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My Visit To Cruxton Abbey

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madiosi said:
I don't know, what a part of the story and what not!
PP make you a textfile for me? With numbers and *** (three stars) inter the parts/chapters.
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One more post from Pp later today Madiosi :devil:.

After that, and after poor Barbara has time to recover, Pp will speak with her about whipping a word version into place for you.
 
The final post Pp had prepared.

Tenderness

The cat discarded Pilus embraces the young woman, his lips at her neck just below her ear, whispering gently to her.

His white shirt absorbs the red from her bloodied back, his trousers and the swollen member within against her torn tight little arse. He wraps his arms around her, hands caressing her marked breasts and nipples. His right hand, the one that had wielded whip and cat, over her belly to trace the welts at her mound and lower. Fingers gentle in her wounded sex.

He holds her while, slowly, she comes down from the pain that courses through her body and the stranger place her mind has found. He whispers to her, "Come back to me Barbara." Then in a firmer voice, " Come back now." And, slowly, she begins to respond.

Pilus is patient and it is not until he finally feels that Barbara is ready that he unlocks the silver shackles that hold her. Then he carefully lifts her with an arm beneath her thighs and one below her damaged shoulders and carries her around the posts to lay her on her side on the bed.

With surprisingly gentle fingers Pilus begins applying a salve to Barbara's welts. It stings sharply where the skin has been split but he pauses, his voice soothing whenever she winces.

He pays such careful attention to that famous derrière, then, almost reluctantly, begins to treat the welts that cross Barbara's breasts and nipples. At his touch those peaks react, firm, erect and his fingers dwell there before moving down to apply the salve to the marks across her belly, her mound and her reddened and bruised labia.

As Pilus's fingers gently sooth that soft flesh between Barbara's thighs, he feels the young woman's hips move against his hand, searching, searching...

Pilus's voice is rough and catches in his throat. It is time I called Wragg, Ms Moore. To tell him that I am done and that you are ready to be escorted downstairs.

But Barbara grips his wrist.

Not yet. Not yet ... Sir.
 
Primus pilus said:
The final post Pp had prepared.

Tenderness

The cat discarded Pilus embraces the young woman, his lips at her neck just below her ear, whispering gently to her.

His white shirt absorbs the red from her bloodied back, his trousers and the swollen member within against her torn tight little arse. He wraps his arms around her, hands caressing her marked breasts and nipples. His right hand, the one that had wielded whip and cat, over her belly to trace the welts at her mound and lower. Fingers gentle in her wounded sex.

He holds her while, slowly, she comes down from the pain that courses through her body and the stranger place her mind has found. He whispers to her, "Come back to me Barbara." Then in a firmer voice, " Come back now." And, slowly, she begins to respond.

Pilus is patient and it is not until he finally feels that Barbara is ready that he unlocks the silver shackles that hold her. Then he carefully lifts her with an arm beneath her thighs and one below her damaged shoulders and carries her around the posts to lay her on her side on the bed.

With surprisingly gentle fingers Pilus begins applying a salve to Barbara's welts. It stings sharply where the skin has been split but he pauses, his voice soothing whenever she winces.

He pays such careful attention to that famous derrière, then, almost reluctantly, begins to treat the welts that cross Barbara's breasts and nipples. At his touch those peaks react, firm, erect and his fingers dwell there before moving down to apply the salve to the marks across her belly, her mound and her reddened and bruised labia.

As Pilus's fingers gently sooth that soft flesh between Barbara's thighs, he feels the young woman's hips move against his hand, searching, searching...

Pilus's voice is rough and catches in his throat. It is time I called Wragg, Ms Moore. To tell him that I am done and that you are ready to be escorted downstairs.

But Barbara grips his wrist.

Not yet. Not yet ... Sir.
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Amazing what the silent walls of Cruxton Abbey have witnessed over the centuries. Was my visit any different? How many have been whipped, bound and naked, between those ancient wooden bed posts? How many deflowered on its overstuffed mattress? How many escorted downstairs to experience the horrors of the cellar dungeon? How many, soothed by salve and tenderness, have on hearing of the Lord's imminent approach uttered those words, "Not yet. Not yet ... Sir."
 
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Eulalia said:
I've just got to do my hair... and my lipstick... and my nails... :p
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It would do you no good. If you were at the Tree house you would know there was no hope. At the Cruxton Abbey you would think there was a chance but the Wragg family may look a bit more couth they are no different from Tree's NW Arkansas cousins...
abbey hang 004 a.jpg
...really

Tree
 
thehangingtree said:
It would do you no good. If you were at the Tree house you would know there was no hope. At the Cruxton Abbey you would think there was a chance but the Wragg family may look a bit more couth they are no different from Tree's NW Arkansas cousins...
View attachment 447218
...really

Tree
Click to expand...

At least there are "real" paintings on the walls. :rolleyes:
 
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