windar
Teller of Tales
They do take her down, don't they???
That's sort of my specialty, I suppose. You put them up, I take them down. That's teamwork
They do take her down, don't they???
Does she want to be taken down? I don't think so, since the arrival of Messa!They do take her down, don't they???
Do we have to wait until Marcella is taken down to find out how this went???
Tree
They do take her down, don't they???
Tree would never mock one of his charges but then he had nothing to with Marcella's crux, so he may have here...Ecstasies . . .
I thrust my pelvis forward, offering my pussy to Messaline’s lips, fingers and tongue. She’s incredible! Waves of pleasure surge through as I pull and tug on my bindings. I feel the indescribable sensations of both hanging on a cross while being seriously sexually stimulated. I throw my head back against the upright, groaning with a mixture of pain and awesome pleasure as I shamelessly spread my legs as wide as possible so Messaline’s tongue can probe between my pussy lips and lick my engorged clit. I can hear the spectators cheering and shouting.
“She’s really enjoying it now!”
“Yeah, go bitch go!”
“Fucking cunt is putting quite a show for us!”
As my passions rise I feel Messaline’s hands on my breasts, squeezing them and rolling my nipples between her fingers. Then her lips are on my lips. What the fuck! How did she get up here? She must be standing on the stool now. I never saw Alex or anyone else put it in place for her. I must have missed it as my arousal was escalating.
Messaline grinds her hips between my spread thighs as our breasts are crushed together. Our tongues probe deep into each other’s mouths as I feel her fingers digging deep into my cunt as though she’s trying to fuck me. Then softly, with increasing pressure and speed, she strokes my clit with a single finger, expertly rubbing my tumescent little bean so as to bring on the most amazing waves of sheer sexual pleasure I have ever felt. I begin to breathe deeply as I feel an orgasm building in me. Suddenly it erupts and I push myself up as high as possible on the cross, tensing my body as wave after wave or orgasmic pleasure sweep through me. I must have screamed out my pleasure as I hear clapping and jeering from the spectators as my exhausted and sweat-drenched body drops back down on the cross.
My muscles are quivering in spasms as my orgasm slowly fades. I try squeezing my legs together to preserve the feeling, but, alas, soon it is gone. If I were in bed now I’d be drifting off into a wonderful post-orgasmic sleep. But I’m crucified, and a crucified woman does not sleep on the cross. No! Soon my shoulder muscles are again burning fiercely hot as the weight of my exhausted body pulls my arms taut. I cannot enjoy the sweet bliss that follows an amazing orgasm. I must be about the business of dancing on my cross as my tortured body overrides my desire for peace and comfort.
As I push I look around for Messaline. Where is she? She’s gone! I’m suddenly feeling very alone, abandoned even. Her presence with me had become such a comfort and thrill. I need her even more now.
“Where are you,” I shout, over and over. Messaline does not respond. I look around and do not see her with the others. All I hear are their jeers and insults that I try to ignore, thinking only of Messaline as I hang in utter misery. I pray she comes back. I’m not ready to get down off the cross. I could endure this much better if she were here with me.
The hours pass. The sun has moved across the sky. I continue to piss and get water. The spectators take turns in bringing it to me. Everyone but Messaline. (Where the hell is she?) Some of them taunt me and fuck with me as they do, especially the old guy named Tree. He seems to take special pleasure in watching me suffer. He really makes me stretch myself out to reach the cup! What an asshole! The women are more business-like about it. Just unemotionally bringing the cup too my lips. Like Messaline, Barb has remained naked most of the time I’ve seen her around my cross. I have to admit, she’s got a great body. The other women are attractive too, but have covered up when not in the swimming pool. They spend time strolling around the property, talking and laughing, sometimes going inside for a while. (Are they with Alex? Fucking bitches better not be!) The women individually or together stand by my cross from time to time watching me as I hang. How the hell can I be sustaining any interest after all these hours? And Rafi, my asshole of a brother? I haven’t seen him since this morning, soon after his arrival. Alex either. What the fuck? Why isn’t Alex, my loving husband, here? His absence makes me increasingly uneasy. The guys? Well, they just lounge around eating, drinking and listening to the ballgame. Sometimes they disappear for a while into the house or garage when they aren’t verbally abusing me. What’s going on?
There are only strangers around me. The only person I really miss right now is Messaline. She’s been absent too long. Why? Why?
Nobody other than Alex or Messaline has touched me in my hours on the cross. That’s fine by me! Barb’s hand inadvertently brushed against my erect nipple once as she was raising up the water cup to my lips. I gave a little yelp as a pleasurable sensation shot through me. She almost apologized for it, then stopped. I mean, who apologizes to a crucified woman? I think she wanted to kiss me—or did I just imagine it? To be honest, I wouldn’t have minded at all if she did.
My lips are parched and cracked and I know I’ve gotten a sunburn despite the fact I started out this morning slathered with a high SPF UVB protection sunscreen. After hours of hanging and sweating its protection has been greatly diminished. I was never the type to burn easily but I can feel a fiery glow now! Not good for me at all, I know, so why don’t I just say my word and get down? I know why: I’m just not fucking ready yet! Or maybe I’m just too afraid that my plea to be taken down will be met with mockery and laughter. Am I ready to know if that’s the case?
By late afternoon I’m all alone on my cross. My spectators have wandered off, probably too bored watching me any longer. My pain has increased considerably and I’m so exhausted. I’ve pissed a couple of times since last watered. Have I been abandoned to die?! I groan at the thought. Just say the fucking word, I mutter to myself. Stop trying to be such a hard-assed bitch. Just end this! I’m just about to shout out my word, praying that someone hears it, when I see Messaline standing by my cross again, in front of me, looking up with sorrowful eyes. She’s wearing the dress I saw her in this morning.
“Oh, ma chère,” she says softly, ‘you are suffering so terribly!”
“Where, where have you been?” I gasp, as tears begin welling up in my eyes.
“Marcella, my dear, I’ve been here all along.”
“How? I haven’t seen you in hours . . .”
Before I could say more she’s suddenly face to face with me, and now naked. She presses her body to mine and kisses me with exquisitely soft, moist, red lips. I try to speak but her presence has stolen my voice. Messaline wraps her arms around me, just loving me. My body responds as her lips and hands bring me to another throbbing orgasm. I drop down on the cross yet again, trembling with the passion surging through me.
Time passes. I endure just for the sake of enduring. I want to wrest every possible pleasure and pain this experience has for me before I’m forced to quit.
It’s now twilight. I’ve been hanging all day. I’m alone on the patio as the outdoor lights begin coming on. It’s cooler now. Messaline appears and disappears. I must be delirious. I want to cry out my word but cannot. Who would hear it? Would Messaline? Would she notify the others? I try to form the words but my mouth is so dry. I collapse and feel myself falling into a deep, dark, cool, pool.
I dream. Messaline is with me.
I awake suddenly as my eyes pop open. I’m in my bed, lying on my back, naked, uncovered. It’s night. The bedroom is dark except for the lamp on my bedside table. My skin is tight and hot. There’s a glass of water on the table. I try to reach for it but cannot raise my arm. I cry out for help.
The door swings open. Four women enter: Barb, Thessela, Erin and Eulalia. They stand around my bed. Barb pulls a chair up. “So glad to see you’re awake sweetheart. We were very worried about you.”
The women seem friendly and genuinely concerned about my welfare. There's compassion in their eyes. Not at all like the severe, mocking, uncaring bitches they seemed as I was hanging on my cross.
“Where’s Messaline?” I ask. “Is she still here?” My eyes dart around the room, looking for her.
Barb looks at me as though she doesn’t understand what I just asked.
“Who do you want dear?” She asks.
“Messaline.” I reply. “Please tell me. Is she still here? I want to see her.”
Barb looks at the others and they just shrug.
Barb looks at me again.
“Who is Messaline?”
We all do that sometimes.I dream. Messaline is with me.
Great story Marcella...
I am not sure. Is that The End?Ecstasies . . .
I thrust my pelvis forward, offering my pussy to Messaline’s lips, fingers and tongue. She’s incredible! Waves of pleasure surge through as I pull and tug on my bindings. I feel the indescribable sensations of both hanging on a cross while being seriously sexually stimulated. I throw my head back against the upright, groaning with a mixture of pain and awesome pleasure as I shamelessly spread my legs as wide as possible so Messaline’s tongue can probe between my pussy lips and lick my engorged clit. I can hear the spectators cheering and shouting.
“She’s really enjoying it now!”
“Yeah, go bitch go! Spread those legs girlie! Show us what you got!”
“Fucking cunt is putting on quite a show for us!”
"What a sweet pussy! Yes sir! Show it off bitch! Lets see it!"
As my passions rise I feel Messaline’s hands on my breasts, squeezing them and rolling my nipples between her fingers. I gasp as waves of pleasure roll through me. My pussy is dripping! Then her lips are on my lips. What the fuck! How did she get up here? She must be standing on the stool now. I never saw Alex or anyone else put it in place for her. I must have missed it as my arousal was escalating.
Messaline grinds her hips between my spread thighs as our breasts are crushed together. Our tongues probe deep into each other’s mouths as I feel her fingers digging deep into my cunt as though she’s trying to fuck me. Then softly, with increasing pressure and speed, she strokes my clit with a single finger, expertly rubbing my tumescent little bean so as to bring on the most amazing waves of sheer sexual pleasure I have ever felt. I begin to breathe in and out rapidly as I feel an orgasm building in me. Suddenly it erupts and I push myself up as high as possible on the cross, tensing my body as wave after wave or orgasmic pleasure sweep through me. I must have screamed out in my ecstasy as I hear clapping and jeering from the spectators as my exhausted and sweat-drenched body drops back down on the cross.
My muscles are quivering in spasms as my orgasm slowly fades. I try squeezing my legs together to preserve the feeling, but, alas, soon it is gone. If I were in bed now I’d be drifting off into a wonderful post-orgasmic sleep. But I’m crucified, and a crucified woman does not sleep on the cross. No! Soon my shoulder muscles are again burning fiercely hot as the weight of my exhausted body pulls my arms taut. I cannot enjoy the sweet bliss that follows an amazing orgasm. I must be about the business of dancing on my cross as my tortured body overrides my desire for peace and comfort.
As I push I look around for Messaline. Where is she? She’s gone! I’m suddenly feeling very alone, abandoned even. Her presence with me had become such a comfort and thrill. I need her even more now.
“Where are you,” I shout, over and over. Messaline does not respond. I look around and do not see her with the others. All I hear are their jeers and insults that I try to ignore, thinking only of Messaline as I hang in utter misery. I pray she comes back. I’m not ready to get down off the cross. I could endure this much better if she were here with me.
The hours pass. The sun has moved across the sky. I continue to piss and get water. The spectators take turns in bringing it to me. Everyone but Messaline. (Where the hell is she?) Some of them taunt me and fuck with me as they do, especially the old guy named Tree. He seems to take special pleasure in watching me suffer. He really makes me stretch myself out to reach the cup! What an asshole! The women are more business-like about it. Just unemotionally bringing the cup too my lips. Like Messaline, Barb has remained naked most of the time I’ve seen her around my cross. I have to admit, she’s got a great body. The other women are attractive too, but have covered up when not in the swimming pool. They spend time strolling around the property, talking and laughing, sometimes going inside for a while. (Are they with Alex? Fucking bitches better not be!) The women individually or together stand by my cross from time to time watching me as I hang. How the hell can I be sustaining any interest after all these hours? And Rafi, my asshole of a brother? I haven’t seen him since this morning, soon after his arrival. Alex either. What the fuck? Why isn’t Alex, my loving husband, here? His absence makes me increasingly uneasy. The guys? Well, they just lounge around eating, drinking and listening to the ballgame. Sometimes they disappear for a while into the house or garage when they aren’t verbally abusing me. What’s going on?
There are only strangers around me. The only person I really miss right now is Messaline. She’s been absent too long. Why? Why?
Nobody other than Alex or Messaline has touched me in my hours on the cross. That’s fine by me! Barb’s hand inadvertently brushed against my erect nipple once as she was raising up the water cup to my lips. I gave a little yelp as a pleasurable sensation shot through me. She almost apologized for it, then stopped. I mean, who apologizes to a crucified woman? I think she wanted to kiss me—or did I just imagine it? To be honest, I wouldn’t have minded at all if she did.
My lips are parched and cracked and I know I’ve gotten a sunburn despite the fact I started out this morning slathered with a high SPF UVB protection sunscreen. After hours of hanging and sweating its protection has been greatly diminished. I was never the type to burn easily but I can feel a fiery glow now! Not good for me at all, I know, so why don’t I just say my word and get down? I know why: I’m just not fucking ready yet! Or maybe I’m just too afraid that my plea to be taken down will be met with mockery and laughter. Am I ready to know if that’s the case?
By late afternoon I’m all alone on my cross. My spectators have wandered off, probably too bored watching me any longer. My pain has increased considerably and I’m so exhausted. I’ve pissed a couple of times since last watered. Have I been abandoned to die?! I groan at the thought. Just say the fucking word, I mutter to myself. Stop trying to be such a hard-assed bitch. Just end this! I’m just about to shout out my word, praying that someone hears it, when I see Messaline standing by my cross again, in front of me, looking up with sorrowful eyes. She’s wearing the dress I saw her in this morning.
“Oh, ma chère,” she says softly, ‘you are suffering so terribly!”
“Where, where have you been?” I gasp, as tears begin welling up in my eyes.
“Marcella, my dear, I’ve been here all along.”
“How? I haven’t seen you in hours . . .”
Before I could say more she’s suddenly face to face with me, and now naked. She presses her body to mine and kisses me with exquisitely soft, moist, red lips. I try to speak but her presence has stolen my voice. Messaline wraps her arms around me, just loving me. My body responds as her lips and hands bring me to another throbbing orgasm. I drop down on the cross yet again, trembling with the passion surging through me.
Time passes. I endure just for the sake of enduring. I want to wrest every possible pleasure and pain this experience has for me before I’m forced to quit.
It’s now twilight. I’ve been hanging all day. I’m alone on the patio as the outdoor lights begin coming on. It’s cooler now. Messaline appears and disappears. I must be delirious. I want to cry out my word but cannot. Who would hear it? Would Messaline? Would she notify the others? I try to form the words but my mouth is so dry. I collapse and feel myself falling into a deep, dark, cool, pool.
I dream. Messaline is with me.
I awake suddenly as my eyes pop open. I’m in my bed, lying on my back, naked, uncovered. It’s night. The bedroom is dark except for the lamp on my bedside table. My skin is tight and hot. There’s a glass of water on the table. I try to reach for it but cannot raise my arm. I cry out for help.
The door swings open. Four women enter: Barb, Thessela, Erin and Eulalia. They stand around my bed. Barb pulls a chair up. “So glad to see you’re awake sweetheart. We were very worried about you.”
The women seem friendly and genuinely concerned about my welfare. There's compassion in their eyes. Not at all like the severe, mocking, uncaring bitches they seemed as I was hanging on my cross.
“Where’s Messaline?” I ask. “Is she still here?” My eyes dart around the room, looking for her.
Barb looks at me as though she doesn’t understand what I just asked.
“Who do you want dear?” She asks.
“Messaline.” I reply. “Please tell me. Is she still here? I want to see her.”
Barb looks at the others and they just shrug.
Barb looks at me again.
“Who is Messaline?”
I am not sure. Is that The End?
Thank you, for the information.Not quite. Epilogue to follow.
The guys? Well, they just lounge around eating, drinking and listening to the ballgame.
I know I’ve gotten a sunburn despite the fact I started out this morning slathered with a high SPF UVB protection sunscreen.
Hard to boil!?“I don’t remember saying my safe word?”
“You never said it.”
“Then why did you take me down? I groaned. I wanted to stay on the cross as long as I could.
With warm water from the shower wand and her nimble fingers she brings me to a shattering orgasm.
I roll over onto my back. Her lips press against mine. Our tongues probe each other’s mouths. Fingers trace a path from my breasts, down over my belly to between my legs. They find my wet cleft . . . I eagerly spread my legs apart . . .
Messaline is back! I am in ecstasy!