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A Dream That Came True - A Story In 8 Chapters

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A Dream Comes True – chapter 3

(written by Sassi and transleted by great Eulalia)

"Don‘t go!" sobbed Julia, "don’t leave me alone, I'm completely helpless! Please, come back!" But no-one came. She was alone. All alone.



"Oh God," she gasped, "one hour! That was only one hour!" They’d agreed that the men would be allowed to watch her for one hour, that they’d be allowed to take pictures of her as they wished, while she was writhing on the cross and beggeing for mercy.



"One hour!" whimpered Julia. She tried to push up on the cross, to press against the timber. "Just a single hour! Only one hour! " Before her stretched another twenty-three hours. That was unimaginable. " I can‘t!" she sobbed, "I can‘t take any more! No-one could bear this!"



She shuddered. You'll have to bear it, said a little voice in her head, because no-one’s going to let you down from the cross before time. You asked for it, Julia, you’re only getting what you wanted - you knew it would hurt!



" But not so much!" cried Julia, her trembling intensifying, "not so much! It hurts like I could never have imagined. I can‘t possibly hold out for twenty-three hours! No way!" With a long-drawn howl she began writhing again on the cross. She couldn‘t do anything about it, it happened spontaneously, her body writhing in an ecstasy of pain.


"I‘m being crucified," she gasped, "I‘m really and truly being crucified! I‘m hanging stark naked on a wooden cross, hands and feet fixed with nails to the wood - yes, nailed! Just like I‘d always imagined, I‘m experiencing it in reality! God, this is crazy!" She was sobbing loudly. It was hurting, so much! But she’d wanted it, more than anything else in the world. She‘d always dreamed of being crucified, it had begun very early.


Julia remembered very clearly how, at seven years old, she‘d gone with her grandmother to church. Grannie had arranged it subtly. When they were in the church there was a solemn atmosphere, the people spoke only in hushed tones.


Julia hadn‘t taken much notice of the service, she had eyes only for the large crucifix behind the altar, she couldn’t take them off the half-naked body which hung with outstretched arms on the giant cross, held by large nails driven into the wrists and bare feet for all to see.


The sight had fascinated her, she’d stared at the nailed man on the cross and imagined what it would feel like to hang there, held with nails through the wrists and feet, all but naked before the eyes of many people. She felt her heart racing at the thought of actually being nailed like that to a cross.


After the Mass the women stayed behind for a bit. Julia wandered through the church. She followed the Stations of the Cross, there were paintings of these on the side walls of the church. Full of fascination she looked at the picture where Jesus was held down on the cross and a soldier was nailing his feet .


In the picture , only one nail was being used. Two soldiers were holding Jesus‘ lower leg, with his right foot pressed over the, and a third soldier was driving a giant nail through both feet. Heart pounding, little Julia had tried to imagine the pain this terrible nailing must produce.



Then she’d looked at the picture where three men were hanging on on their crosses. Again, in each case, the victim’s feet had been nailed one over the other. A single nail held both feet, of Jesus and of the two robbers. Julia had gazed at this image, and then looked at the crucifix behind the altar. There, the feet of Jesus stood side by side and a nail was driven into each foot.



That had appealed better to little Julia. She‘d gone forward and looked closely at the crucifix. Again her heart pounded, she couldn‘t turn her eyes away. It was only when her grandmother called her that she turned around and walked towards her. Before they left the church, Julia looked around again. The image of the half-naked body on the cross she’d memorized precisely.


This experience had never let go of Julia, from that day on she‘d dreamed of being crucified like that. Again and again she imagined herself in situations where they took off her clothes and put her on a cross. Then someone would come with a hammer and nails and nail her hands and feet to the wood. Julia wanted nothing so much as to experience it herself. She wanted to hang helpless on a cross, her arms spread wide. She wanted to know what it felt like.


" Well now you are experiencing it," gasped Julia, "now you know what it feels like – it‘s unbearable!" She groaned loudly, "And yet you’re going to endure it, Julia, because you have to! You’re going to bear something that no human can endure. That‘s absolutely crazy!"



Julia felt the pain. Her wrists hurt most, because they were holding almost all her weight on their nails. She couldn’t really support herself, she was hanging in front of the wood of the cross, and, although her feet were on the footrest, that was inclined obliquely downwards and gave her little support, and moreover there were the nails driven through her feet,so if she braced herself and pressed her knees to move her body slightly upwards to escape the horrific strain on her arms, burning pain shot through her legs, her feet especially the feet hurt quite appallingly.


Julia found herself thinking of the day when she went looking for the term "bastinado" on the Internet. In Wikipedia she’d found an exact description of the punishment: blows inflicted on one’s bare soles with a stick or a whip. That was a very painful punishment: in the first place, in the sole of the foot there are very many nerves, and, secondly, no numbness arises when it is hit - on the contrary, the more strokes you get, the stronger the pain becomes.



That’s how she was feeling now on the cross, her feet were being tortured terribly, and Mr. Pain was creeping gradually through her entire body, everything hurt. She began to writhe on the cross again, she couldn’t help it. Sobbing, she reared up, then she sagged, then she reared up again, writhing all the while like a worm .


"Caretaker," she sobbed, "the caretaker must come! It could happen – maybe he’ll just get the idea to come and just check things. Caretakers do that. Here at this school there aren’t any robots, no garden–bot, cleaning-bot, no kitchen-bot, everything here is old-fashioned, everything’s done by people. Maybe the janitor will come by, just like that, to see things are all right."



It was idiotic even to entertain the notion that the caretaker would come on a weekend out of town just to look around the school, this was utter nonsense, Julia knew that. The man would be making himself comfortable at home with his family. Whoever’s going to work voluntarily at the weekend?


"Maybe ramblers? " Julia pulled heself up, panting frantically, then she began to scream, "Help! Help! Can anybody hear me! Help!" She screamed and screamed, she yelled with all her might for help, even though she knew there was no chance anyone would hear her. That was why they‘d chosen this school outside the city when they discussed it on the Darknet, it stands alone and deserted in the middle of a park and is surrounded by high walls. No path runs around the grounds, there could be no walkers, she knows no-one can hear her.


She flopped, shivering, on the cross. "Oh God! Oh God! Please! Can’t anyone hear me?" She sobbed, "please help me! I can‘t bear it any more, I really can‘t stand it any longer!" The caretaker - maybe he will come ? Perhaps he‘ll remember later on today that he’s forgotten something? Left a light on? Forgotten to switch off the heating for the weekend? When he comes, I’ll hear his hovercar, she mused. New hope sprouted in her. She calmed down, trying not to moan loudly, so as not to miss the sound of the turbines of an approaching hovercar.



She hung very quietly on the cross. "Please let it happen, dear God," she whispered, "please let the janitor come and rescue me. I can‘t do any more. I can’t take it anymore. The pain‘s unbearable."


But endure it she did, she was holding out, she was undergoing the incredible pain. She was a bit surprised. I’m actually managing it, she thought, I can‘t stand it, yet I have to. I‘m stuck to the cross. I'm nailed. I can‘t get off. I‘m totally helpless. I‘m a prisoner of the Cross. I can only wait until someone comes and frees me.


She squirmed a little, moving slowly on the cross, testing out how much room she had free for maneuvering on the cross. It wasn‘t much, she was hanging with her arms outstretched, her feet propped on the down-slanted footrest. When she pressed down with her legs, she could lift her body a little up, to ease the gruesome strain on her arms. She could move her pelvis a little to the left or to the right.


She had a choice of intense pain in her wrists or acute agony in her feet. She could do what she chose, but she‘d certainly never escape the cruel torture. That‘s the wicked cruelty of crucifixion with nails, it hurts continuously. That's why she was heaving herself up again and again, that's why she was writhing on the wood. It was an unending dance driven on by Mr. Pain.


But sometimes she managed to hang quietly and rest a little. "I must get off," whispered Julia, "I can‘t bear it, I really cannot!" But then she felt pride rising up in her, "You, Julia, Nightgirl of the chatroom, you are enduring it! You’re experiencing it for real, a true crucifixion!“



How often had she dreamed of suffering this, how many times had she imagined herself just enduring what she was actually going through now! How often she had a burning desire to be nailed naked to a cross!Now it had become a reality. Yes, Julia felt pride, she was proud to be bearing it, she felt proud because she could stand it.



After she‘d hung a few minutes quite still on the cross, the burning pain forced her to begin twisting slowly, squirming. She had to, willy-nilly. In a way, it was fascinating, hadn‘t she always imagined it would be like this? Hadn’t she always know that the cross would capture her? That the cross would defeat her? That the cross would break her will? That she would writhe naked on the cross?



A thought flashed through her mind, suppose I were being crucified outside, in public!That would crown it all, she thought, to be publicly exposed, naked, nailed, up on the cross! I’d be squirming in agony, and down there they’d be standing and gazing at me, men and women would be watching me as I struggle on the cross.



Scarcely believing it, Julia felt arousal spreading in her woman-parts. She was starting to tingle down there between her legs. She was becoming sexually excited despite the monstrous pain. She moaned, and it was a moan of pleasure, all the more so because of her agony!



Suddenly she remembered the cameras that were filming her. They could all see and hear what was happening to her. She turned bright red, she suppressed a renewed urge to groan - but she felt herself wet. That's the pain, she thought. If a girl has pain inflicted on her, she grows wet – she’d read that in a blog about BDSM.


But now she knew better, she was wet because she was aroused. Above all the terrible pain she felt strong stimulation. For a while it was easier to endure the agony, she was feeling proud – and horny. She was Nightgirl, the crucified girl, Julia on the cross. She was enduring it. She was enduring it with pride!
 
A Dream Comes True – chapter 3

(written by Sassi and transleted by great Eulalia)

"Don‘t go!" sobbed Julia, "don’t leave me alone, I'm completely helpless! Please, come back!" But no-one came. She was alone. All alone.



"Oh God," she gasped, "one hour! That was only one hour!" They’d agreed that the men would be allowed to watch her for one hour, that they’d be allowed to take pictures of her as they wished, while she was writhing on the cross and beggeing for mercy.



"One hour!" whimpered Julia. She tried to push up on the cross, to press against the timber. "Just a single hour! Only one hour! " Before her stretched another twenty-three hours. That was unimaginable. " I can‘t!" she sobbed, "I can‘t take any more! No-one could bear this!"



She shuddered. You'll have to bear it, said a little voice in her head, because no-one’s going to let you down from the cross before time. You asked for it, Julia, you’re only getting what you wanted - you knew it would hurt!



" But not so much!" cried Julia, her trembling intensifying, "not so much! It hurts like I could never have imagined. I can‘t possibly hold out for twenty-three hours! No way!" With a long-drawn howl she began writhing again on the cross. She couldn‘t do anything about it, it happened spontaneously, her body writhing in an ecstasy of pain.


"I‘m being crucified," she gasped, "I‘m really and truly being crucified! I‘m hanging stark naked on a wooden cross, hands and feet fixed with nails to the wood - yes, nailed! Just like I‘d always imagined, I‘m experiencing it in reality! God, this is crazy!" She was sobbing loudly. It was hurting, so much! But she’d wanted it, more than anything else in the world. She‘d always dreamed of being crucified, it had begun very early.


Julia remembered very clearly how, at seven years old, she‘d gone with her grandmother to church. Grannie had arranged it subtly. When they were in the church there was a solemn atmosphere, the people spoke only in hushed tones.


Julia hadn‘t taken much notice of the service, she had eyes only for the large crucifix behind the altar, she couldn’t take them off the half-naked body which hung with outstretched arms on the giant cross, held by large nails driven into the wrists and bare feet for all to see.


The sight had fascinated her, she’d stared at the nailed man on the cross and imagined what it would feel like to hang there, held with nails through the wrists and feet, all but naked before the eyes of many people. She felt her heart racing at the thought of actually being nailed like that to a cross.


After the Mass the women stayed behind for a bit. Julia wandered through the church. She followed the Stations of the Cross, there were paintings of these on the side walls of the church. Full of fascination she looked at the picture where Jesus was held down on the cross and a soldier was nailing his feet .


In the picture , only one nail was being used. Two soldiers were holding Jesus‘ lower leg, with his right foot pressed over the, and a third soldier was driving a giant nail through both feet. Heart pounding, little Julia had tried to imagine the pain this terrible nailing must produce.



Then she’d looked at the picture where three men were hanging on on their crosses. Again, in each case, the victim’s feet had been nailed one over the other. A single nail held both feet, of Jesus and of the two robbers. Julia had gazed at this image, and then looked at the crucifix behind the altar. There, the feet of Jesus stood side by side and a nail was driven into each foot.



That had appealed better to little Julia. She‘d gone forward and looked closely at the crucifix. Again her heart pounded, she couldn‘t turn her eyes away. It was only when her grandmother called her that she turned around and walked towards her. Before they left the church, Julia looked around again. The image of the half-naked body on the cross she’d memorized precisely.


This experience had never let go of Julia, from that day on she‘d dreamed of being crucified like that. Again and again she imagined herself in situations where they took off her clothes and put her on a cross. Then someone would come with a hammer and nails and nail her hands and feet to the wood. Julia wanted nothing so much as to experience it herself. She wanted to hang helpless on a cross, her arms spread wide. She wanted to know what it felt like.


" Well now you are experiencing it," gasped Julia, "now you know what it feels like – it‘s unbearable!" She groaned loudly, "And yet you’re going to endure it, Julia, because you have to! You’re going to bear something that no human can endure. That‘s absolutely crazy!"



Julia felt the pain. Her wrists hurt most, because they were holding almost all her weight on their nails. She couldn’t really support herself, she was hanging in front of the wood of the cross, and, although her feet were on the footrest, that was inclined obliquely downwards and gave her little support, and moreover there were the nails driven through her feet,so if she braced herself and pressed her knees to move her body slightly upwards to escape the horrific strain on her arms, burning pain shot through her legs, her feet especially the feet hurt quite appallingly.


Julia found herself thinking of the day when she went looking for the term "bastinado" on the Internet. In Wikipedia she’d found an exact description of the punishment: blows inflicted on one’s bare soles with a stick or a whip. That was a very painful punishment: in the first place, in the sole of the foot there are very many nerves, and, secondly, no numbness arises when it is hit - on the contrary, the more strokes you get, the stronger the pain becomes.



That’s how she was feeling now on the cross, her feet were being tortured terribly, and Mr. Pain was creeping gradually through her entire body, everything hurt. She began to writhe on the cross again, she couldn’t help it. Sobbing, she reared up, then she sagged, then she reared up again, writhing all the while like a worm .


"Caretaker," she sobbed, "the caretaker must come! It could happen – maybe he’ll just get the idea to come and just check things. Caretakers do that. Here at this school there aren’t any robots, no garden–bot, cleaning-bot, no kitchen-bot, everything here is old-fashioned, everything’s done by people. Maybe the janitor will come by, just like that, to see things are all right."



It was idiotic even to entertain the notion that the caretaker would come on a weekend out of town just to look around the school, this was utter nonsense, Julia knew that. The man would be making himself comfortable at home with his family. Whoever’s going to work voluntarily at the weekend?


"Maybe ramblers? " Julia pulled heself up, panting frantically, then she began to scream, "Help! Help! Can anybody hear me! Help!" She screamed and screamed, she yelled with all her might for help, even though she knew there was no chance anyone would hear her. That was why they‘d chosen this school outside the city when they discussed it on the Darknet, it stands alone and deserted in the middle of a park and is surrounded by high walls. No path runs around the grounds, there could be no walkers, she knows no-one can hear her.


She flopped, shivering, on the cross. "Oh God! Oh God! Please! Can’t anyone hear me?" She sobbed, "please help me! I can‘t bear it any more, I really can‘t stand it any longer!" The caretaker - maybe he will come ? Perhaps he‘ll remember later on today that he’s forgotten something? Left a light on? Forgotten to switch off the heating for the weekend? When he comes, I’ll hear his hovercar, she mused. New hope sprouted in her. She calmed down, trying not to moan loudly, so as not to miss the sound of the turbines of an approaching hovercar.



She hung very quietly on the cross. "Please let it happen, dear God," she whispered, "please let the janitor come and rescue me. I can‘t do any more. I can’t take it anymore. The pain‘s unbearable."


But endure it she did, she was holding out, she was undergoing the incredible pain. She was a bit surprised. I’m actually managing it, she thought, I can‘t stand it, yet I have to. I‘m stuck to the cross. I'm nailed. I can‘t get off. I‘m totally helpless. I‘m a prisoner of the Cross. I can only wait until someone comes and frees me.


She squirmed a little, moving slowly on the cross, testing out how much room she had free for maneuvering on the cross. It wasn‘t much, she was hanging with her arms outstretched, her feet propped on the down-slanted footrest. When she pressed down with her legs, she could lift her body a little up, to ease the gruesome strain on her arms. She could move her pelvis a little to the left or to the right.


She had a choice of intense pain in her wrists or acute agony in her feet. She could do what she chose, but she‘d certainly never escape the cruel torture. That‘s the wicked cruelty of crucifixion with nails, it hurts continuously. That's why she was heaving herself up again and again, that's why she was writhing on the wood. It was an unending dance driven on by Mr. Pain.


But sometimes she managed to hang quietly and rest a little. "I must get off," whispered Julia, "I can‘t bear it, I really cannot!" But then she felt pride rising up in her, "You, Julia, Nightgirl of the chatroom, you are enduring it! You’re experiencing it for real, a true crucifixion!“



How often had she dreamed of suffering this, how many times had she imagined herself just enduring what she was actually going through now! How often she had a burning desire to be nailed naked to a cross!Now it had become a reality. Yes, Julia felt pride, she was proud to be bearing it, she felt proud because she could stand it.



After she‘d hung a few minutes quite still on the cross, the burning pain forced her to begin twisting slowly, squirming. She had to, willy-nilly. In a way, it was fascinating, hadn‘t she always imagined it would be like this? Hadn’t she always know that the cross would capture her? That the cross would defeat her? That the cross would break her will? That she would writhe naked on the cross?



A thought flashed through her mind, suppose I were being crucified outside, in public!That would crown it all, she thought, to be publicly exposed, naked, nailed, up on the cross! I’d be squirming in agony, and down there they’d be standing and gazing at me, men and women would be watching me as I struggle on the cross.



Scarcely believing it, Julia felt arousal spreading in her woman-parts. She was starting to tingle down there between her legs. She was becoming sexually excited despite the monstrous pain. She moaned, and it was a moan of pleasure, all the more so because of her agony!



Suddenly she remembered the cameras that were filming her. They could all see and hear what was happening to her. She turned bright red, she suppressed a renewed urge to groan - but she felt herself wet. That's the pain, she thought. If a girl has pain inflicted on her, she grows wet – she’d read that in a blog about BDSM.


But now she knew better, she was wet because she was aroused. Above all the terrible pain she felt strong stimulation. For a while it was easier to endure the agony, she was feeling proud – and horny. She was Nightgirl, the crucified girl, Julia on the cross. She was enduring it. She was enduring it with pride!
This is quite utterly wonderful. Thank you Sissi and Eul.
 
A dream comes true – chapter 4
(written by Sassi and translated by Eulalia)


Julia remembered how she had ridden around on her bicycle in her small hometown after that first visit to the church, and out into the surrounding villages too. She’d studied crucified Jesus in churches, and looked at calvaries by the wayside or at cross-roads wherever there were any. She’d taken photos of the Crucified One, she’d got lots.

She‘d always found these full of fascination, as she gazed and dreamed that she was the one hanging on these crosses, nailed hand and foot. She couldn’t tear herself away. Again and again, she thought about it – when she’d showered, she‘d posed nude with her back to the wall in the bathroom, her arms outstretched and standing on tiptoes, imagining she was nailed to a cross. In bed at night, she’d spread out her arms under the blanket and dreamed that she was a crucified girl.

"Ooh!" groaned Julia. She was feeling growing pressure in her bladder. Oh no! She hadn‘t thought of that. She’d be hanging on the cross so long she’d need to urinate from time to time. She looked around, the cameras were still filming, the memories would last for four hours. How much time had passed? Two hours? Three? Five and a half ? She couldn‘t tell, she‘d lost all sense of time. She looked at the semicircle of cameras, lenses looked back at her coldly, she knew exactly how the cameras were directed.

Most would show Julia in a long shot, they were filming the entire cross with her naked body on it. One was filing just her head and torso, it would give a close-up of her face and show exactly how her eyes mirrored the agony she was suffering. And one was pointed at her abdomen and recording in close-up her hips and her bare, exposed genitals

It‘s filming everything, thought Julia. She had to swallow. Yes, she‘d agreed in the chatroom about the caemras, it would be a like a public crucifixion: instead of people, cameras would be staring at her. And she’d get a recording with all the best scenes, she’d be able to see herself on the cross .

But she hadn’t anticipated how ashamed she’d be to pass water in front of the cameras. In her fantasy that was something really exciting, but now, in reality, she thought it was bad. "I can’t," she gasped. She stopped herself as best she could, she didn’t want to urinate before the cameras under any circumstances, just the thought made her blush.

If I’ve been hanging here for three and a half hours, I just have to hold out for another half- hour, she thought. I can do that if I try. She pressed her legs together. The pressure on her bladder increased by the minute. What if I’ve only been here for three hours? I can’t hold on another whole hour, oh God! And what if only two hour or two and a half hours have passed?

Julia looked into the semicircle of cameras. On each one a tiny red light was shining, indicating it was recording. "Oooh!" she groaned loudly, this time not with pain but because she was holding back the water in her overfull bladder with all her strength. She knew she‘d lose the battle, but she tried to keep it up as long as possible. She hoped the cameras would switch off one after another when their memories were full.

Please, she thought, please go off! Shut down!. I really know, very, very strongly, I cannot pee in front of cameras. Oh God, please not! She was squirming, pressing with all her might to hold back the water. It was taking a tremendous effort, and, because she was pressing so strongly, and twisting, the pains of crucifixion were growing stronger again.

She began to cry. She gasped and groaned. She squirmed. You would not pee in front of cameras, no! No way! She was pressing with all her might. The pressure in her pussy was rising inexorably. Oh how happy she’d be now to go to the toilet. But she couldn’t, she was hanging helplessly on a cross.

"I will not!" she whispered, "I can‘t do it! Not in front of cameras!" She heaved up - and then it happened. For a moment she wasn’t paying attention to controlling it, and at once a powerful jet shot from her groing. She couldn‘t hold it any longer. With high pressure, it bubbled out of her. The cameras went on filming with their cold eyes.

"Oh God!" Julia was wriggling in shame, she was fiery red. It went on and on, it gushed out of her without ceasing. My God, if that really happened in public, she thought, while a stream of warm liquid was still gushing from her, if fifty or a hundred people were standing down there! They‘d see it all! All of it!

Her shame grew, she began to sob. Hadn’t she suffered enough torment? Did she have to undergo even this cruel humiliation? Yes, she must. She couldn’t do anything about it, anything at all ! Quietly sobbing, Julia waited until her warm wells gradually dried up. Down below in front of the cross a large puddle had formed.

Julia looked at the puddle. It looked like a small lake. That was me, she thought, I peed in front of everyone. She still felt ashamed, but at the same time it pleased her, she couldn‘t say why. I have to do it in front of the crowd, she thought, I can not do anything to stop it. Before I 'm off the cross, it’s going to happen again, at least once. The thought made her shiver, all of a sudden she felt exposed like never before in her life.

When they find me tomorrow morning, they‘ll see that I‘ve peed a couple of times, she thought. It‘ll be the caretaker who finds me. Will he notice the small lake in front of the cross? The police will be summoned for sure. And other people - who would come? Firefighters, to remove me from the cross? Sure thing! An ambulance with paramedics? No, it would a flying ambulance, so that they can get me quickly to the hospital, to the auto-doc unit.

Yes, thought Julia, that’s how it will be. They’ll see that I pissed. She wanted nothing more than to be at last an auto-doc at this moment - the cover would automatically close, a respirator would come down onto her face, and then she would be anaesthetised, she’d feel no more pain.

And when she wakes up, three or four or five days later, her body would be healed, no traces would remain. The auto-doc could itself regenerate torn limbs, destroyed blood vessels and nerves would grow back, all her physical damage would be repaired.

Julia let her body sink down on the cross. She hung there quietly there for a. She looked at the cameras still filming her eagerly, a dozen vile, greedy eyes that weren’t missing the smallest detail. The artificial eyes down there were on naked Julia all the time, second by second, minute by minute. And she couldn’t help it, she had to suffer it, she was helpless.

It was this absolute helplessness that aroused her beyond measure. The helplessness was part of her dream, it was essential. And that her feeling naked and humiliated. She was defenceless at the mercy of greedy camera-eyes. The cameras saw how exhausted she was, they were recording as they she hung weary on the cross, her eyes so full of pain.

How long? she wondered, how long will it be until one of the masked comes to give me something to drink. When will it at last be evening? Is it afternoon already? Or isn‘t it even noon yet? She’d lost her sense of time, and through the opaque skylights of the gym, four

Time stretched out, a minute seemed to last forever. She was feeling the horrible pain in her wrists and feet, all the rest of her body ached - hanging on a cross hurt. Even if she’d just been tied, she’d be experiencing a lot of pain by now, nailing made it even more extreme. Down below, the cameras were on their tripods still gazing at Julia, filming everything, so she’d not even been there four hours.

Julia remembered how, at nine years old, she‘d been given her first phone with a digital camera. She rode her bike around the area and photographed crucifixes. At home, she that she researched pictures on the internet with the data about those crucifixes. She played the little local history researcher, and collected crucifixion scenes like other girls made photo-libraries of horses. Even on vacation in Bavaria and Austria, she went on photographing eagerly.

At home, they looked at the photos again and again on her display screen and dreamed of being in the place of the crucified, dreamed of really hanging on the cross, naked and exposed and completely helpless. Wherever she saw a crucifix, Julia photographed it .

And now she herself was being photographed, as she hung naked, nailed on a cross, hands and feet, just as she’d always dreamed of. Hadn’t she desired this?Yes , she thought, but wishful thinking and real experience are different kettles of fish. It‘s simply unbearable.

But she was holding out. She was forced to. Her wrists and nails they were held an iron grip, literally, by the nails . She slumped exhausted on the cross. The unspeakable pain filled her completely . Her arms were aching, her shoulders were aching, her calves were trembling, it hurt everywhere, but especially where the nails were in her body. Julia had always wanted to know what it felt like, a real crucifixion - she knew now, it hurts. It hurts terribly. The pain is out of this world.

Suddenly she had an idea. When one of the masked men comes to give her something to drink in the evening, and to reset the batteries and memories in the cameras, she’d tell him she’d had enough, he must call the police and say a disguised voice that he’d heard cries when he was outside the town, coming from the grounds of the private school. Then they’d come and rescue her quick.

Yes, good idea, she thought. He’ll be keen to do it when he sees the state I’m in, I’m already completely exhausted and broken. She sighed. The idea was really great. Only half the planned time on the cross, but yes, that would be enough, more than enough.She’d had enough now.

Her head dropped. "I can‘t!" she gasped, "I can‘t do any more! I can‘t stand another minute!" The pain was continuously increasin, it was filling her completely. She had reached her limit, she couldn‘t hang quietly any longer, the cross had defeated her, once again.

She hauled herself up. The movement seemed to make the pain ten times stronger, she wailed loudly, yelled herself hoarse. She was beginning to have spasms of panic, pumping her broken body up and down. She was squirming, tearing at the nails that held her on the cross in their iron grip. Exploding pains shot through her wrists and feet. She cried and cried .

"Let me down!" she yelled, "let me down! Please help me! Help! Help!" As she was screaming, she danced on the cross. Fiery pain flowed through her feet and wrists. She was wiling, sobbing screaming, she couldn’t stop herself at all wailed . She tugged on the nails, she writhed against the wood of the cross. It was unbearable, she couldn’t endure a minute more.

But endure she did. She had to, she couldn’t escape, the nails held her, the cross was torturing her relentlessly, minute by minute. She was squirming, screaming, crying incessantly .

Eventually she collapsed. Now she was hanging silent on the cross. She looked around the room. The small red eyes of the cameras were extinguished. Four hours, thought Julia, four hours are up. Dear God, it's only twelve noon, half-past at most. Until tonight, there are still six or seven hours and I'm supposed to endure? That long?

She began again to cry. Before her stretched so many hours of endless torment. A thought flashed through her mind, what if the masked man who’d be giving her the evening drink at six or seven clock, doesn’t save her? What if he answers dryly, "You’re staying crucified. That’s what was agreed."

"Please no! " sobbed Julia, " Oh, please don‘t!" She sagged, she felt her absolute helplessness. If the masked man refuses to release her, she won’t be able to do anything. All he has to do is an anonymous call to the police - but if he dosn‘t? Then what?" Then I have to cope with the cross until tomorrow morning!" gasped. The thought made her cold. Now her tears were flowing freely.
 
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A Dream Comes True: chapter 5
(written by Sassi and translated by Great Eulalia)



Gradually Julia's tears dried. She hung still and gave herself up to the cross. Her breathing became calmer and deeper. She took in Mr. Pain. She greeted him as a friend and gave herself up to him entirely.

I can do it, she thought, hardly believing it. I can actually do it. At least to some extent. The pain was still unbearable, but she was accepting it. She hung still on her cross and endured her torture proudly .

It was a strange feeling. The cross had broken her will, and yet she felt stronger, as if she were standing above it all. She looked down to the cameras .

I’m stronger than you, she thought, then she spoke it out loud, "I’m stronger than you! You down there are so small, so weak. Check it out! Look at me! See the girl on the cross, see how she’s coping with the torture. She can do it! It’s her destiny."

" Yes," she said quietly. "I can do it. I can stand it. I’m going to go through with it."

Joy swelled up in her, she could actually do it. She felt simply blown away. She was suffering unimaginably, and yet she was bearing it. She was no longer howling, no longer crying. Still and surrendered, she hung on the cross.

" Yes," she said again, this was how she’d always imagined it in her fantasies. Is this her reward? Does she have to go through many hours of cruel pain to experience this? Till she could bear the torment without complaint? It was sublime, it was ecstatic, Julia felt blissful.

"I‘m being crucified," she said out loud, "I 'm naked, nailed to a wooden cross. I am Julia, the crucified girl." She looked down at an imaginary crowd, in her mind's eye she saw the people quite clearly, men and women. "Look at me!" she exclaimed, "I‘m suffering, I‘m suffering for you! And I‘m doing it with pleasure!"

She began to move again, slowly, almost elegantly, she began to dance on the cross. This time she wasn’t forced to do it by the pain, she wanted to do it. She pressed through her knees and rose a little way up. This cruel strain was eased in her arms. Then she swung her hips to the left, then to the right .

She flexed her spine, so that her buttocks and shoulders lifted away from the wood of the cross. She was floating before the cross as a life-sized figurehead, held solely by the four nails. It felt fantastic.

She was a prisoner, and yet she’d never felt her so free in her life. It was absolute freedom, unlike anything she’d ever experienced. She felt gratitude, gratitude for being able to experience what had filled her lifelong dream.

She moved gently back and forth, up and down . The cross carried her. On the cross she was secure, she could totally rely on it, it would not let her go, it would never drop her.She was experiencing ecstasy, she was dancing in ecstasy, dancing on the cross, dancing in a universe of multicolored pain. She was a princess, naked on the cross, the princess of pain. She was a goddess, a goddess of agony. So she shall be, now and forever!

She recalled one of her fantasies. She had been chosen to be nailed naked to a cross. So they And she remained so for many years, always nailed. She became a nature deity, they worshiped her and brought her sacrificial offerings. They revered her, they called her "The Painful One", "The Suffering Girl " or " The Crucified Princess ".

Julia looked around. What time was that? She was thirsty . The battle on the cross had made her thirsty, she’d sweated a lot. I probably look pretty well finished, she thought, all in. Okay then, the guy who brings me my drink this evening can take me down.

She was feeling pressure in her bladder again. She looked at the cameras, squatting dead with lifeless eyes on their tripods. "Tough luck!" she yelled defiantly, and arched her back so she posed once more as a figurehead, and then she pissed. She squeezed as hard as she could.

A powerful jet spurted from her groin and splashed onto the floor of the gym. She smiled. There was no-one to see it, she was alone. But if there’d been people down there, she thought. they’d have seen everything. The thought excited her, little Julia hanging naked on her cross, pissing in front of the pack, oh yes!

The warm stream from her kidneys died with a last splash. Julia looked at the floor. The puddle before her cross had grown, down there was a small lake. That was me. She felt ashamed, she had peed in the middle of a gymnasium. If anyone knew! If anybody had seen her!

They will see it, she thought, later, when they look at the recordings from the cameras. She blushed. They would see it - Turkey45, Moonwolf, Flogger33, Jeremias, David X, Jimmy and Nightlight, seven strange men would watch as she, Julia, hanging naked on the cross urinated with all her might. At this thought, she blushed all the more .

One of them had written in their chat that, even when he stood up to pee, it turned it on, imagining what it would be,like for a helpless, captive girl who could not longer withstand the pressure on her bladder, as she lost the battle and nature finally had to take its course. The process of urination was a very erotic affair for him, to see the shame of a girl, nailed and helpless, he’d find supremely beautiful.

"You can look forward to enjoying that," she gasped. She moaned . Gradually Mr. Pain was getting the upper hand again, she could do nothing to oppose him, she was completely at his mercy. He came upon her and defeated her. Once again, she couldn‘t help it, she was surrendering, giving herself up, to fainting in agony.

"When you’ve no strength left, you can only faint," she panted. She tried to lean back on the cross, but that was impossible, it offered her no support. Only the four long nails provided support, which was suplied through her feet and wrists. Because her feet were on a downward-sloping footrest, she could stand up a little on her legs, but very little. To all intents and purposes, she was hanging in front of the upright wooden cross, held only by the nails.

Constrained, held in position. The nails were forcing Julia to maintain a particular posture, she could not avoid it, she could only submit to it, and suffer. Her eyes filled with tears, she was crying softly. Mr. Pain was driving her on, he began once again to command her to dance on the cross. She gasped. She squirmed.

After some time - she couldn‘t tell how long – she fell quiet again, her head hung down. Like I‘m hanging on the monkey bars, she thought. Despite the cruel pain she had to smile. The monkey-bars! When Julia was a little girl, she couldn’t walk past them without hanging on by her hands, whether in the playground or on holiday at the campsite, whenever she saw a climbing frame, she was on it, she just had to go up and hang there with her arms stretched out. She especially liked the ones that were constructed so she could press with her feet a little, just a little, not too much. The crucifixion she longed for should hurt properly, she wanted to feel it.

Then she’d hang still and let herself sink down, and counted the seconds that she was enduring it, and dreamed of being tied to it without any chance to free herself. Sometimes she stayed there for many minutes, fifteen or even twenty, while she hung on the climbing frame, really suffering - because after a while it would begin to hurt.

And the laundry-line poles in her grannie’s garden! They were made of iron pipes formed as T crosses, standing beside the garden path. She used to make a game of it, standing on a stone and clutching the upper "crossbeam" with her hands round it. To manage this, she had to stand on tiptoe, then she’d let herself hang, feet dangling in the air, and began to count.

And she’d longed not to cling on by her hands, but to be tied there, hand and foot. And most of all, she’d dreamed of being nailed. "With Nails ", she whispered. She was still gazing down, looking at her nailed feet.

"I AM nailed! In my hands and my feet!" She raised her head and looked at her right hand, the nail was sticking out of her wrist, so small and fragile her wrist looked, with this huge nail stuck in it. She turned her head and looked to the left. The same picture, a tender girl‘s wrist pressed by a large nail against the wood of the cross bar.

Julia was surprised that she was bleeding only slightly. Her crucifier had done a good job. On the Internet they‘d found the right spot in the wrist, where the nail had been driven, between her carpal bones, there were no large blood vessels. But there were nerves! She could feel the burning pain. She was amazed that she could hang on the cross so quietly, although she was almost dying in agony. Why aren’t I not crying? Why aren’t I howling like a banshee? Why aren’t I twisting myself in knots?
Wake up, Julia, said a little voice in her head, just you wait long enough, you’soon ll be screaming and squirming in a wild ecstasy of pain. The cross will compel you. You might be granted a little rest from time to time, but then Mr. Pain comes back to you and he’ll force you to dance on the cross .

Just then the pain in her feet seemed to be stronger than in her wrists. Her head dropped, she looked down, her eyes fell on her slightly bent knees and down to her bare feet. She saw the large nails that united her feet inextricably with the wood of the cross .

She had small feet, size 36, English 3.5. "You have little feet, like a proper young lady," her grandmother had said once, "you’ve got the feet of a princess!" Princess! Yes, she was a princess - a Princess of Pain!

Julia tried to see if she could move her nailed feet. It was actually possible, she could raise the heels a bit and twist her feet a little, but otherwise they were firmly attached to the obliquely inclined footrest. From where the nails had been hammered through her feet, a very fine trickle of blood ran down between her toes, it wasn’t much.

The pain was much more than the blood. While the amount of blood was small, the punishment was huge and overpowering. She looked at her naked, pierced feet, her aching feet. How she wished at that moment to be outside, walking barefoot through a spring meadow, or through a sandy river bed, feeling the sand under her bare feet.

But she couldn‘t. All she could do was to surrender to the growing pain and suffering. She gave herself up to it. She was suffering.
 
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