thrown back against the wood. Ouch! That hurt!
Immediately she tried to dodge the pain somehow. It did not work. Not really. No matter how she twisted on the cross, she did not really get her aching back away from the hard wood. Christa knew that she had three very difficult hours ahead of her.

Under her sister Zita knelt in front of the cross and prayed. She looked at Christa all the time. She also looked at me when she flogged me, Christa thought. She watched as my naked body twisted and squirmed under the terrible bite of the whip. I'm sure she enjoyed it. Surely she found the sight arousingly beautiful. It was fun to whip a young girl. That's why she immediately asked yesterday if I was ready to be flogged.

Well, dear sister, that was the first and only time! Never again! Not with me! There are beautiful pains, pains to welcome and give oneself to and there are terrible, vicious pains that can drive you crazy. You will never beat me again with the whip!

She was still in shock from the flogging. She could not believe how bad it had been. She had no idea how painful it was to be flogged. She said it, thought Christa. Sister Zita announced it. I can not really blame her. She said she was going to hit really hard. But did that have to be? Did she have to be so brutal the first time? If she had started slow, I might have felt like submitting to the whip once more. But not like that. Bad luck for you, dear sister. You won´t let me dance under the whip for your pleasure anymore. From today only the cross - the only true one!

Christa saw Sister Zita change location and kneel down in front of the statue of the Virgin Mary to perform her prayers there. Once again she looked at the nun's bare feet. The soles were darkened.
She walks barefoot all the time. She never wears shoes. If she goes to town without shoes, if she has to get something?
Christa figured she'd like to be barefoot too.

If I follow Sister Zita's invitation, I can always go barefoot, she mused. I can go to the monastery here and walk with bare feet all day long. I can be crucified and as a poor orphan I will perform barefoot all sorts of work to which the sister forces me.

Below the cross sister Zita rose. She ran her eyes over Christa's naked body.
Yes, look at me! Christa thought. You see an exhausted naked girl on the cross, who is totally sweaty. I know, you like it and I bet you have no idea how much I like it! I like the way you look at me. I love being helpless at the mercy of your lustful looks. I love being dominated by you.

Only one thing I do not love. No more. The whip! You should not have beaten me so hard at the beginning. If you had started slowly, who knows, maybe I would have given myself. You could have increased it every time, just like the cross. I had to endure only one hour on the first day and since then it increases.

Sister Zita smiled up at her. "I'm going now, Christa. Suffer beautiful! Show humility and devotion!" The nun turned away and left the chapel. Christa was alone.
Groaning, she moved on the cross. The day before, she had liked to hang naked on the cross. Today she would not have liked a T-shirt or even a thick, soft sweater. The garment would have padded her sore back.
But so pressed and scraped the cross on her sensitive aching back.

"It's going to be hard!" Christa said softly to herself. "It's going to be really rough today!"
She thought about Sister Zita. Was she flogged? Regularly? That the nun was crucified regularly was real for Christa. But flogging?
"If so, she can endure a lot," Christa said into the empty chapel.

She looked at the statue of the Mother of God. Maria smiled kindly at her.
"Did sister Zita ever get flogged?" Christa asked. Maria smiled at her silently. She knew a lot, but she did not reveal anything. What could the eyes of this statue have already witnessed? How many times had they seen nuns who were naked at the same cross where Christa was now hanging? Had Mary heard the screams of the nuns writhing in the next room under the merciless blows of the leather whip?
Nuns and pilgrims. Or was she herself the only pilgrim who surrendered? Surely there had been others before her.

Christa sank into the handcuffs. The suffering began. She was ready to accept it.
 
Sassi said:
The Pilgrim Girl - The Story of a Submission - 17

"I'll bring the whip away," said Sister Zita. She left the room.
Christa remained sobbing at the chain. She cried extensively. Her back was pure pain. Under her feet she felt wetness. She looked down. She stood in a puddle of her own urine.
She remembered how she had lost control of herself and how it had sprayed her wildly as the whip mercilessly made her dance.

Never again! she thought. I'll never do that again! That was too much!
She was exhausted as after a marathon. She hung limply on the chain, her head bowed and cried.
I'll never do that again, she thought again. Never again! My God, that was terrible!

She had to think of the crucifixions in antiquity. At that time, the convicts had also been brutally flogged before the crucifixion, even worse than she had endured. The Romans had used the infamous Flagrum, a short whip with several leather straps in which iron pieces were woven. With this terrible instrument it was possible to beat a man to death.

Gradually, Christa calmed down. Her back was on fire. No broken skin, sister Zita had promised, but had she kept her promise? Christa felt her back was an open wound. It hurt terribly. The pain went away very slow.

No Flagrum, she thought. Only a leather whip. But it was horrible. And with this sore back, I'm about to be strapped to the cross. How did the poor convicts did feel at the time of the Romans? They had been nailed to the cross with their bloody backs broken. Christa had seen photos of the nails with which they had done that. She had been sick of the sight.
No, she did not want to be crucified with nails. No way! Shackles were nice. Nailing was horrible.

"Just as horrible as the flogging!" she croaked. Her mouth was dry. It was hoarse from screaming. The sweat poured down her face and body. Her back burned as if sweat was pouring over open wounds.

"I'll never do that again!" she gasped. "No way!"
No, that was nothing for her. She had tried it and now: stop it! No flogging anymore! Gradually her tears dried. Christa hung silently on the iron chain.

"Drink, Christa!" Sister Zita suddenly stood next to Christa and held out her drink bottle. Thankfully, Christa drank the fresh cool water. The poor convicts did not receive that during the time of the Romans, she thought. They let them thirsty, as additional agony.

The nun put the bottle away. She released Christa and led her into the chapel.
On shaky legs Christa walked next to the sister. She was completely exhausted. The flogging had exhausted her.
On the order of the sister, she bravely layed on the cross, even though her maltreated back vigorously protested when it came to rest on the hard wood. Christa endured it bravely and stretched out on the cross.

Sister Zita grabbed her wrists an ankles, fastened them and cranked the cross upright. Christa drew in a sharp breath as the cross struck with a small jolt and she was thrown back against the wood. Ouch! That hurt!
Immediately she tried to dodge the pain somehow. It did not work. Not really. No matter how she twisted on the cross, she did not really get her aching back away from the hard wood. Christa knew that she had three very difficult hours ahead of her.

Under her sister Zita knelt in front of the cross and prayed. She looked at Christa all the time. She also looked at me when she flogged me, Christa thought. She watched as my naked body twisted and squirmed under the terrible bite of the whip. I'm sure she enjoyed it. Surely she found the sight arousingly beautiful. It was fun to whip a young girl. That's why she immediately asked yesterday if I was ready to be flogged.

Well, dear sister, that was the first and only time! Never again! Not with me! There are beautiful pains, pains to welcome and give oneself to and there are terrible, vicious pains that can drive you crazy. You will never beat me again with the whip!

She was still in shock from the flogging. She could not believe how bad it had been. She had no idea how painful it was to be flogged. She said it, thought Christa. Sister Zita announced it. I can not really blame her. She said she was going to hit really hard. But did that have to be? Did she have to be so brutal the first time? If she had started slow, I might have felt like submitting to the whip once more. But not like that. Bad luck for you, dear sister. You won´t let me dance under the whip for your pleasure anymore. From today only the cross - the only true one!

Christa saw Sister Zita change location and kneel down in front of the statue of the Virgin Mary to perform her prayers there. Once again she looked at the nun's bare feet. The soles were darkened.
She walks barefoot all the time. She never wears shoes. If she goes to town without shoes, if she has to get something?
Christa figured she'd like to be barefoot too.

If I follow Sister Zita's invitation, I can always go barefoot, she mused. I can go to the monastery here and walk with bare feet all day long. I can be crucified and as a poor orphan I will perform barefoot all sorts of work to which the sister forces me.

Below the cross sister Zita rose. She ran her eyes over Christa's naked body.
Yes, look at me! Christa thought. You see an exhausted naked girl on the cross, who is totally sweaty. I know, you like it and I bet you have no idea how much I like it! I like the way you look at me. I love being helpless at the mercy of your lustful looks. I love being dominated by you.

Only one thing I do not love. No more. The whip! You should not have beaten me so hard at the beginning. If you had started slowly, who knows, maybe I would have given myself. You could have increased it every time, just like the cross. I had to endure only one hour on the first day and since then it increases.

Sister Zita smiled up at her. "I'm going now, Christa. Suffer beautiful! Show humility and devotion!" The nun turned away and left the chapel. Christa was alone.
Groaning, she moved on the cross. The day before, she had liked to hang naked on the cross. Today she would not have liked a T-shirt or even a thick, soft sweater. The garment would have padded her sore back.
But so pressed and scraped the cross on her sensitive aching back.

"It's going to be hard!" Christa said softly to herself. "It's going to be really rough today!"
She thought about Sister Zita. Was she flogged? Regularly? That the nun was crucified regularly was real for Christa. But flogging?
"If so, she can endure a lot," Christa said into the empty chapel.

She looked at the statue of the Mother of God. Maria smiled kindly at her.
"Did sister Zita ever get flogged?" Christa asked. Maria smiled at her silently. She knew a lot, but she did not reveal anything. What could the eyes of this statue have already witnessed? How many times had they seen nuns who were naked at the same cross where Christa was now hanging? Had Mary heard the screams of the nuns writhing in the next room under the merciless blows of the leather whip?
Nuns and pilgrims. Or was she herself the only pilgrim who surrendered? Surely there had been others before her.

Christa sank into the handcuffs. The suffering began. She was ready to accept it.
Click to expand...
Again another great chapter, Sassi!
 
The Pilgrim Girl - The Story of a Submission - 18

Time passed. Christa hung on the cross and endured the crucifixion. She had experience now. She knew that certain pains came and went and that others came and stayed. She knew she could not do anything about it. She could only accept and endure it. With this knowledge, it was easier for her to endure the crucifixion. Of course also because she was aroused by the crucifixion.

Unlike the horrible whip, she thought. It is beautiful on the cross, even if it hurts. I'm curious how I last for three hours. Will I be able to be quiet? Or will I beg sister Zita to let me down?
What an unpleasant thought! She did not want that. Just thinking of imploring the nun made her blush with shame. No, she would not beg!

Her cries during flogging were different. She had had to scream. But the cross would let her suffer silently. She would squirm - that was the way it was. But she would endure it with dignity and pride.
"Yes," Christa said to Mother Mary. "I will endure it in humility and silence. You will see." The Mother of God smiled benevolently.

She smiled benevolently two and a half hours later, as Christa was writhing moaning at the cross and wished nothing more than to be set free. The more she writhed, the louder she gasped and groaned, but she could not keep still. Above all, her sore back, which hurt so much from flogging, was to blame. Whenever she bumped her back against the upright pole while dancing on the cross or rubbed against it, Christa gasped in pain. Sometimes she even uttered small cries.

This time it was really bad.
I should not have demanded three hours, she scolded herself. That's too long after such hard flogging. But how could I know how horrible that would be? I could not have guessed that! She squirmed. Oh how that hurt!
Christa began to whimper softly.

At some point, sister Zita came to her. It was the third time during Christa's crucifixion. She gave her a drink and then stroked her cheek.
"You are suffering a lot today, my child," she said, kissing Christa's mouth. Her hand stroked Christa's bare breasts and her flat stomach. "You have to suffer so much, little one," said the nun, grabbing between Christa´s legs.

Christa held her breath. Sister Zita touched her very firmly. Her hand imperiously gained access to Christ's most intimate place. She rubbed and squeezed, she fumbled and grabbed. Again and again fingers penetrated into Christa.
She had been slippery and swollen down there for a long time. She could not suppress a loud moan.

"Yes, that's the way it is, my child," said Sister Zita. "Give yourself! Pain also includes pleasure and pleasure also includes pain. Is not it like that?" She squeezed hard. "Is not it like that?"
"Yes, sister Zita," Christa gasped. She squirmed under the sister's hard grip. Her lap rode on the strong hand, which aroused her to the utmost. It pleased Christa that sister Zita grabbed so hard. She felt dominated by the nun. She liked being dominated by the sister.

Again sister Zita forced her to an orgasm. She did not give Christa the least freedom. She controlled the feelings of the crucified girl down to the smallest detail. She led Christa. She dominated her. She defeated her. Even the orgasm took place under the strictest constraint. Christa screamed as she came.

Afterwards, sister Zita left her and left her alone in the chapel.
Christa hung happily on the cross. She was full of gratitude. She loved sister Zita for her relentless severity and dominance.
"Do whatever you want with me," Christa said quietly. "You can do whatever you like with me."

She had to suppress a giggle. How many times had she thought these sentences? Certainly many dozen times. She could not help it. She kept thinking about it and she knew she would do it again.

A short time later, sister Zita came and freed Christa. Christa was glad when the cross was lowered. She was totally exhausted and looking forward to a little rest. She wanted to rest and get away from the pain she had endured.
But nothing came of it.

After Sister Zita washed her from head to toe, taking care of Christa's back, she was ordered to get dressed and start cleaning the windows. No request - command. Sister Zita ordered Christa to clean the windows on the first floor.
Exhausted, tired, battered and a little outraged, Christa followed the request of the nun.

At least she could have asked me if I wanted to help her, she thought as she cleaned the windows. Again she had been assigned the side of the building from which she could see the old pilgrim's way.
When she noticed a movement far away, she secretly got the binoculars out of the drawer and looked out with it. With the binoculars she could see exactly who used the path: It was a retired couple with a dog.
"From here you can see everything," murmured Christa. Then she went back to the window cleaning.

The next room, too, seemed like a kind of office. Christa wanted to go to the windows, as she noticed something. In the middle of the room there was a room divider made of wood. It looked like a massive fence. It started in the middle of the room and a "fence post" jutted out of the ground. At the top, the post had a rounded cone of turned wood. The wood of that cone was darkened.

Curious, Christa stepped closer. The round wooden button on top of the post was as small as a child's fist and smooth. And dark discolored. Christa knew immediately what that was. It was not meant to be, but this was a wooden dildo and sister Zita obviously enjoyed occasional sexual relaxation at this place.
Christa came very close to the thing. Yeah, if she stood up on her toes and she was naked, she could sink with her cunt on the wooden button and then ride on it.

Christa took a deep breath. She got the urge to try sister Zitas private joy donor to herself once. Would she dare to undress and masturbate quickly on the wooden button?
In this moment sister Zita came into the room. Christa turned to the windows. She was busy cleaning - even in other rooms. After two hours she was done.

As soon as she had cleared away the cleaning utensils, sister Zita called after her. On bare feet Christa ran down the hall and into the first room where she had been busy cleaning the windows.
"You did not clean properly!" the nun snarled in a commanding voice. "I found spots in front of the second window!"

Christa wanted to say that could not be. She had checked her own work very closely and was sure there were no stains there. As the sister drove to her: "I do not tolerate sloppiness! Come on!"
Christa stepped in front of the nun.
"Hands out!" Christa obeyed. She held out her hands, palms up.

Sister Zita pulled the stick out of the robe. She took a long shot and hit Christa with all her strength on the right hand. Christa screamed in shock. Then a blow to the left. Again Christa screamed.
When she instinctively tried to pull her hands away, a harsh command from the sister silenced her. She received four more extremely strong blows to the palms. Tears came to Christa's eyes.

"That was for your sloppiness at work!", Sister Zita snapped. "Now the punishment for defiance. Undress! On the spot. Move on!"
With trembling movements Christa followed the order. She took off jeans, panties and blouse. Naked, she stood in front of the sister.

"Kneel down!" the nun snapped. Christa dropped to her knees. She knelt on the floor in front of Sister Zita.
"Clasp hands behind the neck!" demanded the nun.
Christa obeyed. Her heart was beating wildly. She felt indignation rising. What did the nun think of punishing her?! She had not done anything wrong. That was unfair. But she could not fight Sister Zita's orders.

"So you stay for an hour!" Sister Zita snarled. "You will not move until I tell you! Got that?"
"Yes, sister Zita," Christa responded bravely.
The nurse took a step closer. She roughly grabbed Christa's chin and forced her to look up at her, "You will not move! I will control you!" With that she turned and left the room.

Christa remained naked and on her knees. Her heart was beating. How bossy sister Zita had been! She had not said please. She had requested. She had ordered. Christa had obeyed. She continued to obey. She remained silent on the floor. She did not dare to move. It was tiring to kneel with her arms folded behind her neck, but she stayed that way without making a sound.

After half an hour sister Zita came back. Christa saw that she was holding something in her hand. It was a riding crop.
No! she thought in shock. Please do not beat me anymore! My whole back is sore from the cruel flogging! I can not stand even more!

Sister Zita stepped silently beside Christa. She positioned herself. Then she took out and let the riding crops hit Christa's bare buttocks with full force. Christa gasped loudly. She clenched her teeth to keep from screaming. The nun hit her hardly. She gave her thirty solid blows on her bare bottom.
Christa gasped. Christa groaned. Tears came to her eyes. But she did not scream.

Sister Zita changed her position. She stood on the other side. Christa swallowed. Was the punishment not over yet? She almost took her hands down, but a sharp command from the nun held them back in place.
Sister Zita took off and slapped Christa on her bare breasts. Christa gasped loudly. One more punch, firmer now. Christa gasped again.

It was followed by further blows and eventually Christas resistance broke. She started to cry, softly, then sobbed loudly. Every time she hit the whip that hit her unprotected breasts, she howled. She could not help it. Sister Zita gave her thirty strokes on her breasts. Then she left the room without a word.
Christa remained crying on her knees.

After another half hour Christa was redeemed by sister Zita. She had to get dressed and then there was coffee and cake behind the house and the sister stroked Christa's bare feet on her lap as if nothing had happened.
 
The Pilgrim Girl - The Story of a Submission - 19

April 27, 2080:
The following morning, Christa announced her room at Pension Waldmüller. She walked with packed bagpack to the monastery of Obermurscheid. She was walking barefoot. She did not want to wear shoes and stockings for the next few weeks. She always wanted to be barefoot, as did Sister Zita, her strict disciplinarian. Going to the monastery barefoot was a gesture of obedience and submission to Christa.

She wanted to submit. She wanted to submit to Sister Zita, that big dominant woman of over forty, who would not let her go and would would hold her in constant control from now on.
Who knows how often I have to kneel humbly in front of her in the coming weeks, Christa mused. Who knows how many times I'll be punished for careless neglect?
Sister Zita will dominate me. She will force me to obedience.
This thought alone was enough to make it tingle in her lap.

Sister Zita awaited her at the gate and let her in. "How nice that you decided to quit your room in House Waldmüller," said the nun. "From today on you will be staying in the monastery. You will like it. Come, my child. First, we want to accommodate your belongings and re-dress you."

She led Christa into the main building. At the far end of the hall, the nurse had her private room. It was a large room with parquet floors and whitewashed walls, where nothing but a crucifix. A big bed stood against the wall. Christa saw something like a big wooden box under the bed. On the side wall there was a wardrobe.

Sister Zita floated on bare feet across the parquet floor to a door. Behind it lay a room that resembled her own. The nun opened the wardrobe. There were several simple summer dresses on hangers. On the left side there was an inner door with lock. Sister Zita locked it up: "Here you can put all your things, Christa. Put your backpack in here! Take off your clothes and put your clothes in there as well."

Christa obeyed. After everything was stowed in the left half of the wardrobe, sister Zita locked the door. "You do not need that, child. Put on one of the summer dresses!" She looked up and down at Christa. "They'll suit you, I think. The size should be right."

The size was right. Christa put on one of the dresses. It was sewn of dove-gray fabric and completely unadorned. It looked a bit like prison clothing, like a school uniform for girls in boarding school. And you could see that the dress was self-sewn. Sister Zita looked at Christa in her new clothes: "You look pretty, my child! Kneel down! Let's see if the skirt is the right length."

Christa knelt in front of the nun and Zita controlled the hem of the skirt. It was exactly an inch above the floor.
"Perfect!", praised sister Zita. "Get up, Christa!"
Christa got up. Her heart was pounding. She was barefoot and she was wearing nothing but this simple dress. She had no panties on. She was naked down there. A strange feeling. She felt softly shame and at the same time arising arousal. She was naked under the skirt!

So sister Zita has access to my most private place anytime, she thought. She can always grab between my legs.
If the nun had done that just in this moment Christa would not have resisted. She almost wished that the sister would put her hand under her skirt.

Nothing like that happened. Instead, they went to the big monastery church to pray. In front of the crucifix, Sister Zita instructed Christa to kneel two feet behind her on the stone floor, while kneeling in front of the big cross herself. Sister Zita started with the Lord's Prayer. Christa prayed also. As the nurse repeated more prayers, she tried to remember the text.

She looked at Sister Zita's bare feet protruding from the nurse's uniform. The soles were darkened, almost black.
Does not she wash her feet? Christa mused. Or did she run around so much this morning that her soles turned black?

The whole time while Sister Zita was praying, Christa looked at the nun's bare feet.
She is always barefoot. She never wears shoes. And I'm just as barefoot now. I will not wear any shoes in the next few weeks.
This alone was a cause for joy, she found. She liked running barefoot for her life and doing it here in the convent was also in keeping with her secret fantasies of poor barefoot orphanage or boarding school girls who were not allowed to wear shoes.
The simple dress she was wearing reinforced those fantasies even more.

After praying, Sister Zita led Christa behind the house. Not far from the place where they always enjoyed coffee and cake, there was a wide carpet rod. The nun led Christa over there. She took the stick out of her robe that Christa had already met.
"Hang your hands on the carpet rod!" the nun ordered sternly.
Christa could not help it. She obeyed. She jumped up and clung to the horizontal iron pipe with her hands.

"Hold tight!" ordered the nun. "Hang still! No wriggling!" She pulled out and hit Christa with the stick on the bare soles of her feet. There was a loud crack as the stick hit Christa's feet. She flinched and gasped loudly.
The nun hit again, even harder this time. Christa let out a startled gasp of pain. She wanted to pull up her legs, but suppressed it at the very last moment.

Sister Zita gave her a fourth punch on her bare soles. Christa gasped. She clenched her teeth. She had to summon up all her will not to raise her legs to dodge the stick. She remained stretched out on the carpet rod and continued to be beaten by the nun.

It hurts. Christa clenched her teeth to keep from screaming. Each time the stick hit her bare feet, she flinched and she gasped loudly. But she did not scream.
But sister Zita knew how to break her resistance. She started beating Christa in quick succession and she struck harder.

Christa squirmed. She stretched her legs. She gasped. She groaned.
Sister Zita hit harder.
Finally, all the dams broke. Christa burst into loud sobs. She cried loudly as the nun struck her on the bare soles of her feet with her cane.

Christa hung crying on the carpet rod. She flinched with every blow. She reared up. She turned her back. But she did not raise her legs to avoid the blows on her feet. She was sobbing passionately, but she did not ask for mercy. She endured the strikes without resistance. She allowed herself to be beaten by Sister Zita without resisting.

It was probably the five minutes so. The blows did not stop. Christa cried loudly. But she endured it bravely. She let it go with her, and with each stroke of the stick that hit her sensitive soles, she became more humble and obedient. All her inner resistance faded and she endured the beatings with dedication.

Sister Zita stopped beating Christa. "That was it. Kneel down in front of me and thank for the blows, girl!"
Christa flopped onto the floor. She knelt down in front of Sister Zita, her hands clasped behind her neck and thanked her for the punishment. She thanked the sister fervently for the blows.

"It's good, my child," the nun said unctuously. "Now you are introduced to the humble and obedient walk that reigns here in the monastery." She stroked Christa's hair. "From now on you will always be obedient, won´t you?"
"Yes, sister Zita," said Christa. She looked humbly at the nun, "I will always be obedient."

"Very good," praised the sister. "Of course you will continue to receive regular beatings. This serves to maintain obedience. The punches will make you humble and penitent, girl! You will be humble! Humble and obedient.
Stand up! I want to lent you around the monastery now and show you everything."
Christa got up.

"One more!", Sister Zita said. She pulled the rope out of her robe that Christa had already met. "Turn around! Cross your wrists behind your back!"
Christa turned her back on the nun. She arched her arms back and crossed her wrists behind her back. She kept still while sister Zita shackled her.

"That's better," the nun said. "That makes you more obedient and humble, girl!" She gave Christa a slap on the butt. "Forward, girl! I'll show you the monastery now."
 
The Pilgrim Girl - The Story of a Submission - 20

Christa was led around by sister Zita everywhere. First, they rounded all the buildings from the outside. Then the nun Christa showed the inside of the buildings.
She knew already the main building. There she had wiped almost every room and cleaned all the windows.

"This building is safe," said the nun. "The other houses are in need of renovation. They are partially collapse risk. Something would have to be done." She smiled encouragingly at Christa: "Do not worry! We can visit the houses without the ceiling falling on our heads. It is not that bad."

Now they went to the other building. One was a former boarding school.
"This was the boarding school, the upper daughter school of the cloister Obermurscheid", explained sister Zita. She showed Christa the dormitories where the students had slept ten, the shower room, the restrooms, and the lounges where the students had done their homework.

Then they went to the school building. Christa followed the sister well. She felt incredible. Going barefoot was something special for her. And she had no underwear under her prison clothes. She was naked under the simple gray dress. The fact that she had her hands tied behind her back was an emotional sensation of a completely different kind. She liked that sister Zita had tied her up.

She knows I like that, every bet! she thought. She felt her way, piece by piece. She has tried how far she can go with me. Who knows what else is coming! I'm sure she's obsessed with capturing and beating young girls. She is mindet that way. She loves girls and she is one of the few women who are aroused by the sight of naked girls bodies. I bet it turns her on to see me naked on the cross.

Which in turn turned on Christa! Knowing that sister Zita liked to tie her up and look at her, Christa was upset. She felt like an object that belonged to the nun, like a slave without rights, with which the sister could do whatever she wanted.
Let her! Christa thought with a mixture of defiance and humility. I like that. Only she should never whip me again. That was horrible. I do not want that anymore!

Sister Zita showed Christa the classrooms that held ancient school desks, as they had been fashion a hundred years ago. Christa was fascinated. She could easily imagine how boarding schoolgirls were taught here. Did these girls wear the same dresses like her? Of course not self sewn. They were school uniforms. Maybe the skirts were dove-gray and the blouses white? Did these girls go barefoot? The thought pleased Christa.

She imagined a whole class of girls in school uniform and with bare feet. These girls lived under strict breeding. The sisters led a strict regiment. The slightest offense was punished severely. There were blows on the buttocks and on the bare soles of the feet.

And of course every girl in the boarding school had to repent regularly for the sins of the world. Once a week it was their turn to be crucified in the Zita Chapel for an hour or two. Christa imagined being held a Mass there while one of the girls hung naked on the cross.

"The boarding school has been closed a long time ago," said sister Zita regretfully. "About fifteen years ago!"
Christa leaned against a bench with her hands tied behind her back: "Why was it closed? Because of the danger of collapse?"
The nun shook her head: "No. At that time, the buildings were perfectly fine. It all started falling after the school closed." She sighed. "There ... there were incidents." She looked at Christa. "Three students have disappeared. Without a trace. In the course of a school year. And then another at the end of the school year. Four girls who never returned to their families. Nobody knows what happened to them. They probably ran away for adventure and met bad people out there in the world. There are men who do terrible things to young girls."

The nun shook her head sadly. "That something like that had to happen! Just, at our school!" "Didn´t you ever find the girls?" Christa asked.
"No," replied Sister Zita. "None of the four has ever appeared again. That was the end of our school. More and more parents unsubscribed their daughters. After six months we had to close. It was a great misfortune for the Order. The school was our center of life. We lived and worked for this school.
I was still young then. I have not been to this monastery for a long time. I have taught German and history. I loved my teaching profession. Then everything was over. Out and over."

"I'm sorry, sister Zita," said Christa. "I imagine the loss hit you deeply."
"It did," the sister confirmed. She straightened up. "But whatever? We have to serve wherever we are put. We must be obedient and humble and always penitent. We can not rebel. Isn´t it?" She smiled at Christa. "I think it's time for your daily penitential exercise in the chapel. Let's go!"

They went to the Zita-chapel where the nun freed Christa's hands.
"Thanks, sister Zita," said Christa good-naturedly and took off her summer dress. Naked, she stood before the nun. "I am ready to repent, sister Zita."
The nun looked at her: "For how long, girl?"
Christa took all courage together: "For four hours."

The answer seemed to please the sister. She smiled all over her face. "You take heavy duty on yourself, my child. It is brave and courageous and humble at the same time. Wonderful! Lie down on the cross! I will give you four hours to repent. Four hours, girl. Not a minute less! I will not let you down from the cross sooner, even if you complain. You know that?"
"Yes, sister," Christa answered. She lay down on the cross and stretched out her arms.
The nun fastened her on the cross.

Christa got palpitations like the first time on the cross. What sister Zita did to her was something final. Once strapped at the wood Christa could not get away from the cross. She was firmly connected to the wooden beams. It was a crazy feeling. It aroused her beyond measure. She enjoyed being tied to the cross.
When sister Zita cranked her up, she closed her eyes and gave in to the feeling of being crucified.

I am crucified! I'm strapped to a cross and am now being set upright. No, the cross is raised and because I am attached to this cross, I am raised with it. I will cling to that cross until sister Zita redeems me. I will remain crucified for four hours.
Four hours!

Christa was shaky with excitement. She had to make an effort not to show her arousal too open. She did not want the nun to see how horny she was. That's why she stuck to the cross without moving, as long as the nun was present. She hung quietly while Sister Zita knelt before her and recited her prayers. As usual, she looked at Christa all the time.

The nun let her gaze wander over Christa's bare body. Christa enjoyed the situation to the fullest. She was a little ashamed because Sister Zita was staring at her so openly. She was ashamed to hang naked in front of the eyes of this woman on the cross.
At the same time, she was extremely aroused to be helpless at the mercy of the woman's desire. Christa felt indescribably well.

Just look at me, sister! she thought. I am a naked crucified girl and defenseless at your sight. I can not help it if you look at me. I can not cover my nakedness with my hands, because my arms are tied outstreched to the crossbeam. I am openly flaunted. Why do not you open the gates in the monastery wall, Sister Zita?

A shiver ran down Christa. She got goose bumps all over her body. Publicly displayed! That would amount to open the doors of the monastery. She imagined a sign outside the wall: "Public crucifixion in the Zita Chapel today! Come in and see a girl on the cross repent for the sins of the world! Today on the cross: Christa Weber, 18 years. She will repent for four hours in humility and devotion."

People would come to the monastery from anywhere and watch Christa on the cross. God, what an idea! Alone at the thought of this public display, Christa began to sweat and in her lap it began to tingle and throb. In her mind's eye she saw groups of hikers coming to the monastery. Everyone went to the Zita Chapel to see Christa, the naked girl on the cross. She would be ashamed to death and at the same time pass out of lust because she was defenseless at the mercy of the people.

It would be even better if I were crucified out in the meadow, she mused. You would see the cross from afar and all the people would come to look at me.
Not only that! They would take pictures of her on the cross and film her as she writhed on the cross in agony!

Christa swallowed. Now it pulsed even more between her thighs. She felt her wetness. At that moment she would have given anything if Sister Zita had touched her there. She was about to ask the nun to masturbate her. But she did not dare. She could only hang silently on the cross and let sister Zita look at her.

After a while, the nun left the chapel and left Christa alone.
Where is she going now? Christa wondered. Does she take care of the buildings? Does she clean dormitories that have not been used for fifteen years? Does she mow the lawn? Or does she first go to the post in the office? To the wooden dildo to ride on it, thinking of a naked young girl hanging helplessly on a cross in the chapel?

Immediately her arousal increased again. Christa writhed groaning. She stretched herself on the cross and wished someone could touch her and give her sexual fulfillment. That this did not happen, was a very special torture for her. She could only hang on the cross and endure all surrender. The cross had absolute power over her.
 
The Pilgrim Girl - The Story of a Submission - 21

Christa did not know how long it took before Zita visited her first, but she had to wait a long time. The pain in her arms told her it was at least an hour, probably more like an hour and a half. She was sweating heavily.

She gratefully drank the water the sister gave her. "Thank you sister Zita," she said after drinking.
The sister smiled: "I will not let you thirst, girl! Even the poor convicts in Roman times got water on the cross. They were given it with a sponge. Do not you worry child. I'll give you enough to drink."

Enough to drink ... Christa remembered something: "Sister Zita? Please forgive my question, but what should I do if, during my crucifixion ... well ... if I ...?"
"If you have to urinate?", the nun completed the sentence. "What should you do then, girl? If you have to, then you have to! Do you think the crucified in ancient Rome asked for permission to pee?"

Christa became fire red. She did not get a word out. The nurse smiled at her: "If you make a puddle in front of the cross, you wipe it off later. It's that simple. You would not be the first to do that, my dear. What do you think! If someone is crucified for many hours, there is no other way. If someone repents for eight or ten hours, it will be self-evident."

She stroked Christa's cheek. Then she kissed her lips. Her tongue took a commanding entrance. Christa allowed it. She surrendered to the dominance of the nun. The nurse smiled at her and stroked her again. "My little shy timid penitent girl! If you have to, you can urinate as much as you want. Maybe I'll even watch you do it."

She climbed down and cleared the stepladder. Then she left the chapel. Christa stared after her stunned. She wants to watch! She wants to watch me pee from the cross!
She blushed again.

I do not know if I can do it!
But if she urgently needed? So what? Sister Zita just needed to stand in front of the cross and wait for Christa to lose control and yield to nature's urge.
She has seen me piss anyway, she thought. When she flogged me, it sprayed out of me. I could not do anything about it.

Eight or ten hours, the sister had said. And had not she told that there had been a nun who always spent a whole day on the cross? Was this sister still in the monastery? Twelve hours had one day. Whoever was crucified for such a long time could not hold it that long.
She herself had asked for four hours for today, but didn´t she wanted to stay on the cross any longer? Then she could not help having to urinate.

Christa felt shame. So she would have to leave water in front of her sister and the nun would look very carefully if she peed from the cross. Christa was ashamed. But she was also a little excited by the idea of having to urinate under Sister Zita's attentive gaze. What a wonderful humiliation! It would further her enslavement.

And she was enslaved, she knew that. What Sister Zita did to her was a slavery, a submission. Christa allowed that. She did not resist. She obeyed the nun and let sister Zita do everything with her. With every action of the sister, Christa's submissiveness increased.
She was so mindet. She knew it for a long time. She behaved obediently and obeyed the orders of the nun.

Christa had ambivalent feelings when it came to sister Zita. She was ashamed that she obeyed the nun so eagerly. She was ashamed of her submissiveness. Yet, at the same time, she was deeply contented to be subject to the nun and to submit to the nun's instructions without resistance.

When Sister Zita ruled her and Christa complied with the woman's commands, it filled with her with joy and satisfaction. Deep in her heart, she wanted to be a slave girl, a girl who always had to walk barefoot and had no self-determination, a girl who was subject to the whims of a bossy woman and had to do what she demanded of her.

That sister Zita hit her, Christa liked. She loved the severe punishments. It was good to submit to the nun. Especially liked Christa, if the sister punished her wrongly, for example, for careless cleaning. To be punished for something that had never been done gave the punishment the right spice.

Likewise, Christa loved it when the nun simply touched her when she was defenseless on the cross. She hoped that sister Zita would grab between her legs today and coerce her to orgasm. It was the compulsion that aroused her. She loved being forced to do something.

Christa reared up groaning. Gradually the crucifixion became unpleasant. Actually, it had been uncomfortable for a while.
"That's because I have to endure four hours," she said in a low voice to herself. "The longer I am crucified, the harder it is to endure."
She sank back into the handcuffs. Instantly, the tension in her arms and shoulders increased.

But also her legs protested vigorously. Her thighs trembled uncontrollably. The bent legs hurt. Christa looked down. Her knees were bent heavily.
"Yesterday they were not bent that much," she said. She looked over at the statue of Our Lady: "Isn´t that so, Mother Mary? Yesterday my legs were not bent that much?"

Christa tried to push herself up. Halfway through, her legs failed. She fell into the handcuffs, pulling her arms so hard that she gasped aloud. She stifled a scream. Up! I have to go up! My legs! My knees! It hurts! I have to go up!

Again she pushed herself off on the pedestal. With all her strength she tried to rear up. It did not work. Christa breathed choppy.
"That´s impossible!", she moaned. "Why can´t I do that?"
She pushed again her legs down and finally managed to rear up. Her legs howled with agony and her arms protested in pain.

She has moved the pedestal higher, Christa mused. She looked down at herself. Had the wooden pedestal not been fastened one step lower on the upright pole in the days before? Sure!
"She moved the footrest further up," Christa said. "To make it harder! To make me suffer even more! And that's where I have to endure four hours today! Oooh! That hurts!"

She writhed groaning on the cross. For a while she managed to stay upright. Then she lost power and she had to sink down. This immensely increased the pain in her cruelly overstretched arms, and it also hurt her bowed legs, especially in the thighs, but also the lower legs reported with throbbing, drawing pains.

"That ... that ... is unbearable!" gasped Christa. "My God, I cannot stand it!" But she had to endure it, no question. She would spend four hours on the cross, no matter how agonizing it would be. Sister Zita WANTED that it was especially painful for her. That's why the nun had misplaced the pedestal. So Christa had to suffer even more.

"She makes me suffer," Christa said. "She does that to me because she likes having power over a girl. Because she likes to hurt a young girl. She makes me suffer because she likes it!"
The thoughts aroused Christa. She felt how she got wet. She suffered because sister Zita wanted so. The nun wanted to subjugate and torture her. Christa was ready to be tortured.

She squirmed at the cross. She reared up groaning and sank back down. She stifled a sob. Yes, it hurt so much that she could have cried. But Christa did not want to cry. She wanted to endure it in humility and devotion. She did not want to cry like a little girl.
She writhed on the cross and suffered in silence.

After an eternity, the door of the chapel opened. Sister Zita returned. She moved the stepladder in front of the cross, climbed up and gave Christa a drink.
"You're sweating like a racehorse, girl," she said cheerfully. She smiled. "It hurts a lot, doesn´t it?"

"Yes, sister," Christa said. She clenched her teeth to avoid being tempted to ask Sister Zita how long she had to suffer. No, she would not give that nakedness, any more than she would ask for protection. No! She would not beg. She would endure it to the end.
 
The Pilgrim Girl - The Story of a Submission - 22

When the bottle was emptied, sister Zita got downstairs. She got something from the next room. Christa looked at the thing blankly. It was made of wood. It looked like a kind of neck support. Where the neck touched this prop, it had a hole and behind it was a cylindrical wooden tube, perhaps ten centimeters long. It ended in a wide metal disc, on the left and right leather straps hung on eyelets. Sister

Zita rose to Christa. "Tilt your head forward a bit!" she commanded. Christa obeyed and the nun squeezed the strange neck support behind her head against the upright pole and fixed the weird thing with the leather straps that closed it behind the post. Now Christa could lean her neck against the neck support.

Sister Zita went down. Again she disappeared into the next room and returned shortly afterwards with a rope. The rope was perhaps a meter long and thick and soft. It was knotted into a circular noose. The nun climbed up to Christa and put the rope around her neck. Behind Christas neck she led the protruding loop through the wooden cylinder and on through a hole in the upright pole. Now Christa understood why there was that hole. She had seen it before but did not understand what it was for.

The nun brought in another utensil. It was a short thick stick. She pushed it behind Christa's head on the back of the cross through the rope loop and began to turn the stick. Now Christa understood. With every turn, the stick tightened the rope sling. What sister Zita had wrapped around her neck was a garrot. This could strangle a person.

Christa felt the thick soft rope tighten around her neck. The noose tightened. Her heart began to beat violently.
What is she doing? She strangles me! She will shut my throat! Then I can not breathe!

The noose continued to tighten. She became more and more attached to Christa's neck. She breathed in and out hastily. She realized that breathing would soon be over when the nurse pulled the noose further.

She stared at Sister Zita with wide eyes. She wanted to say something, but she could not utter a word and suddenly the noose became so tight that Christa could not breathe. She let out a last brief tone, a gasp of astonishment, then she was silenced, even though she felt like screaming.
I do not get air! I can not breathe!

The rope loop had been so tight around her neck that Christa could not breathe. Desperately she opened her mouth in the futile attempt to inhale. It did not work. Her throat was blocked. Christa wanted to rear up, but the rope loop around her neck held her to the neck support. She could not move a millimeter.

Sister Zita looked genuinely at Christa. "Do not resist, my child," she said softly. "To resist is useless. You have to let go. You have to let go. Accept it in humility! Give yourself!"

Christa was anything but humble. She was close to panic. She pulled with all her strength on her shackles. She was sweating. The sweat ran down her skin in streams all over her body.
Stop! She wanted to scream. Sister Zita, stop! You kill me! I do not get air!
But she made no sound as the rope pinched her throat.

"That's right, my child," said the nurse gently. "Do not fight against it! Endure it with dedication. Submit!" She twisted the wood behind the cross for a while and the noose tightened much harder around Christas neck. She leaned over and kissed Christa's mouth. Her tongue penetrated Christa and played with the tongue of her helpless prisoner. The nun kissed Christa passionately.

She took her head back and smiled at Christa, who now had the feeling that her head was about to burst. "Nothing tastes sweeter than the kisses of a crucified girl who endures real torment. You taste so sweet, dear little penitential girl! So sweet! Oh, I have to kiss you again!" She kissed Christa.

Her left hand held the strangle wood behind the cross. Her right hand slid down Christa's sweaty body and found her way between Christa's thighs. As she kissed Christa passionately on the mouth, she began to masturbate the crucified girl. She grabbed rather roughly and kept getting deeply into Christa.

Christa felt a tremendous uproar inside. She suffered from extreme shortness of breath. She was in a panic because she could not breathe and yet she dutifully gave herself to the kiss of her tormentor and returned him submissively. And she fell into ecstasy, provoked by the hand that raged and rattled energetically between her thighs. She had to moan loudly, but because the tight noose closed her throat, she made no sound.

Christa turned crazy. Her shortness of breath became more unbearable. She suffered torture. At the same time her arousal increased. Now she was sweating, too, because she was very aroused. Her cunt was slick and swollen and Sister Zita's hand fumbled down there roughly and domineering, forcing Christa to orgasm.
She felt the climax approaching like a tidal wave. Then she got an orgasm like never before in her life.

She reared up or at least tried. Her entire body tensed in wild convulsions in the shackles they held on the cross, and her lap seemed to want to push his innermost outward when Christa came under the rough hand of Sister Zita. Something seemed to come out of her.
Sister Zita stopped kissing Christa. She looked down at her naked body and smiled. "You're starting to squirt, little one! You squirt! How cute! So hard do you come that you start to squirt! This is very dear!"

Her left hand held the strangling wood in its place. Christa got no air. She could not breathe.
And then Christa came again. And again! And again! While the strong hand worked her down there nonstop, Christa got an orgasm after another. She had read about multiple orgasms but had never experienced one herself. Now she did. She came and came. She came in waves and her body twisted convulsively. She had no control over herself. She danced in a universe of pleasure and pain. Christa came. She came and came and she felt it spurting out of her down between her legs.

I can´t stand it anymore, she thought. I can not stand it anymore!
She did not know what she meant: the shortness of breath or the never-ending orgasm. Christa writhed in convulsions of lust and pain on the cross.
She came and came and ... she ... began to float ... she floated on the cross ... she floated in pleasure and pain ... she floated ... and ... it became dark around her ... even darker ... gentle, velvety blackness that came from all sides ... dark ... black ... ... ...
Then there was nothing …
 
The Pilgrim Girl - The Story of a Submission - 23

Christa woke up because someone spitting ice-cold water over her face. She shook her head and tried to find to herself. She lay on the cross. It had been cranked down and lay flat on the pillars at the bottom of the chapel. Sister Zita leaned over her: "Are you back, girl?" She smiled. "You had stepped away for a while. That can happen when you had an orgasm under the garrot." Her smile widened:" You went off like a rocket, little one!"

Oh yes! Christa had gone up like a rocket! She had never experienced anything like it. She had shortness of breath had an endless multiple orgasm. She had almost died of lust. Now she understood why the French called the orgasm "le petit mort", the "little death."
We've got April 27, 2080, and I've just been strangled and came up endless, she thought. I felt like a Hovercar on full throttle. My turbines turned over and over.

Sister Zita opened the leather cuffs and helped Christa get up. She had to support Christa, because the girl was totally shaky on her feet. In the adjoining room, the nun hung the girl by the hands on the iron chain. Christa was more than happy with this. She was afraid that she would not be able to stand on her legs otherwise. She sank confidently into the bondage that held her upright, her arms stretched over her head.

Sister Zita had prepared warm water and washed her from head to toe, including her hair. She took her time. Finally she dried Christa with a soft towel.
"Now you're a clean, freshly washed girl again," the nun announced radiantly. "You were completely sweaty, kid. Now you're fresh and reborn."

That was exactly how Christa felt. Her arms ached from the four-hour crucifixion, her legs a bit too, but she was astonished not to have more pain. She had expected stronger after-effects. I could stand it, she thought with pride and with a little arousal. I endured four hours on the cross. It was hard, but I endured it, endured with humility and devotion.

Tomorrow I want more! I want the cross to conquer me. The cross should break my will. I want it this way!
As if Sister Zita had read her mind, she said, "Tomorrow longer, Christa?"
Christa nodded.
The nun smiled, "I would suggest six hours. So long did our Lord suffer on the cross. Will you take that on you, penitent girl?"
"Yes," Christa said simply.

"That's fine," said Sister Zita. She released Christa. "Kneel down, girl!"
Christa obeyed without contradiction. She dropped to her knees in front of the nun.
"Cross your wrists behind your back!" the nun ordered.
Christa obeyed.
"Thank you for the opportunity to repent!" ordered the sister.
"Thank you for giving me the opportunity to repent," Christa said in the tone of her heart. "Thank you for the crucifixion."

Sister Zita's voice got harder: "Stay on your knees! You will now show your gratitude in a different way, girl! Do you understand?"
"Yes, sister Zita," said Christa good-naturedly. She watched as the nurse lifted her robe in front. Sister Zita was barefoot to the navel - sort of. She wore no underwear under the nurses uniform. Christa saw that the nun was shaved. She was astonished. Intimate shaving with a nun? Not only that! She saw a small piercing in Sister Cita's clit, a piercing similar to that worn by Mrs. Riefer, her home economics teacher.

Sister Zita moved closer to Christa. She pushed her pelvis forward and pushed her genitals into Christa's face. "Show your gratitude, penitent girl!" she ordered in a stentor voice.
Christa showed gratitude. She began to work on her sister's pussy with her lips and tongue. She was stunned.
I kneel naked in front of a nun and lick her! she thought. A nun! A nun can be satisfied by me orally! No, that is certainly not chaste, dear sister Zita! Not a bit!

She listened to the moans of sister Zita. The nun pushed the pelvis into her face. She clenched her right hand in Christa's hair, while the left held up her robe to give Christa access to her most intimate place of her body.
"Oooh! Oooh, yes!" the nun groaned. "Oooh, yes! Keep it up, penitent girl! Be thankful! Be humble! Show true devotion! Oooh, yessss!" The woman's voice became a wheezing whimper.

Christa worked hard. She kissed and licked eagerly. She felt indescribably well. The sister's hand clawed at her hair pleased her. Also, the imperious tone with which the nun drove her. She really liked the pleasurable moaning and panting of sister Zita.
I serve her! thought Christa. I submit to her completely. I admit that she completely controls me. I am her slave. I have no free will anymore. I just want to obey.

While Christa caressed her sister's pussy with her tongue and lips, and tasted her salty arousal, she thought that she had always had such a submissive manner. That had started early. If the girls in the school had picked out one of them, then mutually bullied and mocked her, then Christa had always been happy if she was that girl. If the other girls mocked her, it had triggered strange and happy feelings in Christa.

And when, after school, the boys were chasing the girls and capturing them, it had caused Christa's heart pounding. She had fled and run away as fast as she could, but always hoping to be caught, whatever happened. Sometimes the boys just held their captives, but occasionally they had Christa - oh, glorious times! - tied to a tree. They had rummaged in her school bag to find sweets. If there were none, Christa had to pay off in a different way. She had to plead for mercy in a pleading voice and sometimes she had to kiss the boys, one after the other. How had she loved it!

You want me, Sister Zita! Christa thought as she licked the nun. She delected herself by the whimpering and wheezing of the woman. She dug her tongue in Sister Zita's cunt and sucked hard. The sister groaned. Then Christa licked and her teeth bit softly into Sister Zita's clit. The nun uttered a suppressed pleasure cry. Then she screamed louder. It sounded almost like yodelling.

Yes, you want me, sister! I know it! I'm sure! You can have me, sister Zita! At any time! You just have to make it. You have to take me. I will keep quiet. I will let you grant. I will surrender to you. I will completely submit to you. But you have to take me! Just like Mrs. Riefer! You have to take what you want! I can only wait quietly and obediently until you do it, sister!

She moved even closer to sister Zita. She pressed her mouth to the nun's pussy and licked eagerly. Sister Zita groaned and gasped. She whimpered in the highest tones. She uttered yodelling cries. Her pelvis twitched.
"Ooh! Ooooh! Penitent girl! Penitent girl!" she gasped. "Little sweet cross girl! Penitent girl! Submit! Show your gratitude! My sweet little penitent girrrrl! Oooh you ... sweet-and-sweetness's little penitent girrrl!"

With a cry the nun came. Her pelvis jerked violently and she clenched her hand hard in Christa's hair. "Penitent girl!" she gasped. "Cross girl! Oooh!"
Christa licked for a while, until the nun's orgasm subsided.

With a trembling sigh, the sister dropped to her knees before Christ, eyes closed.
"Cross girl! Ooh, sweet little penitential girl! "she sighed. She opened her eyes and looked at Christa. "You sweet little cross girl, you!" She kissed Christa on the mouth and hugged her and squeezed her. "Sweet little penitential girl", she said again and kissed Christa again and again.

At last the sister rose. "Get up, Christa! Get dressed! We want to go behind the house and end the day over coffee and cake."
Christa obeyed.

Fifteen minutes later, they sat behind the house and enjoyed coffee and cake. Christa wore her hands tied behind her back and sister Zita fed her with cake and gave her coffee to drink. The nun laughed and joked the whole time and kissed Christa again and again.

After dinner, she lifted Christa's bare feet into her lap and stroked them as she told the girl about the life in the monastery, as it had been before.
She talked about the boarding girls and the lessons. She said that the students were always barefoot in gymnastics. When the nurse giving the gym class fell ill, Sister Zita took her place.
Sometimes she raised Christa's bare feet to her mouth and kissed them. Again and again she called Christa her sweet little penitential girl.
Christa liked that.
 
You must log in or register to reply here.
Back
Top Bottom