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

Roman Holiday

Go to CruxDreams.com
7.
Stan grasped the handle of the whip tightly in his right hand, staring fixedly at Barb’s tight little ass, measuring the distance with his eyes. “Would you mind sticking your tuchas out a bit more, sweetheart?" he asked with studied politeness.

“Geez,” Barb muttered, lowering her hands slightly on the bars and bending at the waist to comply. “You wanna paint a bullseye on it, Goldman?”

“That’s tempting, but I don’t think it will be necessary,” Stan replied, swishing the tails of the whip lightly a few times against the soft flesh to perfect his aim. “Don’t forget to count,” he said, as he pulled his arm back and struck the first blow, hard, but not, perhaps, as hard as he could have.

The leather made a satisfying swish through the air and an even more satisfying crack as it connected with the target, the sound echoing against the hard stone walls. He felt the force of the impact in his arm. Stan knew that Barb would refuse to show her pain on the first lash, but he also knew that she had felt it by the way she shifted her weight back and forth from one foot to the other, causing her ass to sway delightfully back and forth. “One,” Barb said, her tone as even as her will could make it.

Stan struck again. He watched the soft flesh jiggle under the impact and heard the sharp intake of breath as Barb struggled to manage the sensation. Still, “Two,” was all she said, though the sound was a bit rougher than the first one.

The third lash caused Barb to stamp her right foot against the cold stone floor. Stan could see that the grip of her hands had tightened on the iron bars and the sway of her buttocks was even more vigorous than before. It took her a moment to catch her breath enough to spit out, “Three.”

“How you doing?” Stan asked. “Does it hurt?”

Barb turned her head around to glare at him. “What do you think, genius?”

“Is that any way to talk to a Senator?” he replied, putting a bit of added oomph into the fourth stroke.

“Shit!” he heard Barb mutter, her ass gyrating wildly. “Four,” she said, sounding more labored than she had on the previous three.

“I can’t see much in here, Bob,” Stan said, “Could we get a bit of light?”

Bob extracted his phone from under his toga and turned it on. He approached Barb and bent so that the light from the screen illuminated her nether parts. Stan bent as well to have a closer look. Barb’s ass was streaked with angry-looking red welts, though the skin was unbroken. “What do you think?” he asked.

“I think her ass is even more beautiful marked with the whip than it was before,” Bob replied.

“You and me both, my friend. Would you like to take a turn, Senator Spero?”

“With pleasure, Senator Homaurum, that’s very kind of you,” the Italian cop replied.

“Kind?” Barb said sarcastically, “It’s probably just that his old arm is tired.”

“Who asked your opinion?” Stan said, handing the whip to Bob, who took it in his left hand. “In case you missed the important clues, which as a former cop, I certainly hope you didn’t, Bob is a lefty, which means that his lashes should cross mine in an interesting, and for you, perhaps, unfortunate way.” Bob took his position on the opposite side of Barb from Stan, measuring his distance carefully, before he struck.

“Ow!” Barb moaned loudly, stamping first one foot than the other before catching her breath and adding, “Five.”

The next lash seemed to be somewhat of a breaking point for Barb. She lifted her right hand off the bars and brought it down behind her in a futile attempt to soothe the fire that Stan knew was burning in her ass, before she shouted, “Six, you bastards!”

“Keep your hands on the bars,” Stan ordered. Slowly Barb raised the hand back to its former position. “And stick that ass back out.” She paused a moment before complying. Bob waited until Barb’s tight little was properly presented before he lashed the leather smartly onto the soft flesh.

Stan could see that Barb was struggling to catch her breath under the stress of the painful stimuli bombarding her body. Finally, she was able to gasp out, “Seven.”

Bob whipped the leather across her buttocks again. Stan was reasonably sure that Barb was sobbing now as she managed to announce, “Eight,” in a faltering voice.

Stan motioned to Bob to stop. He reached up and grasped Barb’s chin, turning her face towards him. Bob held his phone out. Stan took it and shone it towards Barb. Indeed her face was streaked with tears. “Are you sorry now that you left me handcuffed to the bed?”

“Yes, I’m sorry. That was a stupid trick.” she sobbed. “But I already paid for my mistake, Stan, as you well know. That crucifixion was no joke.”

“I know that Barb, I was there to save your butt as you well know, but you haven’t been punished properly by me until now. Don’t you think it’s fair that I should get to take care of things personally?”

“I don’t know,” she sniffed, “Maybe. Anyway, it really hurts, Stan. And we’ve got that flight to London tomorrow. How am I going to sit in that Ryanair seat? Those are uncomfortable enough even if your ass isn’t covered with welts. Can we stop now?”

Stan looked into her tear-stained face. She really did look contrite and awfully cute like this. “I’ll tell you what, Barb. Since it’s your birthday in a few minutes, Bob and I might be willing to remit the rest of your sentence if you were really nice to us.”

“I’m always nice to you, Stan,” she said grimacing through her pain.

"Occasionally you are, Barb," Stan said fumbling with the knot that held his toga together. "And I think this might be a time to go the extra mile," he added, finally getting it undone and letting the cloth fall from his body, leaving him only in his briefs, in which, even in the dim light, the state of his arousal could not have been missed.

"Geez, Goldman, you expect me to fuck you right here in this cell?" Barb asked.

"Why not?" Stan replied. "Just think how many condemned female prisoners right here in this prison back in ancient times must have been willing to do ANYTHING to get some small favor from the guards-a few half-strength lashes, a quicker death on the cross, whatever."

Barb glanced over at Bob. "But we're not alone here, Stan."

“ Bob is my friend and our host, Barb. And both of us have to agree to reduce your sentence. You really want four more on that tight little? Better hope it's a VERY smooth flight tomorrow."

Barb looked disgusted. "I don't know why I put up with you, you nasty old bastard." Yet, shaking her head, Barb reached down and slid Stan's briefs over his hips, revealing his full erection. “It looks like this whipping has had the same effect on you as it has on me.”

"So you're telling me that it's gotten you all hot and bothered?"

“Mmm, I guess so, big boy” Barb replied, kissing him hard. "So I suggest you fuck me right now Goldman, or I’ll really be pissed off at you."

Hearing this, Stan broke the kiss off and ordered Barb to get down on all fours and stick her welted ass up in the air like a bitch in heat. He knelt behind her and slid inside, his entry eased by the undeniable wetness of her arousal. She groaned in pain as Stan’s groin rubbed against the inflamed streaks on her ass, but Stan continued moving in and out, undeterred by her distress.

“I suggest you think of some creative way to take care of Bob, unless you want those remaining lashes,” Stan ordered. Bob moved in front of Barb and stripped his toga and briefs off as Stan had done, revealing an arousal every bit as strong as Stan’s. He knelt so that his erection was at the level of Barb’s face. She opened her mouth and took it inside. “That may be the best way to keep this one quiet,” Stan remarked.

Stan grasped Barb’s hips and thrust forward, eliciting as much of a groan as Barb could produce with Bob’s cock filling her mouth. The two men continued moving back and forth in turn, enjoying the excitement of sharing a very turned-on woman whom they had both whipped. Soon, Stan saw Bob’s eyes close and heard him mutter something in Italian as he filled Barb’s mouth with his seed. That was all Stan needed to summon a final thrust and empty himself into Barb, his mind and body numb with the immense pleasure, as he collapsed on top of her.

Slowly, Bob withdrew from Barb’s mouth and began wrapping the toga around his naked body. He glanced down at his phone. “It’s midnight,” he announced.

Stan, still resting inside Barb, turned her face towards him and kissed her. “Happy birthday, baby,” he said.

She smiled, despite the obvious pain Stan’s weight on her butt was causing her. “That was the best present ever,” she cooed.

Bob, dressing now, coughed softly. Stan looked up at him. “I think I will leave you two alone now. If you are gone by 7 in the morning and take everything with you, no one will know you were here. Lock up when you leave and don’t forget to take the camera. You can leave the key and the camera at the desk of your hotel and I will come and get them later,” he said, dropping the key loudly on the floor in front of the happy couple.

Stan finally withdrew from Barb and stood up, shaking Bob’s hand. “It’s been great finally meeting you in person. A real pleasure.”

“The pleasure was all mine,” he replied. Stan didn’t doubt that he meant it. “Have a good time in London.”

“We will,” Stan replied. Then, turning to Barb he said, “Did I ever mention my friend Inspector Bill Pritchard of Scotland Yard? We worked on a couple of cases together a few years back. He told me he can give us a private tour of the Tower of London. What do you think, Barb?” Stan didn’t catch everything that Barb said, but he believed it had something to do with him performing an anatomically impossible act on himself and also something to do with porcine animals with wings, but he wasn’t entirely sure.
 
And today is, in fact, Barb's actual birthday http://www.cruxforums.com/xf/threads/member-birthdays.5321/. She will be along later to add some thoughts on Stan's idea of a "present". I can only imagine:eek:.

At this point, we'll stop. If you guys have enjoyed the story so far, we can try to think of some fun things Stan and Barb might get into in London and pick up the story there in a while. Maybe of few of you Brits might want to join in the fun. Right now they're calling our flight and Barb is not looking pleased by the prospect of squeezing her sore little into one of those plush airline seats. Adios....
 
You're flying Ryanair???

The airline who's seat fitters read plans in inches then use a centimeter scale?

Torture #1, tick.

Heathrow immigration???

"Why are you rubbing your backside Ms Moore? Have you a problem? Are you planning to try to use our National Health Service at the British taxpayers expense? Step this way for an examination, please."

Torture #2, tick.

Taxi into London???

"That'll be 65 quid, guv. No pounds? OK, 100 dollars'll do it. Be abaht 2 hours, M4 jammed solid. Nah, you'll have to do yur own cases, hurt me back, see. Rome, eh? Did you see the Juventus game? Yeh, I saw it on Sky as well. That second goal disallowed, bloody disgrace that ref, nothing wrong with it, he wasn't offside. Weather looks like it might improve, getting a bit pissed off with this rain, you going anywhere nice........................."

Torture #3. tick.
 
You're flying Ryanair???

The airline who's seat fitters read plans in inches then use a centimeter scale?

Torture #1, tick.

Heathrow immigration???

"Why are you rubbing your backside Ms Moore? Have you a problem? Are you planning to try to use our National Health Service at the British taxpayers expense? Step this way for an examination, please."

Torture #2, tick.

Taxi into London???

"That'll be 65 quid, guv. No pounds? OK, 100 dollars'll do it. Be abaht 2 hours, M4 jammed solid. Nah, you'll have to do yur own cases, hurt me back, see. Rome, eh? Did you see the Juventus game? Yeh, I saw it on Sky as well. That second goal disallowed, bloody disgrace that ref, nothing wrong with it, he wasn't offside. Weather looks like it might improve, getting a bit pissed off with this rain, you going anywhere nice........................."

Torture #3. tick.
Torture tourism British style! :p:confused:

:duke:
 
Taxi into London???

"That'll be 65 quid, guv. No pounds? OK, 100 dollars'll do it. Be abaht 2 hours, M4 jammed solid. Nah, you'll have to do yur own cases, hurt me back, see. Rome, eh? Did you see the Juventus game? Yeh, I saw it on Sky as well. That second goal disallowed, bloody disgrace that ref, nothing wrong with it, he wasn't offside. Weather looks like it might improve, getting a bit pissed off with this rain, you going anywhere nice........................."

Torture #3. tick.

Actually, you can avoid torture #3. Barb. ;)

There's another way into London

Tube-delays-740795.jpg

Torture #4, tick :rolleyes:
 
8.

I'd almost fallen asleep when I heard them laughing. Well, it's about time, I thought. A joke's a joke, but this was getting downright scary.

I jumped to my feet and made my way over to the bars at the front of the cell.

The lights in the passageway flickered, then glowed. Shadows danced on the far wall. I was shaking with rage and ready to give them a piece of my mind.

“Alright, you shitheads; you’ve had your little joke. Now let me out of here!”

They paid no attention. Instead Goldman, produced some kind of phony-looking scroll and read out a bunch of bullshit about me being guilty of fornication, defiling the sacred Temple of Vesta and being sentenced to be executed at dawn. That was downright chilling and totally insensitive, because it reminded me so much of what happened in that warehouse when that awful professor and priest condemned me to death by crucifixion.

My patience with the antics of these two clowns was paper thin.

“You’re a laugh riot Goldman.” I snapped.

Then he started in with a line about being some kind of Roman Senator prepared to offer me a deal to spare my life. He and his Italian policemen friend looked absolutely ridiculous wearing toga get ups reminiscent of a bad frat house party.

Ok, so I had to make a choice. I could give them the finger and tell them to go fuck themselves or I could humor them in the hope they would open the cell door and I could get my hands on them.

I decided on the latter course of action, so I said, “What did you have in mind Goldman? I mean ‘Senator Homaurum.”

That's when they produced the multi-tailed whip. The game they wanted to play suddenly became clear. They wanted me to agree to be whipped ... a dozen lashes, no less! I always thought the Romans were fond of multiples of ten, but then Goldman was never any good at numbers.

Well, needlesd to say, I wasn't in much of a role playing mood, Nor was I at all sure about that remark Bob made about Goldman finding "a use for me afterward". In my mind, Goldman was going to find himself and his bags locked out of our hotel room when this was over. There wasn't going to be an afterward or an afterlife for him.

Reminding myself, though, of the need to play along, I decided to ask, "what if I refuse?"

The response was some vaguely veiled threat about the Mafia.

These two have had too much wine tonight, I thought to myself. Best to play along a bit more and possibly lure them into the cell.

“Alright, you two are powerful Senators and I’m just a poor Vestal non-virgin at your mercy. What do I have to do?” I said, rolling my eyes.

I might have guessed the answer to that! !! Men!!!! They thought it would be jolly if I were to strip for them.

Perfect. I figured if that didn't get them into the cell, nothing would. So I decided to give them a performance that was certain to tent the fronts of their phony-looking togas!

“Somehow, I knew you’d say that Goldman, I mean Senator,” I said testily.

“And don’t just take your clothes off, Moore, do a nice striptease. Sorry, I didn’t bring any music, but I can sing if you’d like,” he replied.

Goldman tries hard to be funny and rarely succeeds.

So I gave them a show ... stripping slowly and provocatively, teasing every step of the way ... blouse ... bra ... wiggling and wriggling about ... tossing my clothing at them ... grinding my hips and shaking my boobs. That last part did it. Bob was staring so hard at my bouncing breasts, his eyes looked like they were going to pop out of their sockets.

Goldman looked at Bob. “Perhaps we should go in there?”

“Is it safe?” Bob asked.

“With Barb, it’s never safe, but I don’t see how we can whip her through the bars.”

To entice them further, I dropped my skirt, removed my sandals and strutted around in a circle wearing only my panties.

“What do you think, Bob?” Goldman asked.

“That you are a lucky bastard, Stan.”

I dropped my panties, turning to face them, hands on hips and leaning forward just enough to dangle my boobs.

I purred throatily, “Happy now, gentlemen?”

They almost knocked each other over, like a couple of Keystone Cops, as they rushed into the cell. Goldman grabbed the whip from Bob as they entered, shouting at me: “Now go stand against the bars and hold on tight. This might hurt just a bit.”

No sooner had he gotten the words out of his mouth than I rushed him, barreling forward like a runaway steam locomotive and head-butting him square in the stomach. He yelped in surprise and staggered back against the iron bars, gasping for air.

I was about to turn on Bob, but the big Italian was too fast for me. He came up behind, collared me around the neck with his big hairy forearm, and lifted me off the ground. As I struggled, kicking helplessly, he laughed and tightened his grip.

"Your girlfriend has spunk, Goldman." he chortled, squeezing my breast and twisting a nipple between thumb and finger. "I can see how she must have given those bad guys in New York a tough time."

I struggled some more but couldn't break free. Goldman rose to his feet, still holding his gut.

"Alright Barb. You did your bit now. Showed us how tough you are ... NYPD and all that ... but admit it, Barb. You are turned on by this, aren't you?" he wheezed.

"Not on your life, Goldman! What say you tell Bob to let me go and we all walk out of here?"

"Nope. I know you Moore, you want it. Look! See! You're wet down there!"

I had to admit I was ... from the moment I started doing that crazy strip tease,I felt that familiar tingle coursing through my loins. And, well ... I had never been whipped before ... something about that suddenly seemed arousing. I decided maybe a little cooperation might be the best policy.

"Alright, alright!" I sighed. "Let me go. I will cooperate."

"Promise no more funny stuff?"

"Yeah, ok."

Bob let me go. I glared at him for a moment, then walked over to the bars, leaned forward, gripped them with both hands, and adjusted my stance so that my legs were slightly spread.

"OK, let's get it over with! Not too hard now."

“Would you mind sticking your tuchas out a bit more, sweetheart?" Goldman asked with studied politeness.

“Geez! You wanna paint a bullseye on it, Goldman?”


“That’s tempting, but I don’t think it will be necessary,” he replied, swishing the tails of the whip lightly a few times against the soft flesh of my proffered ass.

"Fuck!" I said.

“Don’t forget to count,” he said, as he pulled his arm back to strike the first blow.

It hurt.

"One," I said, trying not to show any distress.

I took two more before he patronized me with a "How you doing? Does it hurt?"


"What an asshole!" came to mind, but I tempered my response to, "What do you think, genius?"

“Is that any way to talk to a Senator?” he replied, putting a bit of added oomph into the fourth stroke.

“Shit!” and “Four,” I muttered.

Then the bastards got out a phone and examined me with it's flashlight function.

“I think her ass is even more beautiful marked with the whip than it was before,” Bob observed.

“You and me both, my friend. Would you like to take a turn, Senator Spero?”

Bob took over and gave me two. He had a much stronger arm than Goldman. I winced, danced about, let go of the bars to grasp my smarting ass cheeks, and seriously considered calling a halt to the whole stupid charade.

“Keep your hands on the bars,” Goldman instructed. “And stick that ass back out.”

I resumed the position and took the seventh and eighth, tears welling in my eyes. The Italian policeman didn't hold back!


Goldman motioned for Bob to stop. He grasped my chin, turning my face towards him. Bob held his phone out. Goldman took it, shone it in my face and said, “Are you sorry now that you left me handcuffed to the bed?”

So THAT was what this was all about! Goldman was carrying a grudge!!! And on my birthday, no less! My anger had returned!

“Yes, I’m sorry. That was a stupid trick.” I allowed. “But I already paid for my mistake, Stan, as you well know. That crucifixion was no joke.”

“I know that Barb, I was there to save your butt as you well know, but you haven’t been punished properly by me until now. Don’t you think it’s fair that I should get to take care of things personally?”

Now there he had a point, I thought, softening a little.


“I don’t know,” I sniffed, “Maybe. Anyway, it really hurts, Goldman. And we’ve got that flight to London tomorrow. How am I going to sit in that Ryanair seat? Those are uncomfortable enough even if your ass isn’t covered with welts. Can we stop now?”

That seemed to get to him. A little sobbing never hurts when dealing with a guy like Goldman. Ya gotta know how to play them!


“I’ll tell you what, Barb. Since it’s your birthday in a few minutes, Bob and I might be willing to remit the rest of your sentence if you were really nice to us.”

Now just a fucking minute here!!!!! What did he mean by 'really nice to us'??? I could see where this was going and I was not amused.


“I’m always nice to you, Stan,” I said guardedly.

"Occasionally you are, Barb," Goldman said fumbling with the knot that held his toga together. "And I think this might be a time to go the extra mile."

"Extra mile my ass, Goldman! If you think I am going to hand out sex favors to you and your well-hung Italian pal just to avoid taking four more lashes, you don't know me very well."


“Bob is my friend and our host, Barb. And both of us have to agree to reduce your sentence. You really want four more on that tight little? Better hope it's a VERY smooth flight tomorrow."

"Shit Goldman! No fair!!!"


Goldman then proceeded to order me, as though I was his personal slave, to get down on all fours and stick my ass in the air. He knelt behind me and began poking the tip of his erection at me. I looked up at Bob, who could hardly contain himself and thought this is way too humiliating. Sure, I might owe Goldman something for leaving him tied up in bed, but not this! And I owed Bob nothing.


“I suggest you think of some creative way to take care of Bob, unless you want those remaining lashes,” Goldman said, grabbing my hips with both hands and thrusting.

Bob moved in front of me and stripped his toga and briefs off, revealing an Italian arousal as big and long as Trajan's Column. He knelt so that his erection was at the level of my face.

I refused to open my mouth, shaking my head back and forth vigorously. Fellatio was never my cup of tea. I thought it disgusting. But Bob was not to be denied. He held my nose, forcing my mouth open and slid his engorged penis inside. I gagged.

That may be the best way to keep this one quiet,” Stan remarked with total insensitivity.

Just you wait, I thought, There will be payback for this Goldman! Barb never forgets. You think being tied naked to that bed back in New York was a mean trick. I can do better next time I get a chance. The gauntlet is down!

Helpless, though, I had little choice at the moment but to let them have their jollies at my expense, enduring the huffing, puffing and groaning that men always seem to do. When they were finally done ... it seemed an eternity ... they both withdrew. Goldman, of course, had to go one better and collapse on top of me.

Bob was on his feet, hurriedly wrapping his toga around himself and announcing that it was midnight and time to go .... typical Italian style, wham bam thank you ma'am.

Goldman said "Happy birthday, baby!"

Baby???????? Geez!!!!

Bob left. Shortly after we left too. Goldman had wanted to stay awhile. I was having none of it.

As we crossed over the Pons Fabricius on our way back to the hotel, we stopped to watch the dark waters of the Tiber pass below.

Goldman started talking blithely about an acquaintance of his at Scotland Yard, who he was sure could give us a special late night tour of the Tower of London.

I looked at him, incredulous, and promptly told him to stick it in his ear, adding that pigs would fly before THAT would ever happen. He backed away, hands raised with palms out, presumably for fear I might have tossed him in the river.

I seriously considered it.
 
Boy, how can two people remember the same event so differently? Reminds me of the Rodriguez case where the guy was shot in broad daylight with three witnesses, each of whom identified a different shooter. So who is a reader to believe here?
They almost knocked each other over, like a couple of Keystone Cops, as they rushed into the cell.
Two professional detectives as Keystone Cops? I doubt it.

No sooner had he gotten the words out of his mouth than I rushed him, barreling forward like a runaway steam locomotive and head-butting him square in the stomach. He yelped in surprise and staggered back against the iron bars, gasping for air.

Never happened, Ladies and Gentlemen of the Jury. She loved every minute of it. Couldn't wait to have her butt whipped. Practically begged for it.

And, well ... I had never been whipped before

Ladies and Gentlemen of the Jury, the witness recounted her ordeal in the warehouse in the Bronx in a sworn deposition and in an international best seller as follows:
Every now and then when I would falter, Father Gerhart, who had handed the video camera off to Donnelly ... the better to wield his whip ... would drive me on again with any number of well aimed lashes targeting my dangling breasts, taut tummy, pale thighs and quivering buttocks. The sting of the leather as it struck my skin was bad enough, but the knotted end would also wrap around to grab at my flesh. As it was withdrawn, it would cut and burn.
So when she says "I had never been whipped before", that goes to the credibility of her entire sorry tale.

Bob took over and gave me two. He had a much stronger arm than Goldman.

Alright, Moore, now you've gone too far. He was hitting flesh that I had already warmed up!!:mad: Look at this muscle folks. Do you honestly think this arm can't properly whip the witnesses's tight little?

All in all, a "he said, she said" case like so many others, but with so many unbelievable statements coming from one party, who you gonna believe?
 
Boy, how can two people remember the same event so differently? Reminds me of the Rodriguez case where the guy was shot in broad daylight with three witnesses, each of whom identified a different shooter. So who is a reader to believe here?

Two professional detectives as Keystone Cops? I doubt it.



Never happened, Ladies and Gentlemen of the Jury. She loved every minute of it. Couldn't wait to have her butt whipped. Practically begged for it.



Ladies and Gentlemen of the Jury, the witness recounted her ordeal in the warehouse in the Bronx in a sworn deposition and in an international best seller as follows:

So when she says "I had never been whipped before", that goes to the credibility of her entire sorry tale.



Alright, Moore, now you've gone too far. He was hitting flesh that I had already warmed up!!:mad: Look at this muscle folks. Do you honestly think this arm can't properly whip the witnesses's tight little?

All in all, a "he said, she said" case like so many others, but with so many unbelievable statements coming from one party, who you gonna believe?
BLAHHHHHHHHHHH
 
Your Honor, I ask the jury to disregard that last remark from the witness as it was completely non-responsive to the question. And don't ask me what the question was; at my age I can't be expected to remember stuff like that:doh::rolleyes:
I feel this is as reasonable request one could expect on CF... I will forward it to the fair and just Judge Admi!

-Ulrika
 
Back
Top Bottom