Cella
Spectator
Ready . . .
“Ready, babe?”
I hear Alex’s voice as I look right and left across my outstretched arms to where my wrists are attached to the ends of the heavy crossbeam. Just moments ago, I heard the clicks of the snap rings that secured the bindings around my wrists to their attachment points in the wood. Alex, my dear husband and collaborator in this weird endeavor of mine, stands on a step ladder to add a few twists of rope around each wrist to complete the illusion that I am roped to the beam. I know the clicks mean that I cannot release my wrists on my own. Alex will have to push in the spring-loaded gate on one side of each D-shaped ring to release my wrists from the ends of the crossbeam. It's thrilling, but also a bit scary. I shouldn't worry so. I trust Alex completely.
I’m being crucified! Finally! Well, in a role-playing way. For many years I’ve desired to hang on a classical Roman cross, just as someone crucified would have been in those days. Of course, with no nails, but, rather, roped in a manner that would permit me to realistically experience crucifixion for as long as I could endure the pain. At last the time has come after months of planning and preparation.
The first step was completed when I stepped up on the stool in front of my cross, put my back to the upright, then stood on tip-toe and stretched out my arms towards the ends of the crossbeam. Alex assists by opening the snap rings that dangle from my wrist bindings so they can be slipped through eye bolts screwed into the ends of the crossbeam. The added ropes hold my wrists firmly against the wood. Relaxing my body brings my feet back down to stand flat on the stool as my arms and shoulders stretch further. There is no slack in my arms; they are pulled taut and straight.
The tension in my arms is a delicious sensation as I stand partially crucified. I tremble in anticipation of what is to come. My heart is pounding with excitement! I’m ready for the second step. Soon I’ll be hanging from my cross, not merely standing in front of it! How fucking exciting is that! That is, as soon as I step off the stool and hang solely from my arms as I pull up my legs and find the ropes placed around the upright with my feet. I’ll insert my feet under the ropes and let my weight drop. My thigh muscles will tense to support my hanging weight and the ropes will be tight enough to hold my feet flat against the wood of the upright. With wrists and feet secured I will finally be fully crucified! The fantasy that has burned in me for years is soon to be realized! Yay!
I lean against the cross. The wood against my back is cool and solid, so comforting in a way. I relax my legs, allowing them to bend slightly at the knees. My arms and shoulders extend further, my muscles tensed and defined as hollows form in my sweaty armpits. I look down my completely naked body. My firm breasts thrust forward from my chest. I breathe deeply, preparing myself to proceed. My forehead is already covered in a fine sheen of sweat, as is my chest. Soon sweat will start rolling down.
My dark brown nipples are erect and tingling. I’m clearly nervous, yet excited. Oh shit! I’m about to experience crucifixion! As real as Alex and I can make it! Outdoors, in the sun, on a full-size cross erected on the patio behind our home. We have a twenty-acre wooded lot and no neighbors nearby. The house sits at the end of a 200-foot long driveway, shielded by trees. We should have plenty of privacy.
From my perch about two feet off the ground I look at Alex who is standing about two meters away from my cross. He’s looking up at me, grinning and urging me to proceed. He’s naked too; his cock semi-erect and bobbling with each pulsation of blood slowly filling it. Well, he damn well better be getting excited about this! His young, sexy wife is about to be crucified in front of him! I’m five feet nine and one-half inches tall. Slender, toned, with great boobs, a pretty face, and a head-turning figure. Damn! I’ll look real good stretched out on the cross.
Alex has cameras ready. He’s already snapping images of me as I ready myself. We agreed he can take pics and videos of me as I hang. I’m not sure how long I can hang before the pain becomes too great. I’ll take direction from Alex for the types of images he wants to get, but I plan to just be in the moment as I experience my crucifixion. I want to see the images and vids as much as he does. I’m sure my groans and contortions will seem very real. Yet, I had to assure my husband that I’ll be sure to spread my legs wide as I hang. He wants his pussy shots!
As I stand on the stool, readying myself for hanging, I remember all the many details of my crucifixion that we had to work out over the several months from conception to execution, so to speak. For example, I had wanted to wear a loincloth at the start of my crucifixion. I thought it would look so cute and sexy tied low across my hips but loose enough so it would slip off at some point, slowly exposing my pussy. But Alex insisted I should start out naked. He made the case that in a real crucifixion it is unlikely a condemned woman would be afforded the dignity of even a loincloth. She’d be completely naked. Her indecent exposure would be her utter humiliation as she hanged on her cross. Given that I probably could not endure hanging for long, the time it takes for my little loincloth to slip off might use up too much of my limited hanging time. Alex agreed it’s a sensual idea, but best saved for a later hanging. I had to agree.
Alex also explained that a condemned woman would have certainly been raped before crucifixion. To add realism, he suggested we have sex before I mounted the cross. It would appear I had been raped what with his considerable load of cum dripping out of me. But I nixed this. I was getting my crux cherry busted here, so let’s keep it simple, I insisted. If I wasn’t going to have my loincloth I wasn’t going to agree to a “rape”. It was something else to be saved for later.
I did agree to Alex’s request that I let my pubic hair grow out. A fuller bush, he insisted, would add realism. I agreed, though I cautioned him that I didn’t want to hear any complaints about my scratchy twat in the meantime!
With his constant concern for realism, Alex seemed to taking control of my crucifixion from early on. We argued over the details, to the point of almost bringing me to tears at times. He’s my husband and I love him, and he loves me, but I had to remind him it was my fantasy and I had to be very comfortable with all parts of it.
I insisted that the stool had to remain in front of the cross at all times. It was my security blanket, sort of. Its presence assured me I was still in control of the process. As soon as I could endure no more time on the cross all I would have to do is pull my feet out of their ropes and place them on the stool to allow me to stand and take the strain off my arms. My crucifixion would be effectively over. Alex didn’t like this idea because the stool would be in the pictures and ruin the realism he was going for. In the end, I had to agree with him that I desired a certain degree of realism too and I wanted images and vids of me hanging to reflect this. I said he could take the stool away for taking pics and videos, but that I wanted it put back immediately when he was finished with his camera work or as soon as I wanted it in place for dismounting. I was to be in total control of how long I stayed on the cross. No fucking delays or insisting I push myself further. I was committed to this and wanted to hang as long as I could but didn’t want to injure myself.
The attachment of my wrists was another issue between us. I wanted to be in total control of taking my wrists off the crossbeam when I was ready. Alex insisted that if I wanted to feel anything of the terror of being actually crucified, I should allow him to attach my wrists in such a way that I could not free myself from the crossbeam. The use of snap rings, wrist bindings, and ropes would, he explained, allow me to struggle realistically on the cross without damaging myself. I was very fearful of this approach but eventually came around to it.
My desire to experience crucifixion as realistically as possible convinced me I simply had to put my total trust in Alex. In no way could I do this alone. I need Alex. He’s my husband. We love each other dearly. I trust him completely. I’m ready.
I look down at Alex again. His cock, now fully erect, sways back and forth, potent and threatening. It seems to be pointed right at me, at my cunt! Already I'm beginning to feel like a real condemned bitch. I'm naked! A sense of shame creeps over me. I'm exposed! Defenseless. This isn't real, but it's beginning to feel real. I'm to be crucified! Fucking crucified!
Alex sees the panicky look grow on my face. He smiles and gives me a thumbs-up. My heart races. My cunt is wet, very wet. I purse my lips and give him an air kiss. He does the same. Oh, my love! I’m ready.
A final thought before I pull up my legs and slide my feet into the ropes. Why am I being crucified? Am I some wanton slut, a slave, a condemned criminal, or an innocent young maiden condemned to the cruelest of deaths. Ah, yes! The innocent young maiden. That’s me! My motivation! Perhaps, though, I won’t have to act that much. I suspect the pain will be become intense very rapidly. My responses to it will likely be very real.
I hope I can last twenty minutes, at least. If I push it to thirty minutes the agony may well be nearly overwhelming. But, what if something unexpected happens? Have we thought this through enough? My life is literally in Alex’s hands! I can’t get off the cross without his help! Already I feel my fingers getting numb and my arms ache.
My mind races. Does Alex love me? Really love me? He never said this was a dumb idea. He was into it from the beginning. Is that a good sign? Or not? I’m scared . . . have I trapped myself? I’m already helpless here. A woman naked and exposed. Have I fucked myself? Really fucked myself? Panic rises in me. I squeeze my legs together. I need to pee.
Relax, Marcella, I whisper to myself. What the fuck could go wrong? I trust Alex completely.
(Stay tuned. More to come.)
“Ready, babe?”
I hear Alex’s voice as I look right and left across my outstretched arms to where my wrists are attached to the ends of the heavy crossbeam. Just moments ago, I heard the clicks of the snap rings that secured the bindings around my wrists to their attachment points in the wood. Alex, my dear husband and collaborator in this weird endeavor of mine, stands on a step ladder to add a few twists of rope around each wrist to complete the illusion that I am roped to the beam. I know the clicks mean that I cannot release my wrists on my own. Alex will have to push in the spring-loaded gate on one side of each D-shaped ring to release my wrists from the ends of the crossbeam. It's thrilling, but also a bit scary. I shouldn't worry so. I trust Alex completely.
I’m being crucified! Finally! Well, in a role-playing way. For many years I’ve desired to hang on a classical Roman cross, just as someone crucified would have been in those days. Of course, with no nails, but, rather, roped in a manner that would permit me to realistically experience crucifixion for as long as I could endure the pain. At last the time has come after months of planning and preparation.
The first step was completed when I stepped up on the stool in front of my cross, put my back to the upright, then stood on tip-toe and stretched out my arms towards the ends of the crossbeam. Alex assists by opening the snap rings that dangle from my wrist bindings so they can be slipped through eye bolts screwed into the ends of the crossbeam. The added ropes hold my wrists firmly against the wood. Relaxing my body brings my feet back down to stand flat on the stool as my arms and shoulders stretch further. There is no slack in my arms; they are pulled taut and straight.
The tension in my arms is a delicious sensation as I stand partially crucified. I tremble in anticipation of what is to come. My heart is pounding with excitement! I’m ready for the second step. Soon I’ll be hanging from my cross, not merely standing in front of it! How fucking exciting is that! That is, as soon as I step off the stool and hang solely from my arms as I pull up my legs and find the ropes placed around the upright with my feet. I’ll insert my feet under the ropes and let my weight drop. My thigh muscles will tense to support my hanging weight and the ropes will be tight enough to hold my feet flat against the wood of the upright. With wrists and feet secured I will finally be fully crucified! The fantasy that has burned in me for years is soon to be realized! Yay!
I lean against the cross. The wood against my back is cool and solid, so comforting in a way. I relax my legs, allowing them to bend slightly at the knees. My arms and shoulders extend further, my muscles tensed and defined as hollows form in my sweaty armpits. I look down my completely naked body. My firm breasts thrust forward from my chest. I breathe deeply, preparing myself to proceed. My forehead is already covered in a fine sheen of sweat, as is my chest. Soon sweat will start rolling down.
My dark brown nipples are erect and tingling. I’m clearly nervous, yet excited. Oh shit! I’m about to experience crucifixion! As real as Alex and I can make it! Outdoors, in the sun, on a full-size cross erected on the patio behind our home. We have a twenty-acre wooded lot and no neighbors nearby. The house sits at the end of a 200-foot long driveway, shielded by trees. We should have plenty of privacy.
From my perch about two feet off the ground I look at Alex who is standing about two meters away from my cross. He’s looking up at me, grinning and urging me to proceed. He’s naked too; his cock semi-erect and bobbling with each pulsation of blood slowly filling it. Well, he damn well better be getting excited about this! His young, sexy wife is about to be crucified in front of him! I’m five feet nine and one-half inches tall. Slender, toned, with great boobs, a pretty face, and a head-turning figure. Damn! I’ll look real good stretched out on the cross.
Alex has cameras ready. He’s already snapping images of me as I ready myself. We agreed he can take pics and videos of me as I hang. I’m not sure how long I can hang before the pain becomes too great. I’ll take direction from Alex for the types of images he wants to get, but I plan to just be in the moment as I experience my crucifixion. I want to see the images and vids as much as he does. I’m sure my groans and contortions will seem very real. Yet, I had to assure my husband that I’ll be sure to spread my legs wide as I hang. He wants his pussy shots!
As I stand on the stool, readying myself for hanging, I remember all the many details of my crucifixion that we had to work out over the several months from conception to execution, so to speak. For example, I had wanted to wear a loincloth at the start of my crucifixion. I thought it would look so cute and sexy tied low across my hips but loose enough so it would slip off at some point, slowly exposing my pussy. But Alex insisted I should start out naked. He made the case that in a real crucifixion it is unlikely a condemned woman would be afforded the dignity of even a loincloth. She’d be completely naked. Her indecent exposure would be her utter humiliation as she hanged on her cross. Given that I probably could not endure hanging for long, the time it takes for my little loincloth to slip off might use up too much of my limited hanging time. Alex agreed it’s a sensual idea, but best saved for a later hanging. I had to agree.
Alex also explained that a condemned woman would have certainly been raped before crucifixion. To add realism, he suggested we have sex before I mounted the cross. It would appear I had been raped what with his considerable load of cum dripping out of me. But I nixed this. I was getting my crux cherry busted here, so let’s keep it simple, I insisted. If I wasn’t going to have my loincloth I wasn’t going to agree to a “rape”. It was something else to be saved for later.
I did agree to Alex’s request that I let my pubic hair grow out. A fuller bush, he insisted, would add realism. I agreed, though I cautioned him that I didn’t want to hear any complaints about my scratchy twat in the meantime!
With his constant concern for realism, Alex seemed to taking control of my crucifixion from early on. We argued over the details, to the point of almost bringing me to tears at times. He’s my husband and I love him, and he loves me, but I had to remind him it was my fantasy and I had to be very comfortable with all parts of it.
I insisted that the stool had to remain in front of the cross at all times. It was my security blanket, sort of. Its presence assured me I was still in control of the process. As soon as I could endure no more time on the cross all I would have to do is pull my feet out of their ropes and place them on the stool to allow me to stand and take the strain off my arms. My crucifixion would be effectively over. Alex didn’t like this idea because the stool would be in the pictures and ruin the realism he was going for. In the end, I had to agree with him that I desired a certain degree of realism too and I wanted images and vids of me hanging to reflect this. I said he could take the stool away for taking pics and videos, but that I wanted it put back immediately when he was finished with his camera work or as soon as I wanted it in place for dismounting. I was to be in total control of how long I stayed on the cross. No fucking delays or insisting I push myself further. I was committed to this and wanted to hang as long as I could but didn’t want to injure myself.
The attachment of my wrists was another issue between us. I wanted to be in total control of taking my wrists off the crossbeam when I was ready. Alex insisted that if I wanted to feel anything of the terror of being actually crucified, I should allow him to attach my wrists in such a way that I could not free myself from the crossbeam. The use of snap rings, wrist bindings, and ropes would, he explained, allow me to struggle realistically on the cross without damaging myself. I was very fearful of this approach but eventually came around to it.
My desire to experience crucifixion as realistically as possible convinced me I simply had to put my total trust in Alex. In no way could I do this alone. I need Alex. He’s my husband. We love each other dearly. I trust him completely. I’m ready.
I look down at Alex again. His cock, now fully erect, sways back and forth, potent and threatening. It seems to be pointed right at me, at my cunt! Already I'm beginning to feel like a real condemned bitch. I'm naked! A sense of shame creeps over me. I'm exposed! Defenseless. This isn't real, but it's beginning to feel real. I'm to be crucified! Fucking crucified!
Alex sees the panicky look grow on my face. He smiles and gives me a thumbs-up. My heart races. My cunt is wet, very wet. I purse my lips and give him an air kiss. He does the same. Oh, my love! I’m ready.
A final thought before I pull up my legs and slide my feet into the ropes. Why am I being crucified? Am I some wanton slut, a slave, a condemned criminal, or an innocent young maiden condemned to the cruelest of deaths. Ah, yes! The innocent young maiden. That’s me! My motivation! Perhaps, though, I won’t have to act that much. I suspect the pain will be become intense very rapidly. My responses to it will likely be very real.
I hope I can last twenty minutes, at least. If I push it to thirty minutes the agony may well be nearly overwhelming. But, what if something unexpected happens? Have we thought this through enough? My life is literally in Alex’s hands! I can’t get off the cross without his help! Already I feel my fingers getting numb and my arms ache.
My mind races. Does Alex love me? Really love me? He never said this was a dumb idea. He was into it from the beginning. Is that a good sign? Or not? I’m scared . . . have I trapped myself? I’m already helpless here. A woman naked and exposed. Have I fucked myself? Really fucked myself? Panic rises in me. I squeeze my legs together. I need to pee.
Relax, Marcella, I whisper to myself. What the fuck could go wrong? I trust Alex completely.
(Stay tuned. More to come.)
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