Great Pics Found By Phlebas And Other

[Eulalia]

View attachment 192962

I hear his footsteps descending the dungeon stairs, and turn my head to see if it is him. It is. How could he have discovered my hidden trove of love letters like that? I thought I had kept them hidden so well. I have never seen such a rage. He called for the palace guard, ordered me out of the royal bed, had me shackled and led down to this dungeon. I pleaded and cried, begged him to reconsider, but nothing moves m’Lord when he is angry.

That heavy-set bearded face breaks into a wide grin as he surveys my predicament, spread-eagled naked in this heavy wooden frame, irons cutting into my tender wrists and ankles, a warm flame searing my inner thighs and spread sex. I strain at my bonds, my stretched position is excruciating. Every muscle aches, and I tremble from exhaustion.

“Is she prepared and ready?” he roars at the executioner and inquisitor, who turns his massive bare chest toward m’Lord and flashes an evil smile from beneath his black hood.

“Nearly ready,” he replies, weighing a wicked-looking long braided whip in his right hand and flicking its tip experimentally against the dark stone wall. “Shall we begin by flogging her, say 40 lashes, and follow up with a hot iron? I don’t imagine she can keep the identity of her lover a secret from your majesty for long.”

My wrathful and vengeful Lord circles around to confront me face to face. His eyes pass over my upturned breasts and erect tumescent nipples, down past my expanded ribcage, to the gentle slope of my stretched belly where it plunges into the small triangle of curly hair on my mound, pausing briefly there to regard my labia spread wide, and then continuing on to the straining heat-reddened flesh of my outstretched quaking thighs.

“Speak now, Lady Barbara!” he commands, “reveal the identity of the slanderous scoundrel who dares to take you as his lover, under my very nose! Or you shall suffer horribly.”

I turn my head and look away. He scowls, turns to that hooded horror of a man behind him, and shouts, “Begin! Make her writhe, make her bleed, make her howl and scream. Do whatever it takes. I must have answers within the hour.”

He turns, circles back around me and delivers a sharp slap to my buttocks. I yelp. He looks at me with utter contempt and stomps up the stairs. I watch him go, and then ……….

Barbaria, 2015

so girls, note the moral -
we'd better be very careful what we do
with all those Valentines we're going to get on Saturday! ​

 

[Primus pilus]

View attachment 192962

I hear his footsteps descending the dungeon stairs, and turn my head to see if it is him. It is. How could he have discovered my hidden trove of love letters like that? I thought I had kept them hidden so well. I have never seen such a rage. He called for the palace guard, ordered me out of the royal bed, had me shackled and led down to this dungeon. I pleaded and cried, begged him to reconsider, but nothing moves m’Lord when he is angry.

That heavy-set bearded face breaks into a wide grin as he surveys my predicament, spread-eagled naked in this heavy wooden frame, irons cutting into my tender wrists and ankles, a warm flame searing my inner thighs and spread sex. I strain at my bonds, my stretched position is excruciating. Every muscle aches, and I tremble from exhaustion.

“Is she prepared and ready?” he roars at the executioner and inquisitor, who turns his massive bare chest toward m’Lord and flashes an evil smile from beneath his black hood.

“Nearly ready,” he replies, weighing a wicked-looking long braided whip in his right hand and flicking its tip experimentally against the dark stone wall. “Shall we begin by flogging her, say 40 lashes, and follow up with a hot iron? I don’t imagine she can keep the identity of her lover a secret from your majesty for long.”

My wrathful and vengeful Lord circles around to confront me face to face. His eyes pass over my upturned breasts and erect tumescent nipples, down past my expanded ribcage, to the gentle slope of my stretched belly where it plunges into the small triangle of curly hair on my mound, pausing briefly there to regard my labia spread wide, and then continuing on to the straining heat-reddened flesh of my outstretched quaking thighs.

“Speak now, Lady Barbara!” he commands, “reveal the identity of the slanderous scoundrel who dares to take you as his lover, under my very nose! Or you shall suffer horribly.”

I turn my head and look away. He scowls, turns to that hooded horror of a man behind him, and shouts, “Begin! Make her writhe, make her bleed, make her howl and scream. Do whatever it takes. I must have answers within the hour.”

He turns, circles back around me and delivers a sharp slap to my buttocks. I yelp. He looks at me with utter contempt and stomps up the stairs. I watch him go, and then ……….

Barbaria, 2015

The executioner stands back and, hidden beneath his hood, his eyes rake her body. He had taken much pleasure in preparing her for the ordeal to come. As the guards held her he had taken a small, sharp dagger and carefully cut away her clothing, layer by layer, slowly exposing her firm young flesh. He had felt her flinch as the cold steel blade finally touched her skin to remove the last of her under clothes, leaving her naked, exposed to the rough gaze of the guards.

He ordered the guards to hang the Lady from her wrists and watched disgustedly as they took the opportunity to paw her, grope her, then told them, abruptly, to leave. They thought to argue, wanting to get off on watching her suffer, but they were aware of his position under the King and knew to obey him.

Once he was alone, he had fixed her ankles to the frame with leather straps, holding her legs spread and her thighs parted. As he crouched between her legs to prepare the small fire, he looked up at the woman, at the small triangle of dark hair that could not conceal her opened labia. He saw her body tense as he took a thick round iron bar and placed it to heat in the fire.

The executioner had seen the Lady before. He was also the woodsman on this estate and, while working once with his axe, he seen her gallop her horse through the forest, her dark mane flying behind her. She did not ride side saddle as a lady should but sat astride her horse, leaning forward onto the gelding's neck, her thighs gripping the saddle as she held her sex tight against the leather. He had seen her meet her lover and seen her naked body as the lover pulled her skirts and underthings over her head and pushed her against one of the woodsman's trees. He remembers the hardness that grew under his leather trousers as he watched and he feels his erection grow again.

He has also seen the Lady Barbara watching from a window as he whipped miscreants publicly in the castle courtyard. She watched with interest as he whipped men but he had seen her expression when he had servant girls roped to the whipping post. When it was a woman at the post he would see her hands clasped, prayer-like, beneath her face, her lips part and her tongue move over the lips to moisten them. As he began the whipping, he would also see her hands move down her body, over her breasts and then out of his sight below the window sill. He could not see but he could imagine her hands parting her skirts, moving onto her belly, pleasuring herself.

When his Lord asked was she readied he replied, “nearly ready,” as he weighed his wicked-looking long braided whip in his right hand and flicked its tip experimentally against the dark stone wall. “Shall we begin by flogging her, say 40 lashes, and follow up with a hot iron? I don’t imagine she can keep the identity of her lover a secret from Your Majesty for long.”

He could tell the King of his knowledge of her lover but, as his Lord circled and confronted the woman, he thought on her image at the window sill and held back, even as the King slapped the Lady's arse and left him to his work.

With the King gone the executioner placed his rough calloused hand on Lady Barbara's shoulder and felt her shudder. He ran his hand down her back and over her firm buttocks. His touch wasn't sexual. He was feeling her muscle cover, judging where his whip would deliver best, assessing what would deliver the pain and torture without her succumbing to the point where she could not confess. He cupped her breast and rolled the tumescent nipple between a rough finger and thumb. Did he feel her push her breast forward to his touch? Then the hand moved down across her ribs, her belly and through the triangle of dark hair on her mound, the rough fingers brushing her spread labia and feeling some moisture there. The executioner moved close to the Lady and asked a quiet question. "Will you tell me the name of your lover now, before I begin your torment, before the pain begins?" As she shakes her head he knows he will follow his Lord's order, to make her writhe, make her bleed, make her howl and scream. It was time to begin.

He was still standing in front of the Lady when, without warning, he flicked the handle of the whip back then sent its snake-like body whistling towards her spread-eagled body. The fall wrapped her ribs and left its first viscous stripe across her back. She was silent for a split second then he heard her scream. He knew she would try to be brave and he did not want to give her time to anticipate the lash and to choke off her anguish. Her Lord wanted her to scream and he would deliver that.

He moved behind her and landed four rapid strikes diagonally across her back from her left, each an inch lower than the one before leaving five livid red marks. Each time she did not anticipate the lash and her naked body writhed in her bonds. Then five more from her right to leave her back criss-crossed in stripes the last just a touch harsher, splitting her soft skin and drawing a faint trickle of blood. Try she might to bite down a scream at each lash he is too good in his timing and she fails. She hears her own screams echo from the stone walls of the dungeon and they add to her torment.

Now the executioner applies ten brutal strokes across her buttocks. At each stroke the belly of his whip splits her skin, the fall wraps her hip and the tuft of horse hair woven with the tip cuts into her belly. She bucks, screams, writhes against her bonds. A trail of blood runs down into the dark triangle at her mound. His fingers trace the blood and he asks her again to reveal the name. That is just 20 lashes, only half way, but, despite her pain, the echoing of her screams inside her own mind, she can still shake her head, wanting to stay true to the lover she knows she will never see again.

He targets the front of her body now. He lashes her breasts, the whip tearing the tender flesh and slicing across the nipples. After ten strokes her breasts are torn and bleeding but, as his calloused hand cups one battered breast he feels her body shiver under his touch and her nipple still erect under his fingers. He pinches the cut nipple hard and she howls as the pain takes her but she still shakes her head as he asks for the lover's name.

Thirty done. Ten more to come. Ten more to deliver his promise to her Lord to make her writhe, bleed, howl and scream so now it is time. From behind her the long, sensuous leather snakes towards her buttocks and cracks upwards between her opened thighs. Her body stiffens, strains against the cuffs and chains and then her scream erupts, long, drawn out, an expression of the intense pain his whip delivered. As her body begins to relax the whip strikes her labia again, again, again, again and her screaming becomes a continuous piercing wail of anguish but the writhing is less erratic now and takes on a more sensual dance. He knows she is reacting to the pain, her spread-eagled, stretched body becoming one with the whip that torments her. Through the haze of pain she hears, "five more to come," but as she writhes, erotically, she still shakes her head, her matted, sweat-streaked hair fanning around her head.

He delivers the last from in front where her eyes can see the torment coming. At each lash, the horse hair tuft cuts her mound, catches the dark pubic triangle and tears out some of the curly thatch as he wrenches the tip back to him. Like her back, buttocks and breasts her mound is bleeding freely now and a steady stream runs down from the dark triangle and into her already wet sex. As the last four of five tear her mound the Lady's writhing is powerful, intense, sensuous and the executioner senses she is building to a climax within the pain. He lands the last strike directly onto her clitoris and sees her back arch, her belly and mound thrust forwards, upwards, a long, drawn-out howl from deep within her before she slumps, silent, and hangs limply from her wrists.

The executioner gives her just a moment, not wanting to give the Lady Barbara any time to recover, before he asks one final time, "his name?" Through her haze Barbara feels her head shake once more but, as she looks down at her tormentor, her body convulses in sobbing as he bends and takes the glowing iron rod from the fire. "No, no, spare my womanhood, noooooo. Pleaseeee nooooo."

The executioner brings the tip of red hot iron bar up between the Lady Barbara's spread thighs and the tip begins to scald her tender flesh, whisps of smoke from the dark triangle of hair as they touch and burn on the glowing iron. She desperately pushes against her bound ankles in one last attempt to raise her battered sex away from the burning.......

His lips are close to her dark hair and she hears his voice, strong but gentle in her ear, "I have seen you with your lover. I know his name. I have delivered my promise to your Lord to make you writhe, make you bleed, make you howl and scream. I will spare you this final indignity and your honour. I will give the King his name so you will not also bear the pain of sending him to his death."

She nods, weakly, then sags, her wrists chafed and bleeding from the iron manacles, her body hanging limply on the wooden frame.

 

[Hondoboot2]

View attachment 192962

I hear his footsteps descending the dungeon stairs, and turn my head to see if it is him. It is. How could he have discovered my hidden trove of love letters like that? I thought I had kept them hidden so well. I have never seen such a rage. He called for the palace guard, ordered me out of the royal bed, had me shackled and led down to this dungeon. I pleaded and cried, begged him to reconsider, but nothing moves m’Lord when he is angry.

That heavy-set bearded face breaks into a wide grin as he surveys my predicament, spread-eagled naked in this heavy wooden frame, irons cutting into my tender wrists and ankles, a warm flame searing my inner thighs and spread sex. I strain at my bonds, my stretched position is excruciating. Every muscle aches, and I tremble from exhaustion.

“Is she prepared and ready?” he roars at the executioner and inquisitor, who turns his massive bare chest toward m’Lord and flashes an evil smile from beneath his black hood.

“Nearly ready,” he replies, weighing a wicked-looking long braided whip in his right hand and flicking its tip experimentally against the dark stone wall. “Shall we begin by flogging her, say 40 lashes, and follow up with a hot iron? I don’t imagine she can keep the identity of her lover a secret from your majesty for long.”

My wrathful and vengeful Lord circles around to confront me face to face. His eyes pass over my upturned breasts and erect tumescent nipples, down past my expanded ribcage, to the gentle slope of my stretched belly where it plunges into the small triangle of curly hair on my mound, pausing briefly there to regard my labia spread wide, and then continuing on to the straining heat-reddened flesh of my outstretched quaking thighs.

“Speak now, Lady Barbara!” he commands, “reveal the identity of the slanderous scoundrel who dares to take you as his lover, under my very nose! Or you shall suffer horribly.”

I turn my head and look away. He scowls, turns to that hooded horror of a man behind him, and shouts, “Begin! Make her writhe, make her bleed, make her howl and scream. Do whatever it takes. I must have answers within the hour.”

He turns, circles back around me and delivers a sharp slap to my buttocks. I yelp. He looks at me with utter contempt and stomps up the stairs. I watch him go, and then ……….

Barbaria, 2015

Great background story to the picture Barbaria!

 

[Yupar]

View attachment 192962

I hear his footsteps descending the dungeon stairs, and turn my head to see if it is him. It is. How could he have discovered my hidden trove of love letters like that? I thought I had kept them hidden so well. I have never seen such a rage. He called for the palace guard, ordered me out of the royal bed, had me shackled and led down to this dungeon. I pleaded and cried, begged him to reconsider, but nothing moves m’Lord when he is angry.

That heavy-set bearded face breaks into a wide grin as he surveys my predicament, spread-eagled naked in this heavy wooden frame, irons cutting into my tender wrists and ankles, a warm flame searing my inner thighs and spread sex. I strain at my bonds, my stretched position is excruciating. Every muscle aches, and I tremble from exhaustion.

“Is she prepared and ready?” he roars at the executioner and inquisitor, who turns his massive bare chest toward m’Lord and flashes an evil smile from beneath his black hood.

“Nearly ready,” he replies, weighing a wicked-looking long braided whip in his right hand and flicking its tip experimentally against the dark stone wall. “Shall we begin by flogging her, say 40 lashes, and follow up with a hot iron? I don’t imagine she can keep the identity of her lover a secret from your majesty for long.”

My wrathful and vengeful Lord circles around to confront me face to face. His eyes pass over my upturned breasts and erect tumescent nipples, down past my expanded ribcage, to the gentle slope of my stretched belly where it plunges into the small triangle of curly hair on my mound, pausing briefly there to regard my labia spread wide, and then continuing on to the straining heat-reddened flesh of my outstretched quaking thighs.

“Speak now, Lady Barbara!” he commands, “reveal the identity of the slanderous scoundrel who dares to take you as his lover, under my very nose! Or you shall suffer horribly.”

I turn my head and look away. He scowls, turns to that hooded horror of a man behind him, and shouts, “Begin! Make her writhe, make her bleed, make her howl and scream. Do whatever it takes. I must have answers within the hour.”

He turns, circles back around me and delivers a sharp slap to my buttocks. I yelp. He looks at me with utter contempt and stomps up the stairs. I watch him go, and then ……….

Barbaria, 2015

Very nice Barb !

 

[Yupar]

The executioner stands back and, hidden beneath his hood, his eyes rake her body. He had taken much pleasure in preparing her for the ordeal to come. As the guards held her he had taken a small, sharp dagger and carefully cut away her clothing, layer by layer, slowly exposing her firm young flesh. He had felt her flinch as the cold steel blade finally touched her skin to remove the last of her under clothes, leaving her naked, exposed to the rough gaze of the guards.

He ordered the guards to hang the Lady from her wrists and watched disgustedly as they took the opportunity to paw her, grope her, then told them, abruptly, to leave. They thought to argue, wanting to get off on watching her suffer, but they were aware of his position under the King and knew to obey him.

Once he was alone, he had fixed her ankles to the frame with leather straps, holding her legs spread and her thighs parted. As he crouched between her legs to prepare the small fire, he looked up at the woman, at the small triangle of dark hair that could not conceal her opened labia. He saw her body tense as he took a thick round iron bar and placed it to heat in the fire.
View attachment 193003
The executioner had seen the Lady before. He was also the woodsman on this estate and, while working once with his axe, he seen her gallop her horse through the forest, her dark mane flying behind her. She did not ride side saddle as a lady should but sat astride her horse, leaning forward onto the gelding's neck, her thighs gripping the saddle as she held her sex tight against the leather. He had seen her meet her lover and seen her naked body as the lover pulled her skirts and underthings over her head and pushed her against one of the woodsman's trees. He remembers the hardness that grew under his leather trousers as he watched and he feels his erection grow again.

He has also seen the Lady Barbara watching from a window as he whipped miscreants publicly in the castle courtyard. She watched with interest as he whipped men but he had seen her expression when he had servant girls roped to the whipping post. When it was a woman at the post he would see her hands clasped, prayer-like, beneath her face, her lips part and her tongue move over the lips to moisten them. As he began the whipping, he would also see her hands move down her body, over her breasts and then out of his sight below the window sill. He could not see but he could imagine her hands parting her skirts, moving onto her belly, pleasuring herself.

When his Lord asked was she readied he replied, “nearly ready,” as he weighed his wicked-looking long braided whip in his right hand and flicked its tip experimentally against the dark stone wall. “Shall we begin by flogging her, say 40 lashes, and follow up with a hot iron? I don’t imagine she can keep the identity of her lover a secret from Your Majesty for long.”

He could tell the King of his knowledge of her lover but, as his Lord circled and confronted the woman, he thought on her image at the window sill and held back, even as the King slapped the Lady's arse and left him to his work.

With the King gone the executioner placed his rough calloused hand on Lady Barbara's shoulder and felt her shudder. He ran his hand down her back and over her firm buttocks. His touch wasn't sexual. He was feeling her muscle cover, judging where his whip would deliver best, assessing what would deliver the pain and torture without her succumbing to the point where she could not confess. He cupped her breast and rolled the tumescent nipple between a rough finger and thumb. Did he feel her push her breast forward to his touch? Then the hand moved down across her ribs, her belly and through the triangle of dark hair on her mound, the rough fingers brushing her spread labia and feeling some moisture there. The executioner moved close to the Lady and asked a quiet question. "Will you tell me the name of your lover now, before I begin your torment, before the pain begins?" As she shakes her head he knows he will follow his Lord's order, to make her writhe, make her bleed, make her howl and scream. It was time to begin.

He was still standing in front of the Lady when, without warning, he flicked the handle of the whip back then sent its snake-like body whistling towards her spread-eagled body. The fall wrapped her ribs and left its first viscous stripe across her back. She was silent for a split second then he heard her scream. He knew she would try to be brave and he did not want to give her time to anticipate the lash and to choke off her anguish. Her Lord wanted her to scream and he would deliver that.

He moved behind her and landed four rapid strikes diagonally across her back from her left, each an inch lower than the one before leaving five livid red marks. Each time she did not anticipate the lash and her naked body writhed in her bonds. Then five more from her right to leave her back criss-crossed in stripes the last just a touch harsher, splitting her soft skin and drawing a faint trickle of blood. Try she might to bite down a scream at each lash he is too good in his timing and she fails. She hears her own screams echo from the stone walls of the dungeon and they add to her torment.

Now the executioner applies ten brutal strokes across her buttocks. At each stroke the belly of his whip splits her skin, the fall wraps her hip and the tuft of horse hair woven with the tip cuts into her belly. She bucks, screams, writhes against her bonds. A trail of blood runs down into the dark triangle at her mound. His fingers trace the blood and he asks her again to reveal the name. That is just 20 lashes, only half way, but, despite her pain, the echoing of her screams inside her own mind, she can still shake her head, wanting to stay true to the lover she knows she will never see again.

He targets the front of her body now. He lashes her breasts, the whip tearing the tender flesh and slicing across the nipples. After ten strokes her breasts are torn and bleeding but, as his calloused hand cups one battered breast he feels her body shiver under his touch and her nipple still erect under his fingers. He pinches the cut nipple hard and she howls as the pain takes her but she still shakes her head as he asks for the lover's name.

Thirty done. Ten more to come. Ten more to deliver his promise to her Lord to make her writhe, bleed, howl and scream so now it is time. From behind her the long, sensuous leather snakes towards her buttocks and cracks upwards between her opened thighs. Her body stiffens, strains against the cuffs and chains and then her scream erupts, long, drawn out, an expression of the intense pain his whip delivered. As her body begins to relax the whip strikes her labia again, again, again, again and her screaming becomes a continuous piercing wail of anguish but the writhing is less erratic now and takes on a more sensual dance. He knows she is reacting to the pain, her spread-eagled, stretched body becoming one with the whip that torments her. Through the haze of pain she hears, "five more to come," but as she writhes, erotically, she still shakes her head, her matted, sweat-streaked hair fanning around her head.
View attachment 193004
He delivers the last from in front where her eyes can see the torment coming. At each lash, the horse hair tuft cuts her mound, catches the dark pubic triangle and tears out some of the curly thatch as he wrenches the tip back to him. Like her back, buttocks and breasts her mound is bleeding freely now and a steady stream runs down from the dark triangle and into her already wet sex. As the last four of five tear her mound the Lady's writhing is powerful, intense, sensuous and the executioner senses she is building to a climax within the pain. He lands the last strike directly onto her clitoris and sees her back arch, her belly and mound thrust forwards, upwards, a long, drawn-out howl from deep within her before she slumps, silent, and hangs limply from her wrists.

The executioner gives her just a moment, not wanting to give the Lady Barbara any time to recover, before he asks one final time, "his name?" Through her haze Barbara feels her head shake once more but, as she looks down at her tormentor, her body convulses in sobbing as he bends and takes the glowing iron rod from the fire. "No, no, spare my womanhood, noooooo. Pleaseeee nooooo."

The executioner brings the tip of red hot iron bar up between the Lady Barbara's spread thighs and the tip begins to scald her tender flesh, whisps of smoke from the dark triangle of hair as they touch and burn on the glowing iron. She desperately pushes against her bound ankles in one last attempt to raise her battered sex away from the burning.......

His lips are close to her dark hair and she hears his voice, strong but gentle in her ear, "I have seen you with your lover. I know his name. I have delivered my promise to your Lord to make you writhe, make you bleed, make you howl and scream. I will spare you this final indignity and your honour. I will give the King his name so you will not also bear the pain of sending him to his death."

She nods, weakly, then sags, her wrists chafed and bleeding from the iron manacles, her body hanging limply on the wooden frame.

u too really good!

 

[Primus pilus]

u too really good!

Thanks Yupar but this began with a great image from phlebas and a beautiful scene set by Barb ending in her challenge.......Pp felt his old friend the executioner was sufficiently rehabilitated to make a return and take up Barb's challenge, then sympa set it all off with another expressive image.

 

[Barbaria1]

The executioner stands back and, hidden beneath his hood, his eyes rake her body. He had taken much pleasure in preparing her for the ordeal to come. As the guards held her he had taken a small, sharp dagger and carefully cut away her clothing, layer by layer, slowly exposing her firm young flesh. He had felt her flinch as the cold steel blade finally touched her skin to remove the last of her under clothes, leaving her naked, exposed to the rough gaze of the guards.

He ordered the guards to hang the Lady from her wrists and watched disgustedly as they took the opportunity to paw her, grope her, then told them, abruptly, to leave. They thought to argue, wanting to get off on watching her suffer, but they were aware of his position under the King and knew to obey him.

Once he was alone, he had fixed her ankles to the frame with leather straps, holding her legs spread and her thighs parted. As he crouched between her legs to prepare the small fire, he looked up at the woman, at the small triangle of dark hair that could not conceal her opened labia. He saw her body tense as he took a thick round iron bar and placed it to heat in the fire.
View attachment 193003
The executioner had seen the Lady before. He was also the woodsman on this estate and, while working once with his axe, he seen her gallop her horse through the forest, her dark mane flying behind her. She did not ride side saddle as a lady should but sat astride her horse, leaning forward onto the gelding's neck, her thighs gripping the saddle as she held her sex tight against the leather. He had seen her meet her lover and seen her naked body as the lover pulled her skirts and underthings over her head and pushed her against one of the woodsman's trees. He remembers the hardness that grew under his leather trousers as he watched and he feels his erection grow again.

He has also seen the Lady Barbara watching from a window as he whipped miscreants publicly in the castle courtyard. She watched with interest as he whipped men but he had seen her expression when he had servant girls roped to the whipping post. When it was a woman at the post he would see her hands clasped, prayer-like, beneath her face, her lips part and her tongue move over the lips to moisten them. As he began the whipping, he would also see her hands move down her body, over her breasts and then out of his sight below the window sill. He could not see but he could imagine her hands parting her skirts, moving onto her belly, pleasuring herself.

When his Lord asked was she readied he replied, “nearly ready,” as he weighed his wicked-looking long braided whip in his right hand and flicked its tip experimentally against the dark stone wall. “Shall we begin by flogging her, say 40 lashes, and follow up with a hot iron? I don’t imagine she can keep the identity of her lover a secret from Your Majesty for long.”

He could tell the King of his knowledge of her lover but, as his Lord circled and confronted the woman, he thought on her image at the window sill and held back, even as the King slapped the Lady's arse and left him to his work.

With the King gone the executioner placed his rough calloused hand on Lady Barbara's shoulder and felt her shudder. He ran his hand down her back and over her firm buttocks. His touch wasn't sexual. He was feeling her muscle cover, judging where his whip would deliver best, assessing what would deliver the pain and torture without her succumbing to the point where she could not confess. He cupped her breast and rolled the tumescent nipple between a rough finger and thumb. Did he feel her push her breast forward to his touch? Then the hand moved down across her ribs, her belly and through the triangle of dark hair on her mound, the rough fingers brushing her spread labia and feeling some moisture there. The executioner moved close to the Lady and asked a quiet question. "Will you tell me the name of your lover now, before I begin your torment, before the pain begins?" As she shakes her head he knows he will follow his Lord's order, to make her writhe, make her bleed, make her howl and scream. It was time to begin.

He was still standing in front of the Lady when, without warning, he flicked the handle of the whip back then sent its snake-like body whistling towards her spread-eagled body. The fall wrapped her ribs and left its first viscous stripe across her back. She was silent for a split second then he heard her scream. He knew she would try to be brave and he did not want to give her time to anticipate the lash and to choke off her anguish. Her Lord wanted her to scream and he would deliver that.

He moved behind her and landed four rapid strikes diagonally across her back from her left, each an inch lower than the one before leaving five livid red marks. Each time she did not anticipate the lash and her naked body writhed in her bonds. Then five more from her right to leave her back criss-crossed in stripes the last just a touch harsher, splitting her soft skin and drawing a faint trickle of blood. Try she might to bite down a scream at each lash he is too good in his timing and she fails. She hears her own screams echo from the stone walls of the dungeon and they add to her torment.

Now the executioner applies ten brutal strokes across her buttocks. At each stroke the belly of his whip splits her skin, the fall wraps her hip and the tuft of horse hair woven with the tip cuts into her belly. She bucks, screams, writhes against her bonds. A trail of blood runs down into the dark triangle at her mound. His fingers trace the blood and he asks her again to reveal the name. That is just 20 lashes, only half way, but, despite her pain, the echoing of her screams inside her own mind, she can still shake her head, wanting to stay true to the lover she knows she will never see again.

He targets the front of her body now. He lashes her breasts, the whip tearing the tender flesh and slicing across the nipples. After ten strokes her breasts are torn and bleeding but, as his calloused hand cups one battered breast he feels her body shiver under his touch and her nipple still erect under his fingers. He pinches the cut nipple hard and she howls as the pain takes her but she still shakes her head as he asks for the lover's name.

Thirty done. Ten more to come. Ten more to deliver his promise to her Lord to make her writhe, bleed, howl and scream so now it is time. From behind her the long, sensuous leather snakes towards her buttocks and cracks upwards between her opened thighs. Her body stiffens, strains against the cuffs and chains and then her scream erupts, long, drawn out, an expression of the intense pain his whip delivered. As her body begins to relax the whip strikes her labia again, again, again, again and her screaming becomes a continuous piercing wail of anguish but the writhing is less erratic now and takes on a more sensual dance. He knows she is reacting to the pain, her spread-eagled, stretched body becoming one with the whip that torments her. Through the haze of pain she hears, "five more to come," but as she writhes, erotically, she still shakes her head, her matted, sweat-streaked hair fanning around her head.
View attachment 193004
He delivers the last from in front where her eyes can see the torment coming. At each lash, the horse hair tuft cuts her mound, catches the dark pubic triangle and tears out some of the curly thatch as he wrenches the tip back to him. Like her back, buttocks and breasts her mound is bleeding freely now and a steady stream runs down from the dark triangle and into her already wet sex. As the last four of five tear her mound the Lady's writhing is powerful, intense, sensuous and the executioner senses she is building to a climax within the pain. He lands the last strike directly onto her clitoris and sees her back arch, her belly and mound thrust forwards, upwards, a long, drawn-out howl from deep within her before she slumps, silent, and hangs limply from her wrists.

The executioner gives her just a moment, not wanting to give the Lady Barbara any time to recover, before he asks one final time, "his name?" Through her haze Barbara feels her head shake once more but, as she looks down at her tormentor, her body convulses in sobbing as he bends and takes the glowing iron rod from the fire. "No, no, spare my womanhood, noooooo. Pleaseeee nooooo."

The executioner brings the tip of red hot iron bar up between the Lady Barbara's spread thighs and the tip begins to scald her tender flesh, whisps of smoke from the dark triangle of hair as they touch and burn on the glowing iron. She desperately pushes against her bound ankles in one last attempt to raise her battered sex away from the burning.......

His lips are close to her dark hair and she hears his voice, strong but gentle in her ear, "I have seen you with your lover. I know his name. I have delivered my promise to your Lord to make you writhe, make you bleed, make you howl and scream. I will spare you this final indignity and your honour. I will give the King his name so you will not also bear the pain of sending him to his death."

She nods, weakly, then sags, her wrists chafed and bleeding from the iron manacles, her body hanging limply on the wooden frame.

Holy Shit!!! Gasp!!!!

 

[Crux-Emperor Baracus X]

By any name...
Jane Von Detlefson
aka
Amy Hesketh

Is absolutely lovely!

View attachment 192992​

Ego Stipes Ergo Sum

I hate to brag (!!) ; - ) but I'm also friends with her on Facebook. But discreetly.

 

[sympazero2]

Lucky you! AH is nothing short of magnificent!




​

Ego Stipes Ergo Sum

 

[petraherz]

By any name...
Jane Von Detlefson
aka
Amy Hesketh

Is absolutely lovely!

View attachment 192992​

Ego Stipes Ergo Sum

Do you know, what´s the hole on her left side under her breast? Seems curios.

 

[sympazero2]

Do you know, what´s the hole on her left side under her breast? Seems curi3os.

Just a trick of light and shadow on the stomach muscles, I think.
The lady has a six-pack. Here's another angle:

​

Ego Stipes Ergo Sum

 

[Wragg]

I thought to myself 'wonder what Phlebas has been up to? Must check his thread.'

Phlebas has been inspirational!

Inspiring both Barb and Pp to brilliance!

And stupid Wragg missed all the fun!

 

[sympazero2]

Studies in Cruciform 2.602

These are a Few of My Favourite Things Crux:

Started assembling some unorthodox Crux Posts over on the usual SIC thread,
but for some reason they wandered over here to ph's home turf.

I suspect they may feel more comfortable here among their friends.
Who am I to argue?

(Besides, when the British Gvmt. decides to
make these images illegal -
as they're threatening to -
they'll come and arrest phlebas.
So, don't tell him, let it be our secret, ok?)






(GIF)

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Ego Stipes Ergo Sum

​

 

[phlebas]

I thought to myself 'wonder what Phlebas has been up to? Must check his thread.'

Phlebas has been inspirational!

Thank you kind sir, I try

Studies in Cruciform 2.602

These are a Few of My Favourite Things Crux:

(Besides, when the British Gvmt. decides to
make these images illegal -
as they're threatening to -
they'll come and arrest phlebas.
So, don't tell him, let it be our secret, ok?)​

​

Welcome Sympa A couple of these are new to me, some are old friends

Here's a few back at you, including a classic Yusebby

ps they are surely not talking about illegality again? Bloody hell. Breaking a butterfly on a wheel.
Crucify the innocent.

Anyway, I left the country years ago, despite what my yahoo address suggests
Seriously though, I know there are some members concerned about this.

 

[sympazero2]

Studies in Cruciform 2.603
These are Some More of My Favourite Things Crux:

(Why am I here? see 2.602 above)





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Ego Stipes Ergo Sum

 

[Hondoboot2]

Studies in Cruciform 2.603
These are Some More of My Favourite Things Crux:

(Why am I here? see 2.602 above)


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View attachment 193451​

Ego Stipes Ergo Sum

Nice set sympazero2!
I used to use this image for my avatar.

 

[xso]

A hot Jesus chic!

 

[tanatos]

but good that Aunt

 

[jhmas]

some for today

#7 is how I would love to see my wife

 

[tanatos]

I have to admit that the model is very cute and sexy, the crown of thorns favors