Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
We are waiting too (impatiently on what comes next!).
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BDSM fantasy
- Thread starter Kathy
- Start date
Jackie1111
Tribune
I may as well tell you Kathy, that I was in the club that night. And I was one of many who just had to get their hands on you.
I won't soon forget the sight of your rocking body, nor your low moans of pleasure, as my fingertips grazed your sex.
Harsh Martinet
Consul
About to turn her harsh fantasy into reality.
Kathy
Terra Nova Tramp
Thank you
Kathy
Terra Nova Tramp
Part 3
The cross is lying flat, supported off the floor by five wooden blocks Three along the vertical beam and one at each end of the cross beam. It's about eight inches off the ground but quite stable. I'm clenching my legs together begging them to wait, not to put me on the cross yet. I'm sure the audience thinks it's all part of the act. I fall to my knees in front of my cross.
The boys stand me up and my puss grinds against his hand. I've been whipped and thoroughly humiliated. It's now time to begin the main event. I take a deep breath as they stretch my arms wide. They turn me around again so I'm facing the audience. I straddle the wood of my cross a foot on either side. They hold my arms outstretched as they walk me backward.
We each have our own cross and mine is a familiar old friend. It is stained a dark cherry that contrasts well with my pale skin. The vertical beam is a four by six-inch piece of clear cedar, over nine feet long with a footrest on either side. The cross piece is a five and a half feet long, four by four piece of cedar. It joins the upright in a smooth mortise joint a foot below the top. Two and a half feet below that is a hardwood dowel an inch and a half in diameter and juts out six inches. A hardwood knob two inches in diameter caps it.
My ankles bump against the footrests and I step over them. The two guards pull me down onto the wood. They each take control of a wrist. First the wrist cuffs are attached to the crossbeam. Then rope is bound over them hiding the leather from view. I slip my hands through the metal handles that are bolted onto the crossbeam. As I curl my fingers around the handle a dark square tab of iron protrudes between the third and forth fingers. This gives the illusion of a nail head driven through the palm as the fist clenches over it. We used to use theatrical blood packets squeezed between the fist and handle but they are sticky and quite a mess when you're being stroked and fondled by a hundred curious onlookers. My arms are firmly attached, I'm the prisoner of my cross.
One of the men swings a wooden mallet striking against the bolts at the top of the right hand handle. It is done strictly for show and makes a satisfying clang. I scream on cue, jerking and twisting my torso as my feet flail helplessly. After four or five blows they turn their attention to my left hand and the process is repeated. I imagine the audience squirming in their seats as they listen to the hammer blows mixing with my screams.
The men move down my body easily capturing my feet. They stretched my legs down toward the foot of the cross. I feel my body slide down the cross until my crotch is firmly pressed against the hardwood knob. Only then do they bend my legs pushing my feet up toward the footrests. The footrests of my cross are two wooden blocks bolted to the sides of the upright. They are planed to a 45-degree slope away from the upright. The front half of an open toed sandal has been nailed to each one. My feet are slipped into these half sandals and bound to the footrests with rope; more rope wraps around my ankles fixing them tightly against the upright. My legs are now fixed in an obscenely open position with my feet pointed outward. It will still allow me to push up and down with my legs but it is quite impossible to close my legs. One of the men straddles my legs. Grabbing my left calf he gives it a tug, checking my bonds; then he checks the right. The mallet rises and falls smacking against the side of the left footrest. A blow follows it to the right side. The hammer blows fall in rapid succession alternating from left to right. I cry out and squirm seductively on my cross.. After about ten blows to each footrest the hammer is set aside. He moves off to attach the chains to the ring at the top of my cross
To be continued
The cross is lying flat, supported off the floor by five wooden blocks Three along the vertical beam and one at each end of the cross beam. It's about eight inches off the ground but quite stable. I'm clenching my legs together begging them to wait, not to put me on the cross yet. I'm sure the audience thinks it's all part of the act. I fall to my knees in front of my cross.
The boys stand me up and my puss grinds against his hand. I've been whipped and thoroughly humiliated. It's now time to begin the main event. I take a deep breath as they stretch my arms wide. They turn me around again so I'm facing the audience. I straddle the wood of my cross a foot on either side. They hold my arms outstretched as they walk me backward.
We each have our own cross and mine is a familiar old friend. It is stained a dark cherry that contrasts well with my pale skin. The vertical beam is a four by six-inch piece of clear cedar, over nine feet long with a footrest on either side. The cross piece is a five and a half feet long, four by four piece of cedar. It joins the upright in a smooth mortise joint a foot below the top. Two and a half feet below that is a hardwood dowel an inch and a half in diameter and juts out six inches. A hardwood knob two inches in diameter caps it.
My ankles bump against the footrests and I step over them. The two guards pull me down onto the wood. They each take control of a wrist. First the wrist cuffs are attached to the crossbeam. Then rope is bound over them hiding the leather from view. I slip my hands through the metal handles that are bolted onto the crossbeam. As I curl my fingers around the handle a dark square tab of iron protrudes between the third and forth fingers. This gives the illusion of a nail head driven through the palm as the fist clenches over it. We used to use theatrical blood packets squeezed between the fist and handle but they are sticky and quite a mess when you're being stroked and fondled by a hundred curious onlookers. My arms are firmly attached, I'm the prisoner of my cross.
One of the men swings a wooden mallet striking against the bolts at the top of the right hand handle. It is done strictly for show and makes a satisfying clang. I scream on cue, jerking and twisting my torso as my feet flail helplessly. After four or five blows they turn their attention to my left hand and the process is repeated. I imagine the audience squirming in their seats as they listen to the hammer blows mixing with my screams.
The men move down my body easily capturing my feet. They stretched my legs down toward the foot of the cross. I feel my body slide down the cross until my crotch is firmly pressed against the hardwood knob. Only then do they bend my legs pushing my feet up toward the footrests. The footrests of my cross are two wooden blocks bolted to the sides of the upright. They are planed to a 45-degree slope away from the upright. The front half of an open toed sandal has been nailed to each one. My feet are slipped into these half sandals and bound to the footrests with rope; more rope wraps around my ankles fixing them tightly against the upright. My legs are now fixed in an obscenely open position with my feet pointed outward. It will still allow me to push up and down with my legs but it is quite impossible to close my legs. One of the men straddles my legs. Grabbing my left calf he gives it a tug, checking my bonds; then he checks the right. The mallet rises and falls smacking against the side of the left footrest. A blow follows it to the right side. The hammer blows fall in rapid succession alternating from left to right. I cry out and squirm seductively on my cross.. After about ten blows to each footrest the hammer is set aside. He moves off to attach the chains to the ring at the top of my cross
To be continued
Kathy
Terra Nova Tramp
Part 4
I'm attached. It is pulled upright by using a series of pulleys and a hand-cranked winch. The top of the cross slowly rises off its supports and the foot dips down to rest on the floor. I'm not exactly sure why but this is the one part of the entire scene that makes me very nervous. As the cross slowly rises the crossbeam is lifted free of the blocks and begins to wobble from side to side. My body begins to slide downward. I lick my lips and try to swallow but my mouth is drier than chalk dust. My arms shake and my legs tremble as I try to press my body back into the wood. It is as if I hope to find some safety in the embrace of my cross.
The winch turns and the cross continues to rise. My weight begins to transfer from my back to my feet and I cling to the handles trying to keep myself steady on the shifting wood. Soon I feel the wooden cornu firmly planted between my legs and the cross is completely upright. In fact the cross is swinging free as the entire weight is held aloft on the ropes and chains attached to the upright. The cross seems to sway forward and backward as the men line it up with its slot in the stage. The hand crank reverses and the cross slowly descends a full 18 inches into the aperture that has been built into the stage, half of which is a metal jacketed opening in the cement floor beneath the stage.
My cross is planted; I'm trapped, as ensnared as any ancient prisoner crucified and displayed before a lustful crowd. The beginnings of panic flicker in my head and I nurture them. I begin to test the strength of my bonds. I rise up on my legs pushing forcefully against the footrests. I throw my body's weight twisting to the left then to the right. The cross vibrates like a straining lover but doesn't sway. I lower myself gingerly onto the dildo allowing it to bear most of my weight. I raise and lower my hips trying to find a less uncomfortable position but in the end must hold myself up with arms and legs. I slide all the way back pressing my back hard against the upright. My breath comes in ragged gasps. I try to close my knees but my feet are splayed and my bound ankles are held tight against the upright so I lack the flexibility to bring my knees together.
The cross is a male instrument. It holds one open, presses into your flesh, proudly displays its captive trophy. The erect cornu is of course only too phallic , In its truest and deadliest form, however, it was about opening and penetrating flesh. The cross is rarely gentle with its lovers.
With a sigh I slide on the cornu slipping in my pussy . My legs fold and my arms support most of my weight. In this position I seem to be kneeling in mid air but still my legs are splayed wide and I still cannot close my knees. The cornu is pressing deep inside me. I can only maintain this position for a few moments then I raise myself up. The spectators murmur impatiently, they want to touch.
To be continued
I'm attached. It is pulled upright by using a series of pulleys and a hand-cranked winch. The top of the cross slowly rises off its supports and the foot dips down to rest on the floor. I'm not exactly sure why but this is the one part of the entire scene that makes me very nervous. As the cross slowly rises the crossbeam is lifted free of the blocks and begins to wobble from side to side. My body begins to slide downward. I lick my lips and try to swallow but my mouth is drier than chalk dust. My arms shake and my legs tremble as I try to press my body back into the wood. It is as if I hope to find some safety in the embrace of my cross.
The winch turns and the cross continues to rise. My weight begins to transfer from my back to my feet and I cling to the handles trying to keep myself steady on the shifting wood. Soon I feel the wooden cornu firmly planted between my legs and the cross is completely upright. In fact the cross is swinging free as the entire weight is held aloft on the ropes and chains attached to the upright. The cross seems to sway forward and backward as the men line it up with its slot in the stage. The hand crank reverses and the cross slowly descends a full 18 inches into the aperture that has been built into the stage, half of which is a metal jacketed opening in the cement floor beneath the stage.
My cross is planted; I'm trapped, as ensnared as any ancient prisoner crucified and displayed before a lustful crowd. The beginnings of panic flicker in my head and I nurture them. I begin to test the strength of my bonds. I rise up on my legs pushing forcefully against the footrests. I throw my body's weight twisting to the left then to the right. The cross vibrates like a straining lover but doesn't sway. I lower myself gingerly onto the dildo allowing it to bear most of my weight. I raise and lower my hips trying to find a less uncomfortable position but in the end must hold myself up with arms and legs. I slide all the way back pressing my back hard against the upright. My breath comes in ragged gasps. I try to close my knees but my feet are splayed and my bound ankles are held tight against the upright so I lack the flexibility to bring my knees together.
The cross is a male instrument. It holds one open, presses into your flesh, proudly displays its captive trophy. The erect cornu is of course only too phallic , In its truest and deadliest form, however, it was about opening and penetrating flesh. The cross is rarely gentle with its lovers.
With a sigh I slide on the cornu slipping in my pussy . My legs fold and my arms support most of my weight. In this position I seem to be kneeling in mid air but still my legs are splayed wide and I still cannot close my knees. The cornu is pressing deep inside me. I can only maintain this position for a few moments then I raise myself up. The spectators murmur impatiently, they want to touch.
To be continued
Vindex
Tribune
Great story, well written, fun to read and very exciting especially the crucifixion part
Kathy
Terra Nova Tramp
Thank you
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
Kathy
Terra Nova Tramp
Thank youGood description!
Well written, Kathy!
Kathy
Terra Nova Tramp
Part 5
I am panting and sweating furiously. I feel my arms trembling from the strain. I have bent forward as far as possible and my breasts are swaying from side to side as I try desperately to work the knob of my cornu into my hungry pussy. Even with my hips bent forward as much as my cross lover will allow, I can do little more than rub myself over the knob. I groan in frustration. The rigid cornu just juts out and I cannot work the shaft inside of me. With a sigh of resignation I straighten and slide back along my cross. I wince in pain, as my blindfold is yanked away pulling a few hairs off with the knot.
With the blindfold gone I blink into the brightness. Sweat blurs my vision and runs down my nose, a drop forms at the tip of my nose waiting to fall. I need someone to mop my brow because I'm unable to brush the sweat away. I shake my head sending droplets flying in every direction. I finally raise my head and try to look out at the audience. My vision begins to adjust and the shadows slowly come into focus. Most are too busy ogling my writhing nakedness to even notice or care that my blindfold has been removed. Their eyes just don't stray above my breasts. They are oblivious to me as a person I am merely an object of fascination and yearning. The very air I breathe is thick with desire and lust.
As my eyes roam the rows of pews I come across some who will acknowledge me. The American who was allowed to whip me is still wearing his borrowed robe. His wife of ten years has her head in his lap busily bobbing up and down while his half-open eyes lock on mine. There is hardness and a longing in them that makes me shudder. I look away. Two rows back and to the right a woman squirms in her seat her hand disappearing into her skirt. Her eyes stare deeply into mine with a desperate desire. I don't know if she wants me or wants to be me but again I am the one forced to look away blushing deeply. There are others, though not that many, who will look into my eyes and every time it is I who must look away.
The girls have started to escort the audience up to the stage again. Row by row the pews empty and begin their journey up the right hand aisle. This time I will not have the anonymity of a blindfold. I will see them and all that they will do to me. I have forgotten to breath and I draw in a sharp breath. I am terrified. The first person is putting on her fresh pair of gloves. She seems so completely normal. If she wore a camera around her neck and a sun hat she would be a screaming caricature of a tourist. As she stands before me I notice just how petite she really is. She can't be over five feet she reaches up but can barely brush the tips of her fingers against my panting breasts.
The man behind her notices her difficulty and roughly grabs me by the hips. He slides me forward and my body drops a full foot. The woman thanks him politely as her hands caress my now accessible breasts; she tweaks my nipples and leans forward as if to kiss my belly. Bobby quickly places a hand on her chest restraining her and she moves on. The man who so unceremoniously dumped me is next in line and he takes advantage of my newly exposed position to stroke lovingly at my slit as the cornu pokes into my lower back. I push upward trying to regain my seat and he seems willing to help lift me back onto the cornu. The next lifts me off the cornu and grasping my hips in both hands opens my ass checks and presses me down as if to impale my bottom. In fact the knob of the cornu is forced half way into my butt and it provides me with enough support while exposing my pussy to the wandering hands. He is satisfied and spends some time stroking my breasts and pussy. The line moves on, each one spending a minute or so caressing my exposed body. I respond with gentle moans as my pussy once more moistens and my clit peaks out at the line of hands.
A few still want to inflict pain with a slap at my ass or a pinch of my more sensitive flesh. I just endure it and try to get past it. The slaps and pinches drive me back from the edge while the strokes and gentle probing spur me on. Some want to stroke my arms or neck or along my inner thigh but most lack such subtlety and concentrate on my breasts and pussy.
It is like a medieval pilgrimage, the faithful traveling from great distances to our little church for a chance to lay hands upon the holy relic that my body has become for them. Before the first row has returned to their seats I am hopelessly enthralled. I twist and turn to expose my panting body to the faithful. My shameless pussy weeps her desire onto my already slick cornu. I raise myself on trembling legs to thrust my pussy at the audience as they slowly file past me. One man bends to sniff and I all but plunge myself against his face. My guards now must restrain me as well as the overly enthusiastic members of the audience. When it becomes clear that I have but one desire, the cruel remarks begin again but I pay them no mind. I am now moaning and groaning as I shamelessly plead for release. The leering line continues past me, each one obliged to run their hands across my body. Some (mostly women) seem determined to tease and torment me; others (mostly men) wanting to be the one that push me over the edge. I continue to be pinched, and patted, slapped and stroked.
To be continued
I am panting and sweating furiously. I feel my arms trembling from the strain. I have bent forward as far as possible and my breasts are swaying from side to side as I try desperately to work the knob of my cornu into my hungry pussy. Even with my hips bent forward as much as my cross lover will allow, I can do little more than rub myself over the knob. I groan in frustration. The rigid cornu just juts out and I cannot work the shaft inside of me. With a sigh of resignation I straighten and slide back along my cross. I wince in pain, as my blindfold is yanked away pulling a few hairs off with the knot.
With the blindfold gone I blink into the brightness. Sweat blurs my vision and runs down my nose, a drop forms at the tip of my nose waiting to fall. I need someone to mop my brow because I'm unable to brush the sweat away. I shake my head sending droplets flying in every direction. I finally raise my head and try to look out at the audience. My vision begins to adjust and the shadows slowly come into focus. Most are too busy ogling my writhing nakedness to even notice or care that my blindfold has been removed. Their eyes just don't stray above my breasts. They are oblivious to me as a person I am merely an object of fascination and yearning. The very air I breathe is thick with desire and lust.
As my eyes roam the rows of pews I come across some who will acknowledge me. The American who was allowed to whip me is still wearing his borrowed robe. His wife of ten years has her head in his lap busily bobbing up and down while his half-open eyes lock on mine. There is hardness and a longing in them that makes me shudder. I look away. Two rows back and to the right a woman squirms in her seat her hand disappearing into her skirt. Her eyes stare deeply into mine with a desperate desire. I don't know if she wants me or wants to be me but again I am the one forced to look away blushing deeply. There are others, though not that many, who will look into my eyes and every time it is I who must look away.
The girls have started to escort the audience up to the stage again. Row by row the pews empty and begin their journey up the right hand aisle. This time I will not have the anonymity of a blindfold. I will see them and all that they will do to me. I have forgotten to breath and I draw in a sharp breath. I am terrified. The first person is putting on her fresh pair of gloves. She seems so completely normal. If she wore a camera around her neck and a sun hat she would be a screaming caricature of a tourist. As she stands before me I notice just how petite she really is. She can't be over five feet she reaches up but can barely brush the tips of her fingers against my panting breasts.
The man behind her notices her difficulty and roughly grabs me by the hips. He slides me forward and my body drops a full foot. The woman thanks him politely as her hands caress my now accessible breasts; she tweaks my nipples and leans forward as if to kiss my belly. Bobby quickly places a hand on her chest restraining her and she moves on. The man who so unceremoniously dumped me is next in line and he takes advantage of my newly exposed position to stroke lovingly at my slit as the cornu pokes into my lower back. I push upward trying to regain my seat and he seems willing to help lift me back onto the cornu. The next lifts me off the cornu and grasping my hips in both hands opens my ass checks and presses me down as if to impale my bottom. In fact the knob of the cornu is forced half way into my butt and it provides me with enough support while exposing my pussy to the wandering hands. He is satisfied and spends some time stroking my breasts and pussy. The line moves on, each one spending a minute or so caressing my exposed body. I respond with gentle moans as my pussy once more moistens and my clit peaks out at the line of hands.
A few still want to inflict pain with a slap at my ass or a pinch of my more sensitive flesh. I just endure it and try to get past it. The slaps and pinches drive me back from the edge while the strokes and gentle probing spur me on. Some want to stroke my arms or neck or along my inner thigh but most lack such subtlety and concentrate on my breasts and pussy.
It is like a medieval pilgrimage, the faithful traveling from great distances to our little church for a chance to lay hands upon the holy relic that my body has become for them. Before the first row has returned to their seats I am hopelessly enthralled. I twist and turn to expose my panting body to the faithful. My shameless pussy weeps her desire onto my already slick cornu. I raise myself on trembling legs to thrust my pussy at the audience as they slowly file past me. One man bends to sniff and I all but plunge myself against his face. My guards now must restrain me as well as the overly enthusiastic members of the audience. When it becomes clear that I have but one desire, the cruel remarks begin again but I pay them no mind. I am now moaning and groaning as I shamelessly plead for release. The leering line continues past me, each one obliged to run their hands across my body. Some (mostly women) seem determined to tease and torment me; others (mostly men) wanting to be the one that push me over the edge. I continue to be pinched, and patted, slapped and stroked.
To be continued
Kathy
Terra Nova Tramp
That's true my friend
One thinks your body would be more suitably displayed spiked to the cross. One can only wish!
Kathy
Terra Nova Tramp
Thank you
piraland
Tribune
When I know that Kathy will be one of the “victims” of the day at the club, I wouldn't miss it for the world!
I find her so beautiful and open to everything that is done to her, various forms of abuse and sexual abuse that I have secretly fallen in love with her.
A lot of times at night I dream of her and wake up in a sweat, my erect cock hurts and I can't help but masturbate imagining myself deep inside her and making her scream with pleasure!
In this case, my ejaculation is very important and the screams I emit at this time are anything but discreet.
Tonight, I am therefore present and very impatient to contemplate Kathy's perfect curves and even to be able to enjoy the magnificent gifts that nature has given her!
Arrived almost undressed and a scarf over her eyes, I am constantly watching her!
An ultra erotic and even pronagraphic atmosphere reigns in the room!
Kathy is first totally naked before courageously receiving lashes that color her skin without tearing it!
She seems to appreciate it and also welcomes with complacency the ballading hands which explore the totality of her skin while taking the opportunity to insinuate themselves into her orifices!
I wasn't too far from her so I had the opportunity to touch her breasts and buttocks before I was able to penetrate her hot and dripping pussy!
I hope later to have a chance to taste his cum before giving him the fantastic erection she gives me!
For now, everyone is stepping back as the time of her crucifixion has arrived
The more I look at her, the more it seems to me that she is anxiously waiting to be exposed naked tied to this cross!
Her pussy is glistening with love juice and her breasts are erect like small cocks!
During this time, forced to move back to let the crucifixion take place, I feel a hand passing and ironing on my already erect cock, open my fly and begin to caress me!
A very beautiful young woman already completely naked decided to take care of me and I have to say that she is doing really well.
My gaze did not leave Kathy!
I feel her horny in an unimaginable way, her pain is real and her enjoyment intense!
She truly lives the present moment as if her life depends on it!
She is marvellous .
I am now as naked as the woman who made my cock disappear in the depths of her mouth!
I see Kathy having an orgasm and it's too much for me, I cum in long squirts down the throat of my current partner.
I hope that later my sperm ends up in Kathy's vagina or rectum!
The evening has only just begun and Kathy is wonderful on her cross!
Unable to close her legs, she exposes all her privacy!
She would make a dead man erect.
Now the audience can come up to her and smell her, touch her, stroke her!
I have a feeling Kathy was waiting for this moment!
Her clit is pointing forward as if it wanted to invite people to stroke it.
People follow each other, it will be my turn soon, my partner of the day has not let go of my still erect cock.
I hope I can hold back my ejaculation until I touch Kathy to show her that she turns me on terribly and that my cravings for her are immense.
Inside me, I have this dream of feeling her cum while I penetrate her!
Maybe it will happen today.
I find her so beautiful and open to everything that is done to her, various forms of abuse and sexual abuse that I have secretly fallen in love with her.
A lot of times at night I dream of her and wake up in a sweat, my erect cock hurts and I can't help but masturbate imagining myself deep inside her and making her scream with pleasure!
In this case, my ejaculation is very important and the screams I emit at this time are anything but discreet.
Tonight, I am therefore present and very impatient to contemplate Kathy's perfect curves and even to be able to enjoy the magnificent gifts that nature has given her!
Arrived almost undressed and a scarf over her eyes, I am constantly watching her!
An ultra erotic and even pronagraphic atmosphere reigns in the room!
Kathy is first totally naked before courageously receiving lashes that color her skin without tearing it!
She seems to appreciate it and also welcomes with complacency the ballading hands which explore the totality of her skin while taking the opportunity to insinuate themselves into her orifices!
I wasn't too far from her so I had the opportunity to touch her breasts and buttocks before I was able to penetrate her hot and dripping pussy!
I hope later to have a chance to taste his cum before giving him the fantastic erection she gives me!
For now, everyone is stepping back as the time of her crucifixion has arrived
The more I look at her, the more it seems to me that she is anxiously waiting to be exposed naked tied to this cross!
Her pussy is glistening with love juice and her breasts are erect like small cocks!
During this time, forced to move back to let the crucifixion take place, I feel a hand passing and ironing on my already erect cock, open my fly and begin to caress me!
A very beautiful young woman already completely naked decided to take care of me and I have to say that she is doing really well.
My gaze did not leave Kathy!
I feel her horny in an unimaginable way, her pain is real and her enjoyment intense!
She truly lives the present moment as if her life depends on it!
She is marvellous .
I am now as naked as the woman who made my cock disappear in the depths of her mouth!
I see Kathy having an orgasm and it's too much for me, I cum in long squirts down the throat of my current partner.
I hope that later my sperm ends up in Kathy's vagina or rectum!
The evening has only just begun and Kathy is wonderful on her cross!
Unable to close her legs, she exposes all her privacy!
She would make a dead man erect.
Now the audience can come up to her and smell her, touch her, stroke her!
I have a feeling Kathy was waiting for this moment!
Her clit is pointing forward as if it wanted to invite people to stroke it.
People follow each other, it will be my turn soon, my partner of the day has not let go of my still erect cock.
I hope I can hold back my ejaculation until I touch Kathy to show her that she turns me on terribly and that my cravings for her are immense.
Inside me, I have this dream of feeling her cum while I penetrate her!
Maybe it will happen today.
Kathy
Terra Nova Tramp
Final chapter
A petite redhead stands before me smiling wickedly. Her thumb gently scrapes through the moisture between my pouting lips then reaches under me and impales my bottom. I groan as she brings her right hand up; taking my clit between thumb and forefinger she slowly coaxes it out.
I screech in agony as fingernails pinch into me. I know she must have drawn blood. Bruce pushes the woman away from me but she shrugs him off, simply standing back and allowing the next in line to step forward. My tear filled eyes see a knowing smirk on her face. Tears are rolling down my cheeks as a tall man with sandy blond hair takes her place. He fixes me with his slate gray eyes and I cannot turn away.
" She will pay for that," he tells me with calm assurance. I glance at her again and see a look of fear wash the smugness off her face. I am glad. They must be a couple, which is why she is waiting for him. He reaches out with an upturned left hand. Gently his palm cups my mons; a finger stretches out along the crevice of my pussy, lovingly stroking in a gentle forward sweep. All thoughts of pain and terror are swept away and I begin to grind myself against the proffered palm. As my motion becomes more vigorous, the finger slips into me. I groan and begin to work my hips up and down. He keeps his hand pressed against me. All of the frustrations, the desires, desperate need and yes, even the pain of this long day, are building to a sharp point. A second finger slips into me, pressing outward, widening my already distended lips. A low guttural groan begins to climb several octaves as my lungs slowly empty. A third finger slips in and my tears flow. A thumb softly strums across my throbbing clit and I burst. I am emptied of everything as I helplessly pump down on the triad of fingers filling me. My wants, desires, and needs simply flow out of me into his upturned palm. The world begins to narrow and darken but I can't think of anything. My cross vibrates with my release and I am his.
"Breath!" some small corner of my mind screams and for a panicked moment I am sure I've forgotten how. Finally with a gasp my lungs begin to refill. The fingers have withdrawn. I wonder if they have been expelled by the spasm that shook me to the core. I open my eyes and see the tall blond standing before me. He is smiling complacently. His left hand still cupped below me holds a small puddle of my secretions. He raises this to my nose and I can do nothing but inhale. I am truly emptied, released; beyond caring, nothing can matter now. With another rasping breath I steady myself on my cross.
My arms and legs are exhausted and I lower myself onto the cornu. The man who has done this to me still stands before me. The line behind him is getting restless. They want their turn with me. He isn't finished though; he dips three fingers of his right hand into the puddle of moisture that he cups in his left. Carefully he draws a moist line across my belly. My belly shudders in response. He then traces circles around my nipples and brushes lines along the underside of my outstretched arms. My body twitches and jerks with each touch of those moistened fingers. I was wrong. I wasn't beyond caring. I am being anointed with my own essence. He is determined to show me I can still blush. He turns at last and casually sweeps his left palm across the redheads face. She glares at me with pure hatred. If looks could drive nails I would never leave this cross. He grabs her by the arm and they both returned to their seats.
The line continues but I am barely aware. I remain , open and uncaring, while the end of the line files by. They seem to want to punish me now as more of them pinch and slap my tender flesh than caress it. It is well after three when the line finally ends and the audience is thanked for their participation.
I am exhausted when they finally lower my cross and release me. I spend a few minutes resting in place catching my breath.
The end.
A petite redhead stands before me smiling wickedly. Her thumb gently scrapes through the moisture between my pouting lips then reaches under me and impales my bottom. I groan as she brings her right hand up; taking my clit between thumb and forefinger she slowly coaxes it out.
I screech in agony as fingernails pinch into me. I know she must have drawn blood. Bruce pushes the woman away from me but she shrugs him off, simply standing back and allowing the next in line to step forward. My tear filled eyes see a knowing smirk on her face. Tears are rolling down my cheeks as a tall man with sandy blond hair takes her place. He fixes me with his slate gray eyes and I cannot turn away.
" She will pay for that," he tells me with calm assurance. I glance at her again and see a look of fear wash the smugness off her face. I am glad. They must be a couple, which is why she is waiting for him. He reaches out with an upturned left hand. Gently his palm cups my mons; a finger stretches out along the crevice of my pussy, lovingly stroking in a gentle forward sweep. All thoughts of pain and terror are swept away and I begin to grind myself against the proffered palm. As my motion becomes more vigorous, the finger slips into me. I groan and begin to work my hips up and down. He keeps his hand pressed against me. All of the frustrations, the desires, desperate need and yes, even the pain of this long day, are building to a sharp point. A second finger slips into me, pressing outward, widening my already distended lips. A low guttural groan begins to climb several octaves as my lungs slowly empty. A third finger slips in and my tears flow. A thumb softly strums across my throbbing clit and I burst. I am emptied of everything as I helplessly pump down on the triad of fingers filling me. My wants, desires, and needs simply flow out of me into his upturned palm. The world begins to narrow and darken but I can't think of anything. My cross vibrates with my release and I am his.
"Breath!" some small corner of my mind screams and for a panicked moment I am sure I've forgotten how. Finally with a gasp my lungs begin to refill. The fingers have withdrawn. I wonder if they have been expelled by the spasm that shook me to the core. I open my eyes and see the tall blond standing before me. He is smiling complacently. His left hand still cupped below me holds a small puddle of my secretions. He raises this to my nose and I can do nothing but inhale. I am truly emptied, released; beyond caring, nothing can matter now. With another rasping breath I steady myself on my cross.
My arms and legs are exhausted and I lower myself onto the cornu. The man who has done this to me still stands before me. The line behind him is getting restless. They want their turn with me. He isn't finished though; he dips three fingers of his right hand into the puddle of moisture that he cups in his left. Carefully he draws a moist line across my belly. My belly shudders in response. He then traces circles around my nipples and brushes lines along the underside of my outstretched arms. My body twitches and jerks with each touch of those moistened fingers. I was wrong. I wasn't beyond caring. I am being anointed with my own essence. He is determined to show me I can still blush. He turns at last and casually sweeps his left palm across the redheads face. She glares at me with pure hatred. If looks could drive nails I would never leave this cross. He grabs her by the arm and they both returned to their seats.
The line continues but I am barely aware. I remain , open and uncaring, while the end of the line files by. They seem to want to punish me now as more of them pinch and slap my tender flesh than caress it. It is well after three when the line finally ends and the audience is thanked for their participation.
I am exhausted when they finally lower my cross and release me. I spend a few minutes resting in place catching my breath.
The end.
Loinclothslave
slave to the whip
I felt every pinch, every grasp, every caress, the pain and the pleasure and the mystery of the blind fold. I gasped with you as you finally came.... I felt as if I was a beautifully bdsm tortured woman, and loved being you.
thanks for the journey!
thanks for the journey!