28. I looked away from the horror of what the monks carrying hot irons were doing to Messaline, closing my ears to her heartrending screams as they went about their grisly work.
Instead I focused my attention on what was unfolding at the foot of my cross. Sister Kathleen’s heated conversation with the Abbess seemed to have not ended on the best of terms. The Abbess ordered her away, clearly flustered, pointing at my cross and screaming, “If you really must … this is wrong ... then go!”
Kathleen backed away from her, straight into the waiting hands of Ethelbert and Tuck, now reinforced by the reappearance of an openly gloating Sister Hilda. They took hold of Sister Kathleen and forcibly dragged her toward my cross, ripping away her thin novice’s shift along the way.
They threw her naked to the ground, landing on her back, blonde hair spread on the grass, her futile attempts to beat them off with clenched fists accentuating the fullness of her breasts which wobbled wildly from side to side. I watched, riveted to the action … almost having forgotten how beautiful she was … against the dark grass, her pale white skin seemed to take on a special porcelain-like quality in the fading light of the late November afternoon.
At long last they succeeded in subduing her. While Tuck pinned her down, kneeling over her with knees pressed against her shoulders, Sister Hilda and Ethelbert tied ropes to each of her ankles. Then they flipped Kathleen over on her stomach and dragged her by the feet to the base of my cross. I watched as her naked body slid across the grassy ground, ass cheeks shaking each time they pulled on the ropes and tugged her a bit closer to the base of my cross.
She resisted as best she could, attempting to get up on hands and knees, only to go down again, grasping at the ground with her free hands, ripping out clumps of grass and screaming, “No, no … this is not right at all. It’s all wrong!”
The ropes tied to Kathleen's ankles were thrown up and over the arms of my cross. Ethelbert and Tuck then scurried around behind to take hold of the dangling ends and yank them tight against the wood just beyond where my wrists were nailed. With Hilda shouting orders, they set about pulling down on the ropes, raising Kathleen, upside down, facing me.
A breath of wind blew across my face. I looked up at a leaden sky, darkening by the minute. The late afternoon had morphed to dusk. The sun, along with its warmth, was settling behind the great gothic towers of the Cathedral. It was getting cold. I shivered … goosebumps on my skin, nipples hardening.
Hilda’s voice rang in my ears. My attention returned to what was happening below. The two monks were continuing to hoist, hand over hand, Sister Kathleen up off the ground ... first her ankles, then her legs ... up she went, back arching as her hips lifted off the ground, breasts bulging and sliding across the damp green grass.
Sister Hilda was in her element. She moved back and forth vigorously, giving orders, shouting encouragement to the monks pulling on the ropes. As Kathleen left the ground, her hands fell free, flailing about, grabbing hold of the stipe just long enough to prevent her head from slamming hard against the unforgiving wood.
Slowly she was hoisted higher and higher, bumping against and bouncing off my body, legs stretched wide apart, ankles finally coming to rest near the ends of the crossbeam, where they were lashed to the wood by Ethelbert, perched precariously on a rickety ladder.
Red faced and screaming, Kathleen began to twist and writhe, head down, hair brushing my ankles ... torso twisting, breasts mashing and rubbing against my hips and across the hollow of my tummy. This continued until she finally managed to steady herself by grabbing onto my thighs just above the knees and holding herself tight against me. At that moment a calm seemed to come over her.
Sister Hilda knelt before her, pulled her arms downwards and started to lash them to the stipe, but shouts to the contrary from behind put an end to that. Kathleen and I hung lewdly in place together. My head was between her thighs, my chin nearly touching her stretched and partially open labia. Her forehead rested against the stipe just below my open thighs, her shoulders parting my legs.
My head hurt, my body ached. Only the warmth from Kathleen's nude body pressed against my own kept me from drifting into unconsciousness.
I stirred myself and glanced around. Among the other five women who had been crucified in the cloister, there was hardly any movement. Even Sisters Emily and Madeleine, the two nuns whom the Cardinal ordered crucified alongside the four Abbey novices, slumped against their crosses. Below them, two men … the monk who had taken an interest in Emily and Pilus who had so expertly whipped Madeleine … stood thoughtfully, even wistfully, at the feet of their crosses.
For each and every one of us up on the crosses, the "dance" had long since been abandoned; all movement was reduced to muscle spasms and sudden bodily twitches and jerks. Heads were either thrown back against the wood, or hanging crazily. Eyes were glazed. Breathing was shallow and labored. The specter of death stalked among the crosses, ready to claim the first of its victims.
I looked about for the Cardinal and the others on the ground, but my vision kept blurring. They seemed to blend in with the gathering gloom. Also a sharp wind had come up, accompanied by slanting sheets of icy cold rain. Our tormentors had beaten a hasty retreat to take shelter under makeshift canopies. Torches had been lit, which cast an eerily flickering glow over the whole macabre scene.
To my left, Messaline shouted, "Forgive me!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" ... her last scriptural reference to the crucifixion of Christ as she manically exalted in self-identification with the story of His passion. My thoughts raced briefly to the outcome of the Competition ... surely the French were destined to win.
Further to my left, Thessela expelled her last breath with a pitiful whimper and a moan. On my right Eualia struggled weakly on her X-cross, torment clearly consuming her and yet a smile so subtle on her face.
I fought to stay awake, focusing on that which was right in front of and slightly below my face. My mind went back to that night in the Abbey, alone with her in bed. I felt Kathleen shudder, her hands gripping my legs more tightly. Her body trembled. I sensed her fear and confusion over what might come.
Embracing the moment ... I lowered my head and let my darting tongue welcome her to my ... to our … final closeness. I felt her body stiffen, the warmth of her mouth between my open thighs, the caressing back and forth swish and swash of her blonde hair over my shattered feet.
I heard her gasp. I lifted my head, her juices covering my chin and looked to the sky. The wind and sleet splashed my face. Sensation after wondrous sensation coursed through my body. Despite everything ... all the long hours of torture and suffering I had endured that day ... my body responded to her. Wanting more, I forced my hips forward to receive her and buried my face again within her eager divide.
Lights flashed deep within my head or soul. I began to shake uncontrollably, thinking "The Lord is granting me one last gift."
Below I could hear the Cardinal shouting, the sound of running feet, Hilda cursing at both of us!
Giving myself over completely, I screamed, "PLEASE!!!!!!!!!!!! NOT BEFORE ... I CHOOSE THE MOMENT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
Special thanks to Siss for all her effort in helping to plot, write and edit....and to all who participated in this thread over its 45 pages and more than 20,000 views.
difficult to make out from a distance...but we know who that shining statue on the spire represents...viva Mount St Messaline Abbey!
