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Kristin's Crucifixion: Beginnings

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... an ideal recruit. Right family background stretching back five generations. Not that that's so important now that we can sequence her genome. It's got everything right down to the epigenetic markers.
an ancient tradition that's keeping up with modern methods...
... amazingly disciplined. ...I wonder what her pain threshold really is. How does she compare to Rosamund?.
leaving us wondering for what precise purpose that pain will be harvested... (and where Rosamund is today, if anywhere )
... if we're wrong it will be a terrible tragedy for her. We made a dreadful miscalculation with poor Jennifer. Those pathetic wails when we realised it had all gone horribly wrong.
Somehow I think this one might just be perfect...
 
an ancient tradition that's keeping up with modern methods...
leaving us wondering for what precise purpose that pain will be harvested... (and where Rosamund is today, if anywhere )

Somehow I think this one might just be perfect...
Could B
 
Okay, I'm happily hooked - I like the suspense and Kristin's apprehension. :popcorn:
 
Two for now. My day job is going to keep me busy for a couple of days.

PERSEPHONE'S MUSINGS

Carl reports she followed instructions exactly.

She's here at the door. Hesitating. I wonder whether she'll take the plunge or turn back.

I really want her to come in. I think she'll be special. She and Rosamund. What a team they'll make!


I KNOCK ON THE DOOR

I knock on the door. I hear footsteps. The door opens. I see a man about 6'2" and lean. He has a long face, no hair. The top of his head is shaved. Fair skinned. Blue eyes. He is wearing a plain white short-sleeved cotton T-shirt, blue cotton slacks and black runners. I notice his arms are hairless. He has the easy demeanour of one who knows he's an alpha male and has nothing to prove.

I inhale deeply through my nose. It is an automatic reaction. When I meet an attractive male I like to get a whiff. This time I like what I'm getting.

I see him looking at me quizzically, the hint of a smile. He realise what I'm doing.

"Well, do I pass muster?" he says.

If he expects me to blush or show any embarrassment he's going to be disappointed. I am what I am and I feel no shame.

I look him in the eye. "Yes," I say.

He nods. I notice he does not blink. "So do you. You smell great. Bit sweaty from your walk. My name's Andy by the way."

I do not tell him that only when I've tasted a man's cum do I really understand him. You can learn a lot from cum if you know what you're doing.

I am what I am.

He steps aside to let me in. "Persephone is waiting in the living room," he says as I walk in.

As I walk in I realise that, whatever the exterior of the house, the interior is exactly what I would have expected from Persephone. The polished hardwood floor, the classic burlwood hall table with the cut glass vase containing an exquisite floral arrangement, the just-right lighting, they all confirm my impression of Persephone. This is no Mr and Mrs Mastercard home. This is a Persephone house.

The living room is large. The walls are wood-panelled. A long window on the west side is catching the last rays of the setting sun. Persephone has obviously done extensive interior remodelling. No way would Mr and Mrs Mastercard have wood panelling and such beautiful floors. It's all solid wood. No plywood.

At the far end of the room a beautiful Persian carpet covers the floor. Leather-covered settees and armchairs are arranged in a semi-circle around a low glass-topped table all in front of a fireplace.

Persephone is standing in the centre of the room. She is dressed in marsala-coloured slacks and top that complements her skin and eye tone. I think the top is silk.

She does not invite me to sit. Instead we stand facing each other, looking into each others' eyes. My God she is one big beautiful woman.

"You hesitated before knocking," she says. "You seemed to be in some sort of reverie. Want to tell me what it's about?"

I tell her about Mr and Mrs Mastercard. She smiles. "You're close. I bought this place from a Mr and Mrs Mastercard. They were getting divorced."

She shakes her head. "He wasn't an accountant. He was a lawyer. When it finally dawned on his wife he was never going to make partner she left him."

"She found another man?" I asked.

"No. There's a twist in the tale. She left him for another woman, a teacher at the school where she worked. It broke him up.

"You were right about the kids. They're a mess. The younger one tried to hang himself. He's only ten. Now they' re caught in a custody battle. I think I overpaid a bit for the house but it won't help them. They'll spend it all on lawyers."

"Can't Mr Mastercard handle it himself? He's a lawyer."

"Right now he's a lawyer without a job and a drinking problem. His firm fired him. It's a train smash."

"Don't you stand out a bit in this neighbourhood?" I ask.

A shrug. "All the other Mr and Mrs Mastercards around here are too wrapped in their own personal misery to pay attention to us. They hardly notice us."

I hear footsteps behind me and hear Andy's voice. "Do you still need me Mistress?"

Without breaking eye contact with me she says, "That will be all for today Andy."

More footsteps. The door behind me closes.

Persephone asks, "Are you afraid?"

"Yes."

"What are you afraid of?"

"That I won't be able to cope with the pain."

"What pain?"

"The pain I'm going to get from you."

"You think I'm going to hurt you?"

"Yes."

"You're right. I'm going to hurt you. A lot."

"I know," I say.

"That's if you stay. You can leave if you want. Andy will drive you back to your flat."

"No, I can't leave."

"Can't or won't?"

"Both."

"Do you want to leave?"

"Part of me does. But most of me wants to stay."

"Do you want me to tell you what I'm going to do to you if you stay?"

"That's your decision."

"Your pussy's getting wet."

"Yes."

"Ready?"

"Yes".

Persephone takes me by the arm. I love the feel of her hand through my top. I love her smell, the hint of cinnamon.

"Good girl" she whispers in my ear as she leads me to a door flush with the wood panelling. I love the feel of her breath in my ear.
 
Sorry,

Opening sentence after TWO DAYS LATER should read:

It is Friday. (no "late afternoon". That's left over from first draft.)
corrected:devil:
 
Two for now. My day job is going to keep me busy for a couple of days.

PERSEPHONE'S MUSINGS

Carl reports she followed instructions exactly.

She's here at the door. Hesitating. I wonder whether she'll take the plunge or turn back.

I really want her to come in. I think she'll be special. She and Rosamund. What a team they'll make!


I KNOCK ON THE DOOR

I knock on the door. I hear footsteps. The door opens. I see a man about 6'2" and lean. He has a long face, no hair. The top of his head is shaved. Fair skinned. Blue eyes. He is wearing a plain white short-sleeved cotton T-shirt, blue cotton slacks and black runners. I notice his arms are hairless. He has the easy demeanour of one who knows he's an alpha male and has nothing to prove.

I inhale deeply through my nose. It is an automatic reaction. When I meet an attractive male I like to get a whiff. This time I like what I'm getting.

I see him looking at me quizzically, the hint of a smile. He realise what I'm doing.

"Well, do I pass muster?" he says.

If he expects me to blush or show any embarrassment he's going to be disappointed. I am what I am and I feel no shame.

I look him in the eye. "Yes," I say.

He nods. I notice he does not blink. "So do you. You smell great. Bit sweaty from your walk. My name's Andy by the way."

I do not tell him that only when I've tasted a man's cum do I really understand him. You can learn a lot from cum if you know what you're doing.

I am what I am.

He steps aside to let me in. "Persephone is waiting in the living room," he says as I walk in.

As I walk in I realise that, whatever the exterior of the house, the interior is exactly what I would have expected from Persephone. The polished hardwood floor, the classic burlwood hall table with the cut glass vase containing an exquisite floral arrangement, the just-right lighting, they all confirm my impression of Persephone. This is no Mr and Mrs Mastercard home. This is a Persephone house.

The living room is large. The walls are wood-panelled. A long window on the west side is catching the last rays of the setting sun. Persephone has obviously done extensive interior remodelling. No way would Mr and Mrs Mastercard have wood panelling and such beautiful floors. It's all solid wood. No plywood.

At the far end of the room a beautiful Persian carpet covers the floor. Leather-covered settees and armchairs are arranged in a semi-circle around a low glass-topped table all in front of a fireplace.

Persephone is standing in the centre of the room. She is dressed in marsala-coloured slacks and top that complements her skin and eye tone. I think the top is silk.

She does not invite me to sit. Instead we stand facing each other, looking into each others' eyes. My God she is one big beautiful woman.

"You hesitated before knocking," she says. "You seemed to be in some sort of reverie. Want to tell me what it's about?"

I tell her about Mr and Mrs Mastercard. She smiles. "You're close. I bought this place from a Mr and Mrs Mastercard. They were getting divorced."

She shakes her head. "He wasn't an accountant. He was a lawyer. When it finally dawned on his wife he was never going to make partner she left him."

"She found another man?" I asked.

"No. There's a twist in the tale. She left him for another woman, a teacher at the school where she worked. It broke him up.

"You were right about the kids. They're a mess. The younger one tried to hang himself. He's only ten. Now they' re caught in a custody battle. I think I overpaid a bit for the house but it won't help them. They'll spend it all on lawyers."

"Can't Mr Mastercard handle it himself? He's a lawyer."

"Right now he's a lawyer without a job and a drinking problem. His firm fired him. It's a train smash."

"Don't you stand out a bit in this neighbourhood?" I ask.

A shrug. "All the other Mr and Mrs Mastercards around here are too wrapped in their own personal misery to pay attention to us. They hardly notice us."

I hear footsteps behind me and hear Andy's voice. "Do you still need me Mistress?"

Without breaking eye contact with me she says, "That will be all for today Andy."

More footsteps. The door behind me closes.

Persephone asks, "Are you afraid?"

"Yes."

"What are you afraid of?"

"That I won't be able to cope with the pain."

"What pain?"

"The pain I'm going to get from you."

"You think I'm going to hurt you?"

"Yes."

"You're right. I'm going to hurt you. A lot."

"I know," I say.

"That's if you stay. You can leave if you want. Andy will drive you back to your flat."

"No, I can't leave."

"Can't or won't?"

"Both."

"Do you want to leave?"

"Part of me does. But most of me wants to stay."

"Do you want me to tell you what I'm going to do to you if you stay?"

"That's your decision."

"Your pussy's getting wet."

"Yes."

"Ready?"

"Yes".

Persephone takes me by the arm. I love the feel of her hand through my top. I love her smell, the hint of cinnamon.

"Good girl" she whispers in my ear as she leads me to a door flush with the wood panelling. I love the feel of her breath in my ear.
Excellent tale but away for a few days???:oops::oops::oops::oops::oops:
 
Oh dear, bit of a cliffhanger to learn what exquisite pain Persephone has in store for Kristin.

I do not tell him that only when I've tasted a man's cum do I really understand him. You can learn a lot from cum if you know what you're doing

I hope Kristin might expand on this!
 
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I think this is a fantasy. Probably it never happened.

I am at a faculty cocktail party. Attendance is mandatory or I wouldn't be here. Boring does not being to describe it. But alumni need to be entertained, to be made to feel special and, of course, to be coaxed into writing large checks.

Inevitably some of the donors believe one of their entitlements is the right to hit on female members of the faculty. Actually that understates it. Some of them think their checks entitle them to bed female faculty members of their choosing. Fortunately I've learned the art of warding them off without giving so much offence that they stop writing checks.

I'm trying to disentangle myself from a particularly persistent "suitor". He's a man who made his money the old fashioned way. He inherited it. A tall woman approaches us. I'm tall for a woman at around 5'9" but I think she tops me by at least two inches. She is slender, has black hair, brown eyes and a not-quite olive skin. She is wearing a black lace strapless cocktail dress. I guess it costs as much as my wardrobe but hey, assistant professors of mathematics don't get paid well. I do my best with what I've got.

"Excuse us," she says to the man. Her voice is soft and cool. "Kristin and I need to discuss something urgent."

The man scowls but he backs off.

I notice our interlocutor smells vaguely of cinnamon and wonder whether it is a perfume or her natural odour. She is carrying an expensive-looking purse; nothing so crude as Armani or Versace. It looks handmade. She reaches into it and pulls out an envelope.

"This is for you. Read it when you're alone." She stares straight into my eyes, fixing my gaze on hers. "Be sure to follow the instructions exactly."

Then she leaves.

I put the envelope in my purse. I cannot explain why I do not discard it as the work of a crank.

There is something about the woman. I feel as if I am orbiting a black hole just above the event horizon. Will I escape while I can? Or will I dive in and be trapped? What am I thinking?

By the time I've extracted myself from the party, driven the two miles to my apartment, showered and settled down in bed it is 11:30 pm. I extract the envelope from my purse. Like the woman's purse it looks custom made from a heavy bond paper the colour of fine wine. This is no mass-produced product. Like everything about the mysterious woman it looks expensive.

It is not sealed. The top fold is folded into the throat. I open it carefully. Somehow I do not want to break or damage what is in effect a work of art in envelope form. As I remove the top fold I catch a faint whiff of that cinnamon odour.

Inside I find a cream coloured card with very precise handwritten instructions. They are addressed to "Dear Kristin" and signed "Persephone". The handwriting is precise, legible and obviously female. The ink is a deep blue. It is written with a fountain pen.

Ice runs up my spine. I've just moved closer to the black hole. I feel as if I'm being sucked into something from which I shall not be able to escape.

No, worse. I can still escape. I'm not yet inside the event horizon. But I don't want to escape. That's the terrible truth. Is it my destiny calling?
I love this
 
Two for now. My day job is going to keep me busy for a couple of days.

PERSEPHONE'S MUSINGS

Carl reports she followed instructions exactly.

She's here at the door. Hesitating. I wonder whether she'll take the plunge or turn back.

I really want her to come in. I think she'll be special. She and Rosamund. What a team they'll make!


I KNOCK ON THE DOOR

I knock on the door. I hear footsteps. The door opens. I see a man about 6'2" and lean. He has a long face, no hair. The top of his head is shaved. Fair skinned. Blue eyes. He is wearing a plain white short-sleeved cotton T-shirt, blue cotton slacks and black runners. I notice his arms are hairless. He has the easy demeanour of one who knows he's an alpha male and has nothing to prove.

I inhale deeply through my nose. It is an automatic reaction. When I meet an attractive male I like to get a whiff. This time I like what I'm getting.

I see him looking at me quizzically, the hint of a smile. He realise what I'm doing.

"Well, do I pass muster?" he says.

If he expects me to blush or show any embarrassment he's going to be disappointed. I am what I am and I feel no shame.

I look him in the eye. "Yes," I say.

He nods. I notice he does not blink. "So do you. You smell great. Bit sweaty from your walk. My name's Andy by the way."

I do not tell him that only when I've tasted a man's cum do I really understand him. You can learn a lot from cum if you know what you're doing.

I am what I am.

He steps aside to let me in. "Persephone is waiting in the living room," he says as I walk in.

As I walk in I realise that, whatever the exterior of the house, the interior is exactly what I would have expected from Persephone. The polished hardwood floor, the classic burlwood hall table with the cut glass vase containing an exquisite floral arrangement, the just-right lighting, they all confirm my impression of Persephone. This is no Mr and Mrs Mastercard home. This is a Persephone house.

The living room is large. The walls are wood-panelled. A long window on the west side is catching the last rays of the setting sun. Persephone has obviously done extensive interior remodelling. No way would Mr and Mrs Mastercard have wood panelling and such beautiful floors. It's all solid wood. No plywood.

At the far end of the room a beautiful Persian carpet covers the floor. Leather-covered settees and armchairs are arranged in a semi-circle around a low glass-topped table all in front of a fireplace.

Persephone is standing in the centre of the room. She is dressed in marsala-coloured slacks and top that complements her skin and eye tone. I think the top is silk.

She does not invite me to sit. Instead we stand facing each other, looking into each others' eyes. My God she is one big beautiful woman.

"You hesitated before knocking," she says. "You seemed to be in some sort of reverie. Want to tell me what it's about?"

I tell her about Mr and Mrs Mastercard. She smiles. "You're close. I bought this place from a Mr and Mrs Mastercard. They were getting divorced."

She shakes her head. "He wasn't an accountant. He was a lawyer. When it finally dawned on his wife he was never going to make partner she left him."

"She found another man?" I asked.

"No. There's a twist in the tale. She left him for another woman, a teacher at the school where she worked. It broke him up.

"You were right about the kids. They're a mess. The younger one tried to hang himself. He's only ten. Now they' re caught in a custody battle. I think I overpaid a bit for the house but it won't help them. They'll spend it all on lawyers."

"Can't Mr Mastercard handle it himself? He's a lawyer."

"Right now he's a lawyer without a job and a drinking problem. His firm fired him. It's a train smash."

"Don't you stand out a bit in this neighbourhood?" I ask.

A shrug. "All the other Mr and Mrs Mastercards around here are too wrapped in their own personal misery to pay attention to us. They hardly notice us."

I hear footsteps behind me and hear Andy's voice. "Do you still need me Mistress?"

Without breaking eye contact with me she says, "That will be all for today Andy."

More footsteps. The door behind me closes.

Persephone asks, "Are you afraid?"

"Yes."

"What are you afraid of?"

"That I won't be able to cope with the pain."

"What pain?"

"The pain I'm going to get from you."

"You think I'm going to hurt you?"

"Yes."

"You're right. I'm going to hurt you. A lot."

"I know," I say.

"That's if you stay. You can leave if you want. Andy will drive you back to your flat."

"No, I can't leave."

"Can't or won't?"

"Both."

"Do you want to leave?"

"Part of me does. But most of me wants to stay."

"Do you want me to tell you what I'm going to do to you if you stay?"

"That's your decision."

"Your pussy's getting wet."

"Yes."

"Ready?"

"Yes".

Persephone takes me by the arm. I love the feel of her hand through my top. I love her smell, the hint of cinnamon.

"Good girl" she whispers in my ear as she leads me to a door flush with the wood panelling. I love the feel of her breath in my ear.
Very very sexy, keep it up : )
 
PERSEPHONE'S MUSING

She's experiencing fear and ecstasy. She wants to leave, return to her safe life. But she thinks this is her destiny.

So far she's perfect. I was going to start gently but I think that's the wrong approach. Let's really test her.


I CROSS THE EVENT HORIZON

Persephone opens the door. We walk down concrete steps into a basement. A fluorescent light comes on.

The walls of the basement are red brick, roughly made. Against the far wall is a rough wooden cross. On each arm I see leather straps and a buckle. The floor is concrete. There's a covered drain in the middle.

To my left, also against the wall, are shelves containing various "instruments". They include floggers, whips and some metal implements. I know I shall discover their use.

Instinctively I know what to do. First I remove my shoes and hand them to Persephone. Then my stockings. Then my jeans. I continue until I am standing naked in front of her. I am about to remove my crucifix but Persephone shakes her head.

"Keep it on," she says.

I walk over to the cross and stand facing it with my arms outstretched. Kristin walks over and fastens my arms to the cross using the leather straps. Then I feel my feet being tied together at the ankles. My pussy is dripping and I can smell my juice.

"Are you ready?" Persephone says.

"Yes".

"Do you want to know what's going to happen to you?"

"It's up to you, if you want to tell me."

"That's the right answer."

A Pause.

"Are you afraid?"

"Yes."

"You can still back out. Would you like to get dressed and go home?"

"Yes. I would. But I can't".

"Why not? Why can't you go home?"

"Because this is my destiny. I'm over the event horizon."

"Are you afraid you're going to die tonight?"

"I don't think you're going to kill me tonight."

"Why not?"

"Because you can't make me suffer enough in one night."

"I can make you suffer a lot."

"Yes."

"But you're right. It'll take more than one night to complete your suffering. Tonight is just a warmup."

PERSEPHONE'S MUSING

She's afraid but her pulse is steady. Her pussy is dripping and she smells divine. I'm going to have to do work harder on her than I thought. If I'm wrong about her better to learn about it sooner rather than later and put her out of her misery.

But I don't think I'm wrong.I think she'll go all the way with Rosamund.
 
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