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Kristin's Crucifixion: Beginnings

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nicole

Governor
We are sitting in my mother’s study. It is on the second floor of the house I lived in my entire childhood until I went away to college.

At 42 my mother is still a beautiful woman but, today, there is something different about her, something numinous.

She reaches down the left side of her partner desk, opens a draw and pulls something out. She places it on the desktop. It is a silver box about a foot long and three inches wide. She opens it with a silver key. Inside, resting on velvet are three long stainless steel nails.

“These are your nails my love,” she says. “The two shorter ones are for your wrists and the longer one for your feet.”

I stare at them, transfixed. “It is happening,” I think.

My mother smiles. “Not so fast my love”.

She closes the box, locks it, and gives it to me. I reach out to take the key but she stops me.

“Keep the box safe. Have it ready at all times.

“When your time comes a messenger will appear and take you away to be crucified. She will have the key to your box. If you do not have it ready she will leave. You will have only one chance.

“But know this. By giving your messenger this box you are committing yourself to hang from these nails until you are dead. There will be no going back. Hand over your box and you cross the event horizon. Willingly or unwillingly you will be taken to your cross, nailed to your cross and hang until you die.”

This is typical of my mother. It sounds brutal when you read it. But somehow her love shines through.

I look at my mother. There is something different about her. Whenever I am in her presence I feel as if there is a light shining from her. But today the light looks, brighter. She is glowing.

And then it hits me. I jump up.

My mother looks at me and smiles.

“So the penny has finally dropped my darling, lovely Kristin?”

“You’re going to be crucified,” I shout. “You also have a messenger. Your messenger has come.”

“My messenger has phoned,” she says. “I am going to meet her this afternoon and give her my box.”

She pulls an identical box from her desk.

“I want to come with,” I say. “I want to hang along side you.”

“No my lovely wonderful Kristin. Your time has not yet come. This is the last time you will see me.”

She hugs me. She kisses me. She hands me a fat envelope. She picks up her box and walks out of the room. I hear her walk down the stairs. I hear the front door open and close. I see her walking along the quiet street in which we lived. She never looks back. And then she turns a corner and is gone.

It never occurs to me to try and stop her. She must lie naked on her cross with the barbed wire around her head, waiting for that first hammer blow on that first nail to discover whether she is destined experience the joy, or bitterness, of crucifixion. There is no way to know in advance.

Her time has come and, one day, so will mine.
it's scary but at the same time a strange feeling of excitement that makes me wet. mmmmm
 

piraland

Tribune
We are sitting in my mother’s study. It is on the second floor of the house I lived in my entire childhood until I went away to college.

At 42 my mother is still a beautiful woman but, today, there is something different about her, something numinous.

She reaches down the left side of her partner desk, opens a draw and pulls something out. She places it on the desktop. It is a silver box about a foot long and three inches wide. She opens it with a silver key. Inside, resting on velvet are three long stainless steel nails.

“These are your nails my love,” she says. “The two shorter ones are for your wrists and the longer one for your feet.”

I stare at them, transfixed. “It is happening,” I think.

My mother smiles. “Not so fast my love”.

She closes the box, locks it, and gives it to me. I reach out to take the key but she stops me.

“Keep the box safe. Have it ready at all times.

“When your time comes a messenger will appear and take you away to be crucified. She will have the key to your box. If you do not have it ready she will leave. You will have only one chance.

“But know this. By giving your messenger this box you are committing yourself to hang from these nails until you are dead. There will be no going back. Hand over your box and you cross the event horizon. Willingly or unwillingly you will be taken to your cross, nailed to your cross and hang until you die.”

This is typical of my mother. It sounds brutal when you read it. But somehow her love shines through.

I look at my mother. There is something different about her. Whenever I am in her presence I feel as if there is a light shining from her. But today the light looks, brighter. She is glowing.

And then it hits me. I jump up.

My mother looks at me and smiles.

“So the penny has finally dropped my darling, lovely Kristin?”

“You’re going to be crucified,” I shout. “You also have a messenger. Your messenger has come.”

“My messenger has phoned,” she says. “I am going to meet her this afternoon and give her my box.”

She pulls an identical box from her desk.

“I want to come with,” I say. “I want to hang along side you.”

“No my lovely wonderful Kristin. Your time has not yet come. This is the last time you will see me.”

She hugs me. She kisses me. She hands me a fat envelope. She picks up her box and walks out of the room. I hear her walk down the stairs. I hear the front door open and close. I see her walking along the quiet street in which we lived. She never looks back. And then she turns a corner and is gone.

It never occurs to me to try and stop her. She must lie naked on her cross with the barbed wire around her head, waiting for that first hammer blow on that first nail to discover whether she is destined experience the joy, or bitterness, of crucifixion. There is no way to know in advance.

Her time has come and, one day, so will mine.
I really regret that, since they are both going to be crucified anyway, it is not together!
 

sebastian

Magistrate
Be creepy waiting for the tap on the shoulder from the Messenger to say your time is up but the story is very personal and the interchange between mother and daughter is brilliant.
 

Wragg

Chronicler of Crux
Staff member
We are sitting in my mother’s study. It is on the second floor of the house I lived in my entire childhood until I went away to college.

At 42 my mother is still a beautiful woman but, today, there is something different about her, something numinous.

She reaches down the left side of her partner desk, opens a draw and pulls something out. She places it on the desktop. It is a silver box about a foot long and three inches wide. She opens it with a silver key. Inside, resting on velvet are three long stainless steel nails.

“These are your nails my love,” she says. “The two shorter ones are for your wrists and the longer one for your feet.”

I stare at them, transfixed. “It is happening,” I think.

My mother smiles. “Not so fast my love”.

She closes the box, locks it, and gives it to me. I reach out to take the key but she stops me.

“Keep the box safe. Have it ready at all times.

“When your time comes a messenger will appear and take you away to be crucified. She will have the key to your box. If you do not have it ready she will leave. You will have only one chance.

“But know this. By giving your messenger this box you are committing yourself to hang from these nails until you are dead. There will be no going back. Hand over your box and you cross the event horizon. Willingly or unwillingly you will be taken to your cross, nailed to your cross and hang until you die.”

This is typical of my mother. It sounds brutal when you read it. But somehow her love shines through.

I look at my mother. There is something different about her. Whenever I am in her presence I feel as if there is a light shining from her. But today the light looks, brighter. She is glowing.

And then it hits me. I jump up.

My mother looks at me and smiles.

“So the penny has finally dropped my darling, lovely Kristin?”

“You’re going to be crucified,” I shout. “You also have a messenger. Your messenger has come.”

“My messenger has phoned,” she says. “I am going to meet her this afternoon and give her my box.”

She pulls an identical box from her desk.

“I want to come with,” I say. “I want to hang along side you.”

“No my lovely wonderful Kristin. Your time has not yet come. This is the last time you will see me.”

She hugs me. She kisses me. She hands me a fat envelope. She picks up her box and walks out of the room. I hear her walk down the stairs. I hear the front door open and close. I see her walking along the quiet street in which we lived. She never looks back. And then she turns a corner and is gone.

It never occurs to me to try and stop her. She must lie naked on her cross with the barbed wire around her head, waiting for that first hammer blow on that first nail to discover whether she is destined experience the joy, or bitterness, of crucifixion. There is no way to know in advance.

Her time has come and, one day, so will mine.
This is one amazing story, Kristin!

:popcorn:
 
The envelope my mother gave me before walking out of my life contained a document, not a will so no need to produce a death certificate, passing all her assets over to me including her house. It turns out, was surprisingly wealthy. Not super rich but wealthy nonetheless. Her estate is worth $34 million dollars.

So all of a sudden I am independently wealthy. What difference does it make to my lifestyle?

Not one iota. I would give it all away for one more hour with my mother. I sell the house, I am not sentimental, and go back to my apartment near the university.
 
Seven years have passed. I keep my silver box in a safe in my apartment. How long will I have to wait until my messenger comes? My mother was 42. I am now 29. I doubt I shall have to wait another 13 years. My mother had me to raise but I have no children.

So far I have not won a Fields Medal but last year I did win the Abel prize named after the Norwegian mathematician, Neils Henrik Abel. I flew to Norway to receive it from the king. It was for my work on non-linear representation theory, a topic I invented and which many more traditional mathematicians regard as a contradiction in terms. I was surprised because the work is, to put it mildly, controversial. I heard rumours that the princess, not a professional mathematician but passionately interested in mathematics, lobbied her father to override his advisers and give me the prize.

OK bit of a mathematical in joke. I used a derivative of non-Abelian gauge theory to define non-linear representations so, naturally, I just had to get a prize named after Abel. Either you get it or you don’t.

The university made a big thing of it and raised quite a bit from some alumni who are interested in maths. Turns out that one of the wealthiest alumni has an Erdős number of three. Who’d a thunk it?

I also start a course on the history of mathematics.

Fun fact.

Who was the luckiest man in history?

Answer: Christopher Columbus.

And here’s why.

In 205 BC, about 1,700 years before Columbus set out for India, a Greek mathematician called Eratosthenes calculated the circumference of the earth.

Yes, you read that right. Columbus did not set sail for America because he did not know America existed. He thought he was going to reach India.

He also knew perfectly well that the Earth was not flat.

If you want to know how Eratosthenes did it watch this video.


It was reading about Eratosthenes that ignited my passion for mathematics. According to the book I was reading he was the Chief Librarian at the Great Library in Alexandria in Egypt. I have been in awe of librarians ever since.

Eratosthenes’ estimate was quite close to what we now know to be the correct number, about 25,000 miles.

Enter Paolo dal Pozzo Toscanelli, an Italian mathematician and astrologer who came up with the idea of reaching Asia by sailing westwards from Europe. Toscanelli died in 1482 but his ideas and calculations inspired Christopher Columbus.

Now here’s the thing. Between them Toscanelli and Columbus greatly underestimated the distance you would have to travel to reach Asia from Europe. Columbus, for example, thought the Earth’s circumference was only about 18,000 miles.

Remember, this was the era of sail boats. There is a limit to the supplies of food and water you can pack onto a ship. Based on his own and Toscanelli’s calculations, Columbus figured his three vessels, the Nina, the Pinta and the Santa Maria, had enough food and water to reach Asia.

They didn’t. Had he not stumbled upon America, Columbus and his crew would have perished. They would have died of starvation or dehydration or, most likely, madness.

It was sheer luck, the luck of finding a continent neither he nor Tosacanelli knew existed, that saved the life of Columbus and his crew.

I think that makes Christopher Columbus the luckiest man in history.

Anyway, it is the story of Eratosthenes, Toscanelli and Columbus that forms the topic of my first lecture in my history of mathematics course. Mid way through the lecture I am interrupted by a group of feminists who enter the room chanting, “Gender traitor! Gender traitor! Gender traitor.”

To cut a long story short, they object that there are so few women mathematicians in the course outline I published.

I agree that women through the ages have had a raw deal. Had the world been a more just place there would have been more female mathematicians.

But it is what it is and most of the world’s great mathematicians were men. Most of the great ones still are. And many of those I have encountered are really great fucks once I have trained them properly. At 29 I am as sex obsessed as ever.

I try to explain this to the assembled feminists, not the bit about fucking, just the fact that most great mathematicians were men. They keep shouting me down.

One of them accuses me of having received an affirmative-action Abel Prize. According to her my work was not worthy of the prize and I only got it because I was a woman.

I tell her I hoped that was not the case but if she had any evidence to that effect I would immediately return the prize and the money that went with it.

Instead of responding they start chanting, “More women! More women! More women!”.

At this point I lose it and yell, “I care as much about the gender of any mathematician as I care about the gender of the person I’m fucking. All I want is great mathematics and great fucks.”

Well, not all. I also want my messenger to appear. But I do not mention that.

OK, not my finest moment but it shuts them up.

In my defence I should add that by now I am feeling distracted. It is 5 pm and I want to get home and prepare for my spit roast with Dieter and Heinrich.

It turns out that they knew my mother though I do not know that at 5 pm. I am anticipating a spit roast and my pussy is getting wet. I hope they are as good as they smell.
 
Sorry folks. At the moment my life is

{work, sleep} repeat n times

where n is an integer >> 0.

Seems even undistinguished maths professors have a role to play in this pandemic.

I have a (very minor) role in a global collaboration to analyse and model the spread of COVID-19.

So stay safe and see you later.
 

carloscruz

Governor
Sorry folks. At the moment my life is

{work, sleep} repeat n times

where n is an integer >> 0.

Seems even undistinguished maths professors have a role to play in this pandemic.

I have a (very minor) role in a global collaboration to analyse and model the spread of COVID-19.

So stay safe and see you later.
Take care of yourself. We will be waiting for you Kristin. :bdsm-heart:
 

Marcella

Spectator
PERSEPHONE'S MUSING

She's experiencing fear and ecstasy. She wants to leave, return to her safe life. But she thinks this is her destiny.

So far she's perfect. I was going to start gently but I think that's the wrong approach. Let's really test her.


I CROSS THE EVENT HORIZON

Persephone opens the door. We walk down concrete steps into a basement. A fluorescent light comes on.

The walls of the basement are red brick, roughly made. Against the far wall is a rough wooden cross. On each arm I see leather straps and a buckle. The floor is concrete. There's a covered drain in the middle.

To my left, also against the wall, are shelves containing various "instruments". They include floggers, whips and some metal implements. I know I shall discover their use.

Instinctively I know what to do. First I remove my shoes and hand them to Persephone. Then my stockings. Then my jeans. I continue until I am standing naked in front of her. I am about to remove my crucifix but Persephone shakes her head.

"Keep it on," she says.

I walk over to the cross and stand facing it with my arms outstretched. Kristin walks over and fastens my arms to the cross using the leather straps. Then I feel my feet being tied together at the ankles. My pussy is dripping and I can smell my juice.

"Are you ready?" Persephone says.

"Yes".

"Do you want to know what's going to happen to you?"

"It's up to you, if you want to tell me."

"That's the right answer."

A Pause.

"Are you afraid?"

"Yes."

"You can still back out. Would you like to get dressed and go home?"

"Yes. I would. But I can't".

"Why not? Why can't you go home?"

"Because this is my destiny. I'm over the event horizon."

"Are you afraid you're going to die tonight?"

"I don't think you're going to kill me tonight."

"Why not?"

"Because you can't make me suffer enough in one night."

"I can make you suffer a lot."

"Yes."

"But you're right. It'll take more than one night to complete your suffering. Tonight is just a warmup."

PERSEPHONE'S MUSING

She's afraid but her pulse is steady. Her pussy is dripping and she smells divine. I'm going to have to do work harder on her than I thought. If I'm wrong about her better to learn about it sooner rather than later and put her out of her misery.

But I don't think I'm wrong.I think she'll go all the way with Rosamund.
Just discovered this wonderful story. Wow! Arousing? Oh yes! Yes!
 

cruxlover

Tribune
Seven years have passed. I keep my silver box in a safe in my apartment. How long will I have to wait until my messenger comes? My mother was 42. I am now 29. I doubt I shall have to wait another 13 years. My mother had me to raise but I have no children.

So far I have not won a Fields Medal but last year I did win the Abel prize named after the Norwegian mathematician, Neils Henrik Abel. I flew to Norway to receive it from the king. It was for my work on non-linear representation theory, a topic I invented and which many more traditional mathematicians regard as a contradiction in terms. I was surprised because the work is, to put it mildly, controversial. I heard rumours that the princess, not a professional mathematician but passionately interested in mathematics, lobbied her father to override his advisers and give me the prize.

OK bit of a mathematical in joke. I used a derivative of non-Abelian gauge theory to define non-linear representations so, naturally, I just had to get a prize named after Abel. Either you get it or you don’t.

The university made a big thing of it and raised quite a bit from some alumni who are interested in maths. Turns out that one of the wealthiest alumni has an Erdős number of three. Who’d a thunk it?

I also start a course on the history of mathematics.

Fun fact.

Who was the luckiest man in history?

Answer: Christopher Columbus.

And here’s why.

In 205 BC, about 1,700 years before Columbus set out for India, a Greek mathematician called Eratosthenes calculated the circumference of the earth.

Yes, you read that right. Columbus did not set sail for America because he did not know America existed. He thought he was going to reach India.

He also knew perfectly well that the Earth was not flat.

If you want to know how Eratosthenes did it watch this video.


It was reading about Eratosthenes that ignited my passion for mathematics. According to the book I was reading he was the Chief Librarian at the Great Library in Alexandria in Egypt. I have been in awe of librarians ever since.

Eratosthenes’ estimate was quite close to what we now know to be the correct number, about 25,000 miles.

Enter Paolo dal Pozzo Toscanelli, an Italian mathematician and astrologer who came up with the idea of reaching Asia by sailing westwards from Europe. Toscanelli died in 1482 but his ideas and calculations inspired Christopher Columbus.

Now here’s the thing. Between them Toscanelli and Columbus greatly underestimated the distance you would have to travel to reach Asia from Europe. Columbus, for example, thought the Earth’s circumference was only about 18,000 miles.

Remember, this was the era of sail boats. There is a limit to the supplies of food and water you can pack onto a ship. Based on his own and Toscanelli’s calculations, Columbus figured his three vessels, the Nina, the Pinta and the Santa Maria, had enough food and water to reach Asia.

They didn’t. Had he not stumbled upon America, Columbus and his crew would have perished. They would have died of starvation or dehydration or, most likely, madness.

It was sheer luck, the luck of finding a continent neither he nor Tosacanelli knew existed, that saved the life of Columbus and his crew.

I think that makes Christopher Columbus the luckiest man in history.

Anyway, it is the story of Eratosthenes, Toscanelli and Columbus that forms the topic of my first lecture in my history of mathematics course. Mid way through the lecture I am interrupted by a group of feminists who enter the room chanting, “Gender traitor! Gender traitor! Gender traitor.”

To cut a long story short, they object that there are so few women mathematicians in the course outline I published.

I agree that women through the ages have had a raw deal. Had the world been a more just place there would have been more female mathematicians.

But it is what it is and most of the world’s great mathematicians were men. Most of the great ones still are. And many of those I have encountered are really great fucks once I have trained them properly. At 29 I am as sex obsessed as ever.

I try to explain this to the assembled feminists, not the bit about fucking, just the fact that most great mathematicians were men. They keep shouting me down.

One of them accuses me of having received an affirmative-action Abel Prize. According to her my work was not worthy of the prize and I only got it because I was a woman.

I tell her I hoped that was not the case but if she had any evidence to that effect I would immediately return the prize and the money that went with it.

Instead of responding they start chanting, “More women! More women! More women!”.

At this point I lose it and yell, “I care as much about the gender of any mathematician as I care about the gender of the person I’m fucking. All I want is great mathematics and great fucks.”

Well, not all. I also want my messenger to appear. But I do not mention that.

OK, not my finest moment but it shuts them up.

In my defence I should add that by now I am feeling distracted. It is 5 pm and I want to get home and prepare for my spit roast with Dieter and Heinrich.

It turns out that they knew my mother though I do not know that at 5 pm. I am anticipating a spit roast and my pussy is getting wet. I hope they are as good as they smell.
"1000 Leagues to West of the Azores" - in reality about 3 times that. ( 1 League = 3 sea miles.)
 

xso

Tribune
Sorry folks. At the moment my life is

{work, sleep} repeat n times

where n is an integer >> 0.

Seems even undistinguished maths professors have a role to play in this pandemic.

I have a (very minor) role in a global collaboration to analyse and model the spread of COVID-19.

So stay safe and see you later.
Thanks for the info Kristin, and keep up your fantastic crux story! If you don't succed with your covid 19 work, we will Crucify you! :)
 

Nightman

Executioner
Sorry folks. At the moment my life is

{work, sleep} repeat n times

where n is an integer >> 0.

Seems even undistinguished maths professors have a role to play in this pandemic.

I have a (very minor) role in a global collaboration to analyse and model the spread of COVID-19.

So stay safe and see you later.
I really hope n does not tend towards infinity. Good luck with the modelling and stay healthy.
 
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