windar
Teller of Tales
You mean like Maria Schneider in "Last Tango in Paris"?We're getting buttered up! Yay! This is just getting better and better!
View attachment 521485 Butter me up!(Unsalted, please.)
http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x55kcrl
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Barb, Marcella And Tree Visit N E New York
- Thread starter windar
- Start date
http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x55kcrl
No wonder my eyes hurt!
And he searched the internet from end to end for those.
Cella
Spectator
The video wouldn't play. Froze up my computer too for a bit. I'll not go there again!
I'll look for the scene on youtube. From what little I saw looks like she's going to get some butter up her ass!
Same happened to me...The video wouldn't play. Froze up my computer too for a bit. I'll not go there again!
I'll look for the scene on youtube. From what little I saw looks like she's going to get some butter up her ass!
windar
Teller of Tales
The video wouldn't play. Froze up my computer too for a bit. I'll not go there again!
I'll look for the scene on youtube. From what little I saw looks like she's going to get some butter up her ass!
It worked when I loaded it, but doesn't now. May be due to traffic on the site. But on porn sites, it works fine https://www.xnxx.com/video-drnfe1/anal_with_butter_scene_in_last_tango_in_paris
It worked...
windar
Teller of Tales
It's a very controversial scene to this day, partly because it was a mainstream movie directed by a renowned director, Bernardo Bertolucci and there are those who believe that Maria Schneider, who was only 19 at the time, didn't properly consent. I honestly don't know where the truth lies.
windar
Teller of Tales
5.
And so I was faced with a dilemma, un embarras de richesse, as it were. For which of those lovely behinds should I strike first? I saw little alternative but to trust the gods of fate; I extracted a coin from my pocket. “Heads Barb, tails Marcie,” I announced. It was, fittingly enough, tails and so I whipped the birch switch hard into Marcella’s tail.
The whistling sound it made as the branch rent the air was delightful, as was the sharp sound of the impact with the soft butt flesh. More delightful still was the ragged intake of breath and the swaying motion of Marcie’s hips as her body struggled to manage the overflowing sensations.
Being a fair-minded believer in equality for women, I administered the next lash to Barb’s tight little, eliciting a similar reaction. I continued alternating between the two beauties, the cumulative strokes causing them to moan and shriek in pain and wriggle their butts madly. I decided that crucifixion perhaps wasn’t all bad, if only you dispensed with the cross and the nails and the dying.
I wasn’t sure how many lashes I gave each of the two lovelies-perhaps ten, perhaps a dozen. I could have gone on for quite a bit longer, but I was rudely interrupted by Tree. “Alright, windar, enough with the preliminaries, it’s going to be dark very soon. On to the crucifixion!”
But now, I found myself in some distress, as the frantic gyrations of the two women under the switch had caused me to become quite aroused. Once they were nailed up on the maple tree, I would have a hard time reaching the parts that would provide me with the relief I desperately needed, without a ladder, and I didn’t see one here. How would I convince that over-eager Limbaugh fan to wait a few more minutes so I could enjoy a last fuck with one or the other of these two soon-to-be-crucified gals?
“Listen, Tree,” I suggested, “We have two naked women there, bent over a log. Don’t you think we ought to take advantage of the situation? Wouldn’t Roman soldiers have fucked them before nailing them up?” I had no freaking clue what Roman soldiers would have done, but I knew very well what I lusted to do right now.
“Geez, windar, you’re just stalling for time now.”
“No Tree, I’m really in a bad way here. Would you like to see?” I started to unbutton my pants.
“God, no, I would not like to see, windar. Go ahead, just make it fast, OK?”
Now, with Tree’s blessing, I again faced the dilemma. Which one to fuck? I was going to get out the coin again, but then I thought about how I had already enjoyed Barb and it seemed only fitting that I sample the delights of Marcie. I strode rapidly behind her, lowered my pants and briefs and quickly entered her, finding her to be quite wet. I thought it was perhaps a bit strange that she should be aroused by the prospect of being crucified, but as the Pope once said, “Who am I to judge?” It’s interesting that the Holy Father should appear in two consecutive stories of mine, but so be it.
It turned out that Tree’s worries about time were misplaced. I was quite aroused by the whipping I had administered to the girls and rutted vigorously for a few minutes, before I felt my climax approaching. Anyway, it seemed Tree wasn’t quite as concerned as he pretended, because he dropped his crucifixion tools and began enjoying his pleasure with Barb as I emptied myself into Marcie. It wasn’t long before he was finished as well.
“Now, windar, if you have no further objections, can we get on with the main event?” Tree said as he zipped up his fly, sounding a bit exasperated.
“I suppose you must do what you must, Tree,” I replied.
“Good,” he said as he stooped to pick up the spikes and the hammer. “Now, Barb,” he continued, “Go stand up on the log at the base of the maple facing outwards and stretch out your arms. Once your arms are nailed, I’ll get Marcella on the other side.”
Barb stood up, rubbing her butt, which was nicely welted from the switch. I supposed that would cause her considerable distress as it rubbed against the bark of the tree as she rose and fell for the next few days. Following Tree’s instructions, she climbed up on the log and turned so that her back was against the wood, then stretched her arms out perpendicular to the ground so that each could be nailed to a branch. Tree got up on the log next to her and pinned her left wrist to the branch with the pointed tip of an iron spike, while he drew the hammer back in his other hand, preparing to drive the spike home.
I don’t know if it was the excitement of having whipped these two naked women, the anticipation of seeing them nailed or the guilt at not doing anything to prevent this barbarity, but at that moment I felt some powerful stomach cramps. “Excuse me guys, you carry on, but nature is calling me,” I said and made for the underbrush.
And it was a damn good thing I did, because who should appear just as I ducked behind the bushes, but Ranger Goldman striding purposefully into the clearing, gun drawn in one hand, accompanied by a female ranger with a video camera, recording the attempted crucifixion for future presentation in court in the event that should prove necessary. “Put down the spike and hammer slowly, Tree,” he announced in an authoritative voice. Tree looked stunned, but, realizing he was no match for two armed and highly trained officers of the law, he got off the log and laid the spikes and hammer on the ground.
“You wouldn’t happen to have a New York State Execution license, would you?” Goldman asked, sneeringly. Tree reached into his pocket and pulled out the ridiculous-looking union certificate he had shown me and proudly presented it like he was a kid with a straight A report card (something I was fairly certain Tree had never come home with).
Goldman took it between his thumb and forefinger, like it was a piece of toxic waste. He looked it up and down. “This piece of shit?” he asked. “Do you think I’m an idiot?” Tree looked like he might answer the question in the affirmative, but then decided not to. Goldman grasped the certificate in both hands and tore it into two pieces, then four, then eight, then opened his hand and let the remains flutter to the forest floor.
Then, strangely, it seemed that nature called on Ranger Goldman too, because he unzipped his uniform pants, pulled out his schlong (as we say in New York) and let a vigorous stream of urine water the remains of Tree’s poor attempt at circumventing the law. “This is what I think of your ‘certificate’, Tree,” he said as he buttoned up his pants. “Now turn around and place your hands behind you; you’re under arrest for unlicensed crucifixion.” Goldman's partner, the female ranger, whose name tag read Moore, (purely coincidental) slapped a pair of cuffs around Tree's wrists. As she snapped the steel bands closed, Goldman read Tree the Miranda warning well-known to every cop show fan: "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney..."
That seemed to set Tree off. "Attorney?" he sputtered. "I AM a freakin' attorney. I've argued 143 cases in Crux Court and I have a perfect record." Yes, he does, he lost every one. Actually, that wasn't quite true; he did win twice but his clients were crucified anyway.
Tree went on, ignoring the sensible legal advice offered by the rangers to remain silent, "Just wait until the IMF hears about this". Now he had my attention-the bankers were involved, just as I had suspected. He continued ranting on that soon Joan Tree and someone named Ulrika would come and bail him out. Who were they and why were they in this story? Beats me. Unfazed by the absence of his imaginary posse, he concluded his impromptu legal arguments by noting, "This is all windar's fault. He invited me to this goddamn blue state with all its rules and regulations." I had to admit he had a point. "You should arrest him too." OK, that was going too far.
Ranger Goldman looked around. "Windar? I don’t see a windar. All I see in this forest are Trees. But we can continue this conversation back at the station, where you can meet your new roommates." Then he and Moore led Tree away.
I waited a few minutes until the coast was clear, then walked back into the clearing to where Barb and Marcie stood naked, with arms raised, against the maple tree.
“I don’t suppose you’ll crucify us, windar?” Marcie asked, looking a bit disappointed.
“I’ve already enjoyed the really fun part of crucifixion,” I replied. “Besides, I don’t have a license or even a certificate and I don’t think Tree and I would be good cellmates. But get dressed and let’s go back to camp. I think we can come up with some other ways to have some fun. And if you really want to be crucified, in ten years, or maybe five if he behaves himself, you can go to NW Arkansas and look up Tree and see if he’s still doing crucifixions. I hear you don’t need a license there.”
And so I was faced with a dilemma, un embarras de richesse, as it were. For which of those lovely behinds should I strike first? I saw little alternative but to trust the gods of fate; I extracted a coin from my pocket. “Heads Barb, tails Marcie,” I announced. It was, fittingly enough, tails and so I whipped the birch switch hard into Marcella’s tail.
The whistling sound it made as the branch rent the air was delightful, as was the sharp sound of the impact with the soft butt flesh. More delightful still was the ragged intake of breath and the swaying motion of Marcie’s hips as her body struggled to manage the overflowing sensations.
Being a fair-minded believer in equality for women, I administered the next lash to Barb’s tight little, eliciting a similar reaction. I continued alternating between the two beauties, the cumulative strokes causing them to moan and shriek in pain and wriggle their butts madly. I decided that crucifixion perhaps wasn’t all bad, if only you dispensed with the cross and the nails and the dying.
I wasn’t sure how many lashes I gave each of the two lovelies-perhaps ten, perhaps a dozen. I could have gone on for quite a bit longer, but I was rudely interrupted by Tree. “Alright, windar, enough with the preliminaries, it’s going to be dark very soon. On to the crucifixion!”
But now, I found myself in some distress, as the frantic gyrations of the two women under the switch had caused me to become quite aroused. Once they were nailed up on the maple tree, I would have a hard time reaching the parts that would provide me with the relief I desperately needed, without a ladder, and I didn’t see one here. How would I convince that over-eager Limbaugh fan to wait a few more minutes so I could enjoy a last fuck with one or the other of these two soon-to-be-crucified gals?
“Listen, Tree,” I suggested, “We have two naked women there, bent over a log. Don’t you think we ought to take advantage of the situation? Wouldn’t Roman soldiers have fucked them before nailing them up?” I had no freaking clue what Roman soldiers would have done, but I knew very well what I lusted to do right now.
“Geez, windar, you’re just stalling for time now.”
“No Tree, I’m really in a bad way here. Would you like to see?” I started to unbutton my pants.
“God, no, I would not like to see, windar. Go ahead, just make it fast, OK?”
Now, with Tree’s blessing, I again faced the dilemma. Which one to fuck? I was going to get out the coin again, but then I thought about how I had already enjoyed Barb and it seemed only fitting that I sample the delights of Marcie. I strode rapidly behind her, lowered my pants and briefs and quickly entered her, finding her to be quite wet. I thought it was perhaps a bit strange that she should be aroused by the prospect of being crucified, but as the Pope once said, “Who am I to judge?” It’s interesting that the Holy Father should appear in two consecutive stories of mine, but so be it.
It turned out that Tree’s worries about time were misplaced. I was quite aroused by the whipping I had administered to the girls and rutted vigorously for a few minutes, before I felt my climax approaching. Anyway, it seemed Tree wasn’t quite as concerned as he pretended, because he dropped his crucifixion tools and began enjoying his pleasure with Barb as I emptied myself into Marcie. It wasn’t long before he was finished as well.
“Now, windar, if you have no further objections, can we get on with the main event?” Tree said as he zipped up his fly, sounding a bit exasperated.
“I suppose you must do what you must, Tree,” I replied.
“Good,” he said as he stooped to pick up the spikes and the hammer. “Now, Barb,” he continued, “Go stand up on the log at the base of the maple facing outwards and stretch out your arms. Once your arms are nailed, I’ll get Marcella on the other side.”
Barb stood up, rubbing her butt, which was nicely welted from the switch. I supposed that would cause her considerable distress as it rubbed against the bark of the tree as she rose and fell for the next few days. Following Tree’s instructions, she climbed up on the log and turned so that her back was against the wood, then stretched her arms out perpendicular to the ground so that each could be nailed to a branch. Tree got up on the log next to her and pinned her left wrist to the branch with the pointed tip of an iron spike, while he drew the hammer back in his other hand, preparing to drive the spike home.
I don’t know if it was the excitement of having whipped these two naked women, the anticipation of seeing them nailed or the guilt at not doing anything to prevent this barbarity, but at that moment I felt some powerful stomach cramps. “Excuse me guys, you carry on, but nature is calling me,” I said and made for the underbrush.
And it was a damn good thing I did, because who should appear just as I ducked behind the bushes, but Ranger Goldman striding purposefully into the clearing, gun drawn in one hand, accompanied by a female ranger with a video camera, recording the attempted crucifixion for future presentation in court in the event that should prove necessary. “Put down the spike and hammer slowly, Tree,” he announced in an authoritative voice. Tree looked stunned, but, realizing he was no match for two armed and highly trained officers of the law, he got off the log and laid the spikes and hammer on the ground.
“You wouldn’t happen to have a New York State Execution license, would you?” Goldman asked, sneeringly. Tree reached into his pocket and pulled out the ridiculous-looking union certificate he had shown me and proudly presented it like he was a kid with a straight A report card (something I was fairly certain Tree had never come home with).
Goldman took it between his thumb and forefinger, like it was a piece of toxic waste. He looked it up and down. “This piece of shit?” he asked. “Do you think I’m an idiot?” Tree looked like he might answer the question in the affirmative, but then decided not to. Goldman grasped the certificate in both hands and tore it into two pieces, then four, then eight, then opened his hand and let the remains flutter to the forest floor.
Then, strangely, it seemed that nature called on Ranger Goldman too, because he unzipped his uniform pants, pulled out his schlong (as we say in New York) and let a vigorous stream of urine water the remains of Tree’s poor attempt at circumventing the law. “This is what I think of your ‘certificate’, Tree,” he said as he buttoned up his pants. “Now turn around and place your hands behind you; you’re under arrest for unlicensed crucifixion.” Goldman's partner, the female ranger, whose name tag read Moore, (purely coincidental) slapped a pair of cuffs around Tree's wrists. As she snapped the steel bands closed, Goldman read Tree the Miranda warning well-known to every cop show fan: "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney..."
That seemed to set Tree off. "Attorney?" he sputtered. "I AM a freakin' attorney. I've argued 143 cases in Crux Court and I have a perfect record." Yes, he does, he lost every one. Actually, that wasn't quite true; he did win twice but his clients were crucified anyway.
Tree went on, ignoring the sensible legal advice offered by the rangers to remain silent, "Just wait until the IMF hears about this". Now he had my attention-the bankers were involved, just as I had suspected. He continued ranting on that soon Joan Tree and someone named Ulrika would come and bail him out. Who were they and why were they in this story? Beats me. Unfazed by the absence of his imaginary posse, he concluded his impromptu legal arguments by noting, "This is all windar's fault. He invited me to this goddamn blue state with all its rules and regulations." I had to admit he had a point. "You should arrest him too." OK, that was going too far.
Ranger Goldman looked around. "Windar? I don’t see a windar. All I see in this forest are Trees. But we can continue this conversation back at the station, where you can meet your new roommates." Then he and Moore led Tree away.
I waited a few minutes until the coast was clear, then walked back into the clearing to where Barb and Marcie stood naked, with arms raised, against the maple tree.
“I don’t suppose you’ll crucify us, windar?” Marcie asked, looking a bit disappointed.
“I’ve already enjoyed the really fun part of crucifixion,” I replied. “Besides, I don’t have a license or even a certificate and I don’t think Tree and I would be good cellmates. But get dressed and let’s go back to camp. I think we can come up with some other ways to have some fun. And if you really want to be crucified, in ten years, or maybe five if he behaves himself, you can go to NW Arkansas and look up Tree and see if he’s still doing crucifixions. I hear you don’t need a license there.”
THE END (thank god)
windar
Teller of Tales
Thanks to all for reading this nonsense and to the usual suspect for critical comments and providing some of the pictures (and complaining about others). Thanks especially to Tree for being a good sport. He really tried to give those girls what they said they wanted (though who really knows what women want) but was thwarted by the long arm of the law.
It was enjoyable to be included!
windar
Teller of Tales
Glad you liked it.
By the way, here's the story of the woman who fell in love with the tree (who's named "Tim"apparently).
http://elitedaily.com/news/world/woman-marrying-tree-best-sex/977768/
"One night, I took off my top and rubbed my naked breasts against Tim's trunk until I orgasamed....McCabe added, I look at other trees, but don't touch — I wouldn't cheat on Tim."
I suppose that crucifixion fantasies are looking a little less strange about now...
Cella
Spectator
Agreed!
Ouch! Rubbing boobs on bark? Oh dear! Maybe she'll accuse the tree of "rough sex?" She'll have the abrasions to prove it! Or maybe she likes it rough!
Is she into hardwood or softwood trees?
What's next, penetration with a branch?If "Tim" dies will she have him cremated? Keep his ashes in her fireplace? Or, will she throw herself onto the pyre?
There are some very fucking weird people out there!
Geeze Goldman! Since when does one start regarding one's partner as a suspect? And, for the record, I never complain about anything!
windar
Teller of Tales
Hmm, for me it's not Centleman like to lure a good old hillbilly how are @thehangingtree in such trap. And I see clear egoistic motives.
The story now in libary and archive also.
The story now in libary and archive also.
windar
Teller of Tales
Thanks for a rollicking bit of good fun, I'm sad it's the end
I hear the German edition is even funnier
. And just wait for the Mandarin edition. It's full of characters
messaline
Crucified Amazon
"And you see well, Mister Windar , like I always say: the Law is the Law !"
... Are women knowing themselves what they want ?