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The Pilgrim Girl - The Story of a Submission in 43 chapters

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Sassi said:
The Pilgrim Girl - The Story of a Submission - 7

Christa hung silently on the cross. She felt the tension in her arms. She enjoyed the feeling of being forcibly stretched. That made this bondage so beautiful. Christa had always dreamed of bondage and her favorite fantasy was just this: she was tied to a cross. She liked this idea more than any other.

Between her thighs it tingled. She looked at me, she thought. What does it look like? Sister Zitas eyes ate me up. She could not get enough of me. She liked to look at a girl who is tied naked to a cross.

She lolled at the cross. In the meantime, it was not so easy to endure the crucifixion. Sister Zita had announced it. It would gradually be harder to bear it.
Does she let herself crucify? Certainly! How else should she know what it feels like? From mere watching? Certainly not! She goes to the cross herself. Because she loves it. Just like me.

Christa was a bit ashamed. She should repent on this cross for the sins of humanity. Instead, she felt sexual arousing. It was an incredibly erotic experience to be strapped to the cross in this chapel. She was excited like never before.
Is that a sin? My own sin? And can not I atone for my own sins?

Could the pain that so unspeakably aroused her be at all penance? Didn´t it feel like a reward? I can not help it, Christa tought. It is like that. I've always dreamed of being tied up, preferably naked on a cross. Now I experience it and it totally excites me. I can not help it.

She writhed at the cross. Her body moved against her will in an attempt to escape the oncoming pain. It was useless. No matter how she moved, whether she turned left or right, it always hurt. Although she tried to escape the pain, Christa welcomed it. Oh sweet pain!

She was sweating more heavily now. A film of sweat covered her naked body. She looked down at herself and saw her skin shine.
It hurts, she thought. Just like sister Zita said. It's getting harder and harder to endure. Yes. Oh, sweet pain!

Christa wondered if the nun was on the cross as well as she was right now. Did sister Zita dance naked at the wood of the cross? Did she moan? Was she panting with effort? Or did she hang quietly and surrender on the cross and endure it without making a sound?

She let herself crucify. I'm sure! She loves it. Just like me! She loves the cross. She loves to be naked and helpless strapped to the cross. She loves not to get away on her own. She loves to be completely at somebodys mercy. She loves the oncoming pain, the pain, the agony. Torment? Yes, torment. When crucified for a long time, simple pain becomes real torment.

How long did sister Zita stay on the cross? Certainly longer than a single hour. Certainly longer! Two or three hours? No, rather more. Determined four to six hours. The idea of being crucified for six hours increased Christa's excitement even more.

Six hours would really be painful. Christa was already suffering and she was crucified for maybe three quarters of an hour. Groaning, she writhed on the cross. When would sister Zita come? By now a quarter of an hour had passed. She was sure it was like this.

Christa sank into the handcuffs. She breathed intermittently. She gasped. Oh, it was so hard to endure! She felt a faint whimper rising in her throat. No! She was not allowed to moan loudly! She did not want that. She did not want Sister Zita to hear her whimpering.

Muted sounds came from the right. Christa turned her head. There was a door in the back wall of the chapel. She had not noticed that before. She had only eyes for the big wooden cross when the nun had led her into the chapel.
Behind the door she heard someone handling. Was that sister Zita? Or maybe someone else?

Christa was startled. Her body stiffened. Someone else? Another nun? What if this nun came to the chapel? If she found Christa?
If she sees me ?! I am naked! I am tied naked to a cross! Christa had to swallow.

Then she relaxed, at least as far as the bondage allowed.
Then she will see me! I can not help it! I am tied up. I'm helpless. I can not do anything. Nothing at all!

Christa reared up. She fought against the bondage. She started writhing on the cross again. It hurt. It hurt the whole body, mostly the arms and shoulders, but also her legs ached from the effort to keep pushing her up. The pain began to fill Christa up completely. It was good. It was nice. Nice painful. Painfully beautiful. Christa wanted to suffer, at least as much as she could endure, and maybe a little more. She loved the compulsion that the cross imposed on her. She loved being ruled by the cross. She loved being helpless delivered to the pain. She was stretched tight. She was tied up. She suffered. And that was nice somehow.

Christa groaned loudly. When sister Zita would come? She stayed longer away than a quarter of an hour. Christa was sure the nun had been away for more than fifteen minutes. Why? Couldn´t she come to the chapel? Did something happen? Did her abbess ask her to do some work? Or - wild terror in Christas heart - had she asked sister Zita to accompany her somewhere? For shopping for example? Would the sister be gone for several hours?

Then I have to endure, Christa thought. The thought filled her with terror and excitement at the same time. Several hours! Many hours! Maybe until evening? Oh, what an idea! Crucified until evening! She would squirm for hours on the cross and wish, - please!, please! - be released. Oh yes, then she would repent. And how! Sweet horror. Exciting horror. Christa squirmed.

The door on the right opened. Sister Zita came to the chapel. On bare feet she floated to Christa. She looked up at her.
"I see you are repenting, my dear. It's good. Atone! Atone with humility and dedication! You are fine, I can see that."
The nun smiled at her. "You look very sweet in your pain, Christa. I can see how hard it is for you. But you bravely endure it. You submit to torture in humility and devotion."

"How do you feel?", the nun wanted to know.
"Good," Christa said. "I'm fine."
Sister Zita smiled. "That's fine, my dear child. Very good.. You have it inside yourself. You are made to repent on the cross. Will you leave tomorrow?"

Christa shook her head: "No. I have four weeks vacation."
She saw sister Zita's eyes light up. "Four weeks? Ah? Very nice. You know, Christa, you could repeat that. The atonement on the cross, I mean. You can atone on the cross as often as you like. The cross waits patiently. The cross is always there for you, Christa."

Christa got heart palpitations. Always! Every day! As often as she wanted! Oh, what an idea! The tingling in her lap started again, wilder than before.
I can go to the cross as often as I want, Christa thought. Whenever I want! Sister Zita fetched the small wooden step-ladder and placed it in front of the cross. She went up the three steps and stood in front of Christa. The nun looked deep into her eyes. "You can repent on the cross whenever you want, Christa."
Click to expand...

The desire of Christa really came out really well in this last part with her thinking of wanting to being crucified for hours and hours. Also the description of her sweating was well done. I loved the whole story and looked forward to more
 
The Pilgrim Girl - The Story of a Submission - 8

"You look beautiful, Christa," said the nun. "You look cute how you make an effort to endure it. You are brave, my love." Zita's eyes took on a shine. "You are so beautiful in your pain!"
Sister Zita's hand came to rest on Christ's right knee. Slowly, that hand stroked upward in the direction of Christa's lap.

The tingle between her legs became a violent pulsation. Christa hung still on the cross.
I can not do anything, she thought. I am tied up. I am completely defenseless. She can do whatever she wants with me. I can not help it! If she touches me ...

Christa wanted it. She felt the sister's hand go up the inside of her thigh. Her arousal increased from second to second. She wanted it. She was ready for it. Should sister Zita touch her!
She loves to look at crucified girls! She is so minded! Surely she is! Touch me, sister Zita! Just do it! I'm ready! You can do that! I can not fight back anyway! I'm helpless!

The hand down there came closer and closer to her most vulnerable point. Christa had to suppress a groan with all her might, as the fingers of sister Zita drove over her cunt and slid over her clitoris piercing. Her lap was on fire. She wanted to reach out to the caressing hand.
Yes! Yes! Christa thought. Touch me, sister Zita! You're welcome! I am helpless at your mercy. You can proceed with me at will! Do what you want! I belong to you!

The hand continued to rise. She gently stroked Christa's stomach, her ribs and her breasts. Then sister Zita stroked Christa's cheek.
"So brave, my child," she said softly. "You are so sweet in your penitence and your devotion to the pain. You look like a princess!"

Sister Zita kissed Christa gently on the mouth. When she leaned back a little, her eyes lit up. "So cute, Christa! You are a beautiful penitent. Say, will you come back? To repent?"
"Yes," Christa said simply. More she did not produce.
Touch me! she screamed in thought. Touch me! Please, sister Zita! Do it! Grasp me between the legs! You're welcome! I am at your mercy! You can do whatever you want with me! Please do it!

"It's hard to bear," said the nun. "But you endure it with humility and devotion, Christa. I can see your submissiveness. You can also atone longer if you want. You can arrange a longer time on the cross and then you have to endure it, whether you like it or not. Then there is no way back for you."

She stroked Christa's cheek again. "You will be in pain, my child. Big pain. It will eventually become unbearable; really unbearable. But you will endure it. The cross will force you to endure it. No matter how much you ask to be released, you will not be saved. You have to stay on the cross all the time that has been arranged."

Again she kissed Christa's mouth. "You will squirm. You will suffer. You will implore me to let you down. Maybe you will cry. Who knows, maybe even scream. The torment can really become unbearable, believe me. I know what I'm talking about. But you will endure it and you will be proud of having endured it afterwards."

Yes! Christa thought. I will! With the greatest pleasure! But please touch me now! Please do it! I know what you feel! You love women! You are so minded! That's why you always look so special on me! Please touch me! Please reach between my legs and ...
But she did not dare to speak it out loud. She was suffering mute. That too was part of suffering on the cross, she realized. This absolute helplessness.

Sister Zita got off the small step ladder. "I'll go next door and see how far it is," she announced. She disappeared through the door on the right side of the chapel.

Christa could have screamed in frustration. At the same time she was ashamed to death. How she had acted! Did the sister notice? Did Sister Zita realize that Christa almost died of arousal? That she would have wanted to implore loudly to be touched by the nun in her most intimate place? Christa was ashamed.

No! Dear Lord, no! I hope she did not notice!
Oh, how ashamed she was! But at the same time Christa wished with every fiber of her body, the nun may come back and grab between her legs.
She squirmed at the cross. Now she was not just doing it because she wanted to avoid the pain. Christa squirmed with lust.

Oh please touch me, sister Zita! You can proceed with me at will! You can be gentle or roughly accessible. As you like! I am at your disposal.
Christa was so excited that she got wet. She started to drip. Shock ran through her.
If she sees that! If sister Zita sees that!
At the same time, part of her wanted the nun to see it and touch her down there, where it pulsed and tingled.

Christa squirmed. It was an ordeal to be tied up and not be able to touch herself down there. She groaned loudly. She reared up. She pulled and tugged at the leather shackles that held her on the cross. Her moans got louder. Christa turned and squirmed. She fought against the bondage that was fixing her on the cross. She enjoyed being tied up but at that moment she would have given anything to touch herself. It would be even nicer if sister Zita masturbated her.

Do it, sister! Do it! I give myself to you! I can not fight back anyway!
The mere thought of having to accept helplessly that she was touched and sexually stimulated by this really strange woman, put Christa in blazing arousal. She squirmed even more. She groaned loudly.

Suddenly she realized that sister Zita was standing in front of her. Christa was startled. How long had the nun been down there watching her?

She saw me twisting on the cross, how I curl up like a worm on a fishing hook! She heard my moan! Does she see that I'm wet? Oh, heaven!
Christa felt herself turn bright red with shame. She blushed. She tried to hang still and not to moan.

The nurse brought the little step ladder and climbed up to Christa.
"Dear little Christa," she spoke softly. "How much you fight! How brave you are! You are a true penitent."
No, I'm aroused like never before in my life! Christa thought. I'm upset with excitement! Please touch me, sister Zita! You're welcome!

Sister Zita stroked Christas cheek: "You are very sweaty, my love. It was exhausting, right? But you have endured it. You did not complain. You have valiantly accepted it with humility and devotion." She kissed Christa on the lips. "Sweet Cross Princess, you are!"

Yes, that's me, Christa thought. And I want to experience that more often. Oh yeah!
Sister Zita's hand wandered down. She stroked Christas breasts. Instantly, her little nipples straightened up. They became hard like little pebbles. Christa suppressed a loud groan. The sister's hand wandered deeper. Christa kept quiet.

The nun's hand stroked her stomach and moved down to Christa's lap. This time she grabed on. The fingers of Sister Cita stroked and caressed softly but emphatically down there. Christa kept still. She did not want to do anything that would make Sister Zita take her hand away.

"Do you really want to atone again, dear Christa?" the nun asked. She stroked Christa between her legs.
"Yes," Christa gasped. She felt the tension in her outstretched arms. Her lap was on fire. "Yes I do! I want to repent for the sins of humanity on the cross. "

Sister Zita smiled. "That's nice, girl. Very nice! A girl like you should do that regularly, what do you mean? "
"Yes," Christa said. She focused on the caressing hand between her legs.
Do not stop! she pleaded in thought. Please do not stop, sister Zita! Please continue!
Oh, how sweet the nun's touch was! Christa began to squirm lazily. She could not do anything about it.

"Maybe next time you want to take more," the nun suggested. "An hour repentance on the cross is a fine thing, but real devotion is proven only when you last longer. Two hours or more. What do you think, Christa? Could you imagine spending two hours on the cross?"

"Yes," Christa gasped. "Yes, sister Zita. I can well imagine."
The nun stroked on. Her hand became more demanding She grabed more vigorously.
Christa groaned. She was sweating even more now.

"If you decide to spend more time on the cross, you will have to endure it, dear Christa," said Sister Zita. She looked deeply into Christa's eyes. "Even if it gets really unbearable at some point. You will not be released prematurely. Do you understand?"
"Yes," Christa replied. "I'm aware. That's the way it should be. "
 
The Pilgrim Girl - The Story of a Submission - 9

Yes, that had to be that way! She wanted it that way! She wanted to be able to bear it, even if she wanted to get down. Yes! It should be so!
Christa stretched her lap against the nun's stroking hand. She felt pure gratitude to Sister Zita. You're so good to me, Christa thought. Do with me what you want. I belong to you!

"There are several things you could do extra," the nun began, her fingers setting Christa's lap ablaze. "You could, for example, take an extra sample in preparation for your crucifixion. You know that Jesus was flogged before he was crucified?"

Christa listened. Whipped! Whipped?
"Yes," she said.
"There's a ring on the ceiling in the room next door," said Sister Zita as she worked on Christa's cunt. "A chain hangs down from there. You can hang on and flog someone on your hands. Have you ever thought of flogging to prepare for a crucifixion, Christa?"
"Yes," gasped Christa. She did indeed. With hot ears and sparkling lap. And with a good deal of respect and fear.

"It's hard to bear," said the nun. "Do not be under any illusions, Christa! I would not easily touch you with the strap. I would whip you! The whip will hit you with all hardness and power. You will rear up. You will cry. You will scream! Don´t worry, your skin stays healthy. It's a special leather strap that does not rupture the skin, no matter how hard you will be hit. I'll strike tight, Christa! You have to believe me. I will not impose false restraint. If I whip you, I´ll do it the right way. You need to remember that before deciding to be flogged."

"Yes, sister," said Christa. Her voice sounded strangely breathless. She was upset with excitement. If the nun at that moment had taken her hand away between her legs, she would have pleaded her to keep going on.

Christa felt ashamed that she was so obviously horny, but she could do nothing.
"Sister!" she gasped. "Oh, sister Zita!"

"Yes, my child," said the nun. Her fingers dug into Christa's furrow. They rubbed and stroked up and down in it. They touched the sensitive clitoris and they drove into Christa.
Christa writhed groaning.
"Yes, my dear," said sister Zita again. "Yes. That's how it is on the cross. You have to bear it." She looked attentively at Christa. "Do you like to bear it?"

"Yes, sister," Christa moaned. "Yes, I like it." She felt the orgasm come over her. She was about to come. Oh, what a nun sister Zita was! A nun who was absolutely not chaste. No no! "Do you love the cross?" the nun asked.
"Yes, sister!" Christa gasped. "Yes! I love the cross! I love the cross!" Then she came, as she had never come in her life.

She reared up. Her body tore at the shackles so hard she thought she would to tear them apart. Christa writhed in shaky spasmodic convulsions. Her body danced wildly.
"I love the cross!", she called. "I love the cross!"

Then it was over and she sank exhausted in her handcuffs. Still and sweaty, she hung on the cross.
Sister Zita climbed down the small stepladder and cleared it aside. She stepped behind the cross. Christa felt the crank being turned. The cross slowly lowered. When it was down, sister Zita opened Christa's shackles.

"It's over, my child," said the nun. She smiled at Christa: "For now!"
Christa remained silent for a moment on the cross. She felt nothing but pure gratitude.
"Thank you, sister," she said. "Thank you for allowing me to repent. You are very nice."

Christa got up. "May I really come back?"
"Oh yes my dear!" the nun replied. She took Christa by the arm. "Come on! Next door I have something prepared. You have made a great effort, my child. You are very sweaty. Come." She led Christa to the door on the right.

Behind it was an additional room. He was half-round grown to the chapel. The semicircle had a diameter of a four meters, maybe even five. It was spacious.
Christa looked up at the ceiling. Up there, an iron ring was embedded in the ceiling. A long chain had been pulled through the ring and connected to a crank on the wall. A chain hung from the ring.

Here one is hung up by the hands to be flogged, Christa mused. Her lap was still throbbing with pleasure from the overwhelming orgasm she had had on the cross. The idea of wriggling on this chain while sister Zita whipped her mercilessly terrified and aroused her at the same time.

Sister Zita followed Christa's gaze to the chain hanging from the ceiling. "Yes, my child," she said. "Here the floggings take place. The room is soundproof."She smiled. "Because of the screams. You understand?"
Oh yes, Christa understood. She was alternately hot and cold and tingling in her lap. She could see that the nun would like to see Christa's delicate young body writhing on the chain under the whip.

The sister led Christa to a small tub: "I prepared warm water." She took a soft sponge and dipped it in the water. Then she began to wash Christa from head to toe. After washing, she dried Christa with a soft terry towel. Smiling, she looked at Christa: "So that was your first crucifixion, dear Christa. How was it?"

"It was ..." Christa searched for the right words. "... it was ... overwhelming! It was nice! I liked it, really."
Zita's smile widened. "I gladly believe that, dear Christa. I immediately thought that you are a girl who appreciates repenting on the cross. I want to show you something else."

She led Christa, naked as she was, back to the chapel and to the cross. "As you have seen, you can adjust the pedestal to fit the cross to the size of the person you want to crucify."
Christa looked at the leather straps that had held her wrists during the crucifixion. There, too, in the crossbeam, there were holes in different arrangements to match the hand cuffs to the length of the arms of the one to be crucified.

Between the holes in the crossbeam where the threaded bolts were inserted and tightened, she saw smaller holes. She had no idea what they were for. They did not go completely through the wood.
"You can adjust the footboard so your legs are more bent," explained Sister Zita. "Then you sit in a crouch. And you can spread the arms more. Now get dressed."

Sister Zita helped Christa into her clothes as if she were a little child.
"You do not put your shoes on?" the nun asked, glancing at Christa's bare feet.
Christa shook her head: "No. I walk barefoot back to my quarters."

"Then I wish you a good way home, my child. Come back whenever you want. I am always here in the monastery,"said the nun. "Call me first so I can prepare everything for you." She gave Christa a phone number.
She took Christa outside and accompanied her to the old pilgrim's way and said goodbye: "See you soon, my dear."
"Goodbye," Christa said and started walking. When she looked back after a while, Sister Zita stood at the gate of the monastery wall and waved. Christa waved back.

She followed the old pilgrim path. It was nice to walk the path with bare feet. Christa decided to walk barefoot if she would return to the monastery. She would leave her sandals in the pension.

"I'll be back tomorrow," she said to herself. "Except, I have muscle aching."
She thought of the chain dangling from the ceiling in the adjoining room of the chapel, the whipping that Zita had spoken of. Did she want to take that? One part of Christa just wanted to do that, but another part shied away from it. She decided to wait. That had time.

First, Christa wanted to enjoy the cross. She would go to the convent every day and let herself crucify by Sister Zita. She did not want to miss this chance. She had four weeks vacation. While Christa walked barefoot along the shady forest road, she smiled. It would be the most interesting holiday of a lifetime.
 
Sassi said:
The Pilgrim Girl - The Story of a Submission - 9

Yes, that had to be that way! She wanted it that way! She wanted to be able to bear it, even if she wanted to get down. Yes! It should be so!
Christa stretched her lap against the nun's stroking hand. She felt pure gratitude to Sister Zita. You're so good to me, Christa thought. Do with me what you want. I belong to you!

"There are several things you could do extra," the nun began, her fingers setting Christa's lap ablaze. "You could, for example, take an extra sample in preparation for your crucifixion. You know that Jesus was flogged before he was crucified?"

Christa listened. Whipped! Whipped?
"Yes," she said.
"There's a ring on the ceiling in the room next door," said Sister Zita as she worked on Christa's cunt. "A chain hangs down from there. You can hang on and flog someone on your hands. Have you ever thought of flogging to prepare for a crucifixion, Christa?"
"Yes," gasped Christa. She did indeed. With hot ears and sparkling lap. And with a good deal of respect and fear.

"It's hard to bear," said the nun. "Do not be under any illusions, Christa! I would not easily touch you with the strap. I would whip you! The whip will hit you with all hardness and power. You will rear up. You will cry. You will scream! Don´t worry, your skin stays healthy. It's a special leather strap that does not rupture the skin, no matter how hard you will be hit. I'll strike tight, Christa! You have to believe me. I will not impose false restraint. If I whip you, I´ll do it the right way. You need to remember that before deciding to be flogged."

"Yes, sister," said Christa. Her voice sounded strangely breathless. She was upset with excitement. If the nun at that moment had taken her hand away between her legs, she would have pleaded her to keep going on.

Christa felt ashamed that she was so obviously horny, but she could do nothing.
"Sister!" she gasped. "Oh, sister Zita!"

"Yes, my child," said the nun. Her fingers dug into Christa's furrow. They rubbed and stroked up and down in it. They touched the sensitive clitoris and they drove into Christa.
Christa writhed groaning.
"Yes, my dear," said sister Zita again. "Yes. That's how it is on the cross. You have to bear it." She looked attentively at Christa. "Do you like to bear it?"

"Yes, sister," Christa moaned. "Yes, I like it." She felt the orgasm come over her. She was about to come. Oh, what a nun sister Zita was! A nun who was absolutely not chaste. No no! "Do you love the cross?" the nun asked.
"Yes, sister!" Christa gasped. "Yes! I love the cross! I love the cross!" Then she came, as she had never come in her life.

She reared up. Her body tore at the shackles so hard she thought she would to tear them apart. Christa writhed in shaky spasmodic convulsions. Her body danced wildly.
"I love the cross!", she called. "I love the cross!"

Then it was over and she sank exhausted in her handcuffs. Still and sweaty, she hung on the cross.
Sister Zita climbed down the small stepladder and cleared it aside. She stepped behind the cross. Christa felt the crank being turned. The cross slowly lowered. When it was down, sister Zita opened Christa's shackles.

"It's over, my child," said the nun. She smiled at Christa: "For now!"
Christa remained silent for a moment on the cross. She felt nothing but pure gratitude.
"Thank you, sister," she said. "Thank you for allowing me to repent. You are very nice."

Christa got up. "May I really come back?"
"Oh yes my dear!" the nun replied. She took Christa by the arm. "Come on! Next door I have something prepared. You have made a great effort, my child. You are very sweaty. Come." She led Christa to the door on the right.

Behind it was an additional room. He was half-round grown to the chapel. The semicircle had a diameter of a four meters, maybe even five. It was spacious.
Christa looked up at the ceiling. Up there, an iron ring was embedded in the ceiling. A long chain had been pulled through the ring and connected to a crank on the wall. A chain hung from the ring.

Here one is hung up by the hands to be flogged, Christa mused. Her lap was still throbbing with pleasure from the overwhelming orgasm she had had on the cross. The idea of wriggling on this chain while sister Zita whipped her mercilessly terrified and aroused her at the same time.

Sister Zita followed Christa's gaze to the chain hanging from the ceiling. "Yes, my child," she said. "Here the floggings take place. The room is soundproof."She smiled. "Because of the screams. You understand?"
Oh yes, Christa understood. She was alternately hot and cold and tingling in her lap. She could see that the nun would like to see Christa's delicate young body writhing on the chain under the whip.

The sister led Christa to a small tub: "I prepared warm water." She took a soft sponge and dipped it in the water. Then she began to wash Christa from head to toe. After washing, she dried Christa with a soft terry towel. Smiling, she looked at Christa: "So that was your first crucifixion, dear Christa. How was it?"

"It was ..." Christa searched for the right words. "... it was ... overwhelming! It was nice! I liked it, really."
Zita's smile widened. "I gladly believe that, dear Christa. I immediately thought that you are a girl who appreciates repenting on the cross. I want to show you something else."

She led Christa, naked as she was, back to the chapel and to the cross. "As you have seen, you can adjust the pedestal to fit the cross to the size of the person you want to crucify."
Christa looked at the leather straps that had held her wrists during the crucifixion. There, too, in the crossbeam, there were holes in different arrangements to match the hand cuffs to the length of the arms of the one to be crucified.

Between the holes in the crossbeam where the threaded bolts were inserted and tightened, she saw smaller holes. She had no idea what they were for. They did not go completely through the wood.
"You can adjust the footboard so your legs are more bent," explained Sister Zita. "Then you sit in a crouch. And you can spread the arms more. Now get dressed."

Sister Zita helped Christa into her clothes as if she were a little child.
"You do not put your shoes on?" the nun asked, glancing at Christa's bare feet.
Christa shook her head: "No. I walk barefoot back to my quarters."

"Then I wish you a good way home, my child. Come back whenever you want. I am always here in the monastery,"said the nun. "Call me first so I can prepare everything for you." She gave Christa a phone number.
She took Christa outside and accompanied her to the old pilgrim's way and said goodbye: "See you soon, my dear."
"Goodbye," Christa said and started walking. When she looked back after a while, Sister Zita stood at the gate of the monastery wall and waved. Christa waved back.

She followed the old pilgrim path. It was nice to walk the path with bare feet. Christa decided to walk barefoot if she would return to the monastery. She would leave her sandals in the pension.

"I'll be back tomorrow," she said to herself. "Except, I have muscle aching."
She thought of the chain dangling from the ceiling in the adjoining room of the chapel, the whipping that Zita had spoken of. Did she want to take that? One part of Christa just wanted to do that, but another part shied away from it. She decided to wait. That had time.

First, Christa wanted to enjoy the cross. She would go to the convent every day and let herself crucify by Sister Zita. She did not want to miss this chance. She had four weeks vacation. While Christa walked barefoot along the shady forest road, she smiled. It would be the most interesting holiday of a lifetime.
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A really great story, Sassi! Well laid-out plot that describes the barefoot girl in a way that captivates the reader. On the one hand, the meticulous portrayal immediately turns on the head cinema, on the other hand, it makes one impatient, which builds up tension and increases the intensity of the action on the part of the reader. One can hardly wait to internalize the next sentence. The story is reminiscent of that of the "girl without a name" and achieves, if it goes on, its quality. I'm curious and looking forward to what's to come.
 
The Pilgrim Girl - The Story of a Submission - 10

April 25, 2080:
The next morning, Christa could think of nothing but the fact that she would be crucified that day. As soon as she woke up she thought of the cross waiting for her in the monastery of Obermurscheid in the Zita chapel.
I'm coming, she thought. I come to you, cross. I'm looking forward to you. Oh, and how happy I am!

She phoned the convent and sister Zita gently told her to wait for her.
"Everything will be ready for you, dear Christa," she said over the phone. "Come whenever you want. The cross is waiting for you. The cross has patience."

But not me! Thought Christa. I am totally impatient! So she had started her special pilgrimage. This time she left the sandals at home. She went barefoot right from the start. It seemed only right and proper for her to walk the old pilgrim's way on bare soles. She had to muster all her courage to take off her sandals after breakfast and leave them in her room, but she dared.

On the way through the forest she enjoyed her barefooting to the fullest. It was wonderful to walk with naked feet over the soft forest path. Once Christa met some walkers. She felt a little nervous and expected some remarks about her bare feet, but nothing happened. People looked at their bare feet for a moment and continued on their way.

Pilgrim way, Christa thought. This is an old pilgrimage. Apparently people still make a pilgrimage on this path. The walkers have often seen pilgrims who were traveling without shoes. There are pilgrims doing this. Sister Zita likes that.

Sister Zita. Christa had to think of the nun. Zita was in her early forties, tall and stocky. She was built solid, but Christa had bet she was not fat. Only built stocky and massive.

She remembered sister Zitas covetous looks the day before when Christa was hanging naked on the cross. A woman who liked to look at naked girls. That was rare.
Men like to look at naked girls. They were men who bought magazines depicting naked girls. Women did not look at naked people, not at naked men and not at naked girls. At most, if they had this predisposition.

She's a lesbian, I´ll bet, Christa thought, and that's the reason she is into young girls. She is a big chunk. That comes from the genes. She is masculinized.
Christa had read about it. There were women who had a strong male share in their genes. They were, in contrast to most of their mates, pleased to look at naked girls. That aroused them.

Christa liked that. She had liked to be looked at by the nun. Knowing that sight of her naked body aroused the sister made Christa feel extremely good. It had been nice to be helplessly exposed to the lustful looks of the nun. She had really liked what sister Zita had done to her when she was defenseless on the cross.

That a nun grabbed a helpless tied girl between her legs and masturbated her to orgasm, was anything but chaste. But Christa did not care. She had liked that sister Zita had just touched her like that. She had not asked. She had taken what she wanted. Sister Zita was an energetic woman who knew exactly what she wanted.

Like Mrs. Riefer, Christa thought as she walked along the shady forest path. Like our home economics teacher at school.
Again, people came to meet her, an elderly couple as it seemed. Christa felt the familiar nervousness rising. You are barefoot, she sayed to herself in thought. Your feet are naked. Those people can see that, Christa. Why are you so scared? Didn´t you dream yesterday of being totally naked in front of such people? Outstretched on a cross? Heads up! Don´t be afraid! Enjoy it!

The couple came closer. Christa saw the man looking at her naked feet. There were men who were aroused by the sight of bare girls' feet, she remembered. She had read about it on the internet.
And there's a nun so predisposed that she likes my bare feet, Christa mused. At least that's what I assume. She went on bravely.

The two people were approaching. The man looked at Christa's bare feet. Then the woman too, but only briefly. The man greeted nicely. Christa greeted back. Then they were past each other. She heard soft talk behind her.
"... certainly a pilgrim," she understood. "They often walk barefoot."
She had to smile. Suddenly she liked even better to be barefoot.

She came to the sign pointing to the left: "Kloster Obermurscheid". Only then did she realize that the sign was ancient. It was old and crooked and heavily bleached by years in the sunshine. You could hardly read it anymore.

Sister Zita was waiting for Christa at the gate. She had only one wing open and closed it behind Christa and locked the gate.
"I do not like to leave the gate wide open," she said after greeting Christa. "Yesterday I was out and cutting branches, so you found it open. Normally, I keep it closed and open it only to visitors."

"I'm alone here," the nun explained as she caught Christa's questioning look. "A lonely woman, alone in a big monastery. I can not take care everywhere at the same time. If people come in and out unhindered, and they walk around everywhere, they could hurt themselves or do something bad. That should not be. So I'll close the door while I'm alone."

She was left behind to guard the monastery, the nurse explained. All the sisters of Murscheid Monastery had traveled to another monastery seventy kilometers away for six weeks to help create an extensive orchard and herbal garden.

"One had to stay here and take care," said Sister Zita. "I check the buildings regularly, whether it's raining inside somewhere or something has happened."
Pity! Christa thought. Then nobody can see me when I'm crucified. For one thing, she was relieved, but on the other hand she felt a certain disappointment. The idea of beeing looked at by other nuns when she hung naked and helpless on the cross had pleased her.

Or not. Because she was a little afraid of it, too. Imagine: A young girl gets naked and then presents herself as she is - stark-naked - in public on a cross!

As they walked to the Zita Chapel, the nun looked at Christa from the side, "Have you thought about what I asked you yesterday, my child? The flogging? What do you say to the whip, Christa?"
Christa felt taken by surprise. "I ... I ... well ... actually ... how should I say ...?"

Sister Zita looked at her with a smile: "That's not a must, Christa! I did not want to push you. It was just a suggestion that I asked you to think about. Not more. It does not matter if you do not want to do that."
But Christa saw that the sister's eyes were not smiling, at least not right. It did not seem to please Sister Zita that Christa did not want to be flogged.

"Of course I thought about it," Christa hurried to say. "But ... but ... sister Zita, please forgive me ... I think ... I think I'm not ready yet. Can you understand that?"
Now Sister Zita's smile was real: "Of course, my child! I can understand you very well. You are frightened a little bit of that. It really sounds like something that's hard to bear."

They came to the chapel. Sister Zita opened the front door. She was not finished. "I hope you are not angry with me because I want to wait with the flogging?" Christa asked.
The nun smiled at her: "No, my dear! Not in the least! How could I? Do not worry, Christa."
She made a welcoming gesture to the chapel door: "Then again as yesterday? An hour's repentance?"

"Two," Christa said hastily. "I thought about two hours. So much should be, I think. So that I really feel it. Repentance, I mean, on the cross! One should feel it, that one surrenders oneself. It should not be too easy, is it?"
"I agree with you," said Sister Zita. She looked at Christa benevolently: "So two hours? Do you double?"
Christa nodded.

"That's fine, my child," praised the nun. "But it will be hard. I'm warning you. Two hours are much harder to bear than one."
"I'm ready to take that," Christa said. "Please let me do it, sister Zita."
The nun melted away: "But surely I will let you do so, dear Christa! Come, my little one! The cross is waiting for you. It will carry you and educate you to humility and submission. "
 
The Pilgrim Girl - The Story of a Submission - 11

Sister Zita led Christa into the chapel. She closed the door, but she did not lock. There's no one else on the monastery grounds, Christa thought as she took off her clothes at the time. Then she stood naked in the front of sister Zita.

The nun looked at her from head to toe. She smiled. "A brave young girl who is willing to atone for the sins of the world. You have strengt. I like you, Christa."
She pointed at the cross: "You may now lay down on the cross. Everything is still set as yesterday The cross is ready for you. Are you ready for the cross?"

"Yes, sister," said Christa, lying naked on the cross. She stretched her legs and spread her arms. Sister
Zita strapped her down. She was not squeamish about Christa. Resolutely she pressed the wrists of the girl in the open leather cuffs and locked them. Then she fastened Christa's ankles. This, too, she did very roughly. She grabbed tight.

The nuns hand went between Christa's legs and her forefinger rattled teasingly on the piercing in the clitoris.
"Still the piercing," said Sister Zita.
Christa listened. Sounded that somehow reproaching? Did the nurse not like her wearing the intimate piercing?
But sister Zita was spirited as a fish in the water.

She leaned over Christa and gave her a kiss on the mouth: "Now you will atone, little one!
"Yes, sister Zita," Christa answered. "I'm ready."
Ready to spend two hours on the cross. No ifs and buts. Without net and double bottom. Without a chance to get away earlier. Even if it should be unbearable.

The sister walked past Christa's outstretched arms and to the crank. She started to crank. The cross was raised. Christa rose. She had her eyes straight ahead and focused on the feeling. It was like levitation.
The day before, Christa had been so excited that she had barely noticed what it felt like to be raised. This time she absorbed everything. Piece by piece, she rose. She felt her body weight begin to tighten on her handcuffs.

She went higher and higher. More weight pulled on Christas arms. The cross continued to rise. Normally Christa would have slipped down, but the leather cuffs kept her in place. They held her at the cross. It was a fascinating feeling. Christa realized she was inextricably linked to the great wooden cross. She was attached. She could not get away on her own. She was totally dependent on Sister Zita.

A gentle jolt and the cross was vertical. Christa was held by her handcuffs and foot shackles, forced to hang on the cross with outstretched arms. The cross forced her to unfamiliar posture and Christa had to take that, whether she wanted it or not. Not her, the cross determined her posture. Christa accepted that all around. She did not mind being dictated from the outside. Should the cross force her! She loved it.

Sister Zita stepped in front of the cross. She looked up at Christa. Then she knelt down and prayed softly. Then she knelt again in front of the statue of Mary on the left side. Christa could see the naked feet of the nun. They were like everything to Sister Zita: tall, strong, well-formed and healthy. You could see that these feet never wore too tight high-heeled shoes. Sister Zita was a barefooter, as was her role model, the holy Zita of Lucca.

Sister Zita was done with praying. She got up and stood in front of the cross. She looked at Christa calmly. Her eyes moved over the body of the naked girl on the cross.

Do you like what you see, Sister Zita? Christa thought. Take a look at everything! I do not stop you. I can not do it at all. I have to take your viewing and I like to do it. Do you want to touch me? Would you like to touch me? Do it! I will not fight back. First of all, I can not defend myself because I'm helpless and second, I do not want to fight back. Take it easy, sister! Like yesterday. That would be great.

Sister Zita did nothing like that. She smiled at Christa and waved goodbye.
"I'm going now. From time to time I come back and look after you, my child. But no matter what, I will not prematurely take you down from the cross, even if you ask me. Do you understand?"

Christa nodded. "Yes, sister Zita. I have to stay at the cross for two hours. I can not come down before that."
"You must not go down before that," the nun confirmed. Then she went. Christa saw her bare soles as she walked along the passage between the pews. The soles of Sister Zita were darkly discolored, almost black.

The door fell into the lock. Christa was alone in the chapel. With a sigh, she sank into the handcuffs. Crucified! She was crucified! Christa was blissful. She was tied to a big wooden cross. Again! For the second time. And there would be more times. She could not believe her luck.

Will Sister Zita touch me again later on like yesterday? she mused as she writhed on the cross. I would not mind. I would like it. She is like Mrs. Riefer. I bet!

Ms. Riefer, her home economics teacher, was in her mid-forties, a tall, heavily boned woman, massively built. Mrs. Riefer had not been fat. She was strong and massive. The teacher had the stature of a wrestler. Mrs. Riefer was energetic, self-confident and strict. At the end of the school year she should be transferred to another school.

Shortly before the end of the last school year, Christa had just turned eighteen, the teacher invited Christa to her home. Christa had accepted the invitation. Mrs. Riefer opened coffee and cake and then she picked up Christa with her strong arms as if she were a small child and carried her into the bedroom.
She laid Christa on the wide bed and took off her clothes, first shoes and socks, then the jeans and the panties, finally the blouse. Christa did not wear a bra.

Christa had been lying naked on the bed, watching her teacher undress. Mrs. Riefer looked exactly as she had always imagined: tall and strong, broad and muscular, a figure like a wrestler. She was massive but not fat.
Christa had glanced at the woman's lap and saw that her teacher, just like herself, shaved intimately. And she wore a clit piercing similar to Christa's.

It was a strange feeling to see that her teacher, a woman over forty years old, had an intimate piercing. But it was also a strange feeling that this woman had stripped her and now Christa lay stark naked on the bed of this teacher. Christa had not resisted when her teacher took her clothes off.

Mrs. Riefer had looked down on Christa and said: "Now you are of age. Once, at least, I want you before I go to the new school!" Then she had come to Christa on the bed and taken her. She was energetic and strict. She did not ask, she ordered. Christa obeyed willingly. Christa loved to obey. She had always been submissive in a way that set her apart from other girls.

She obeyed, no matter what her teacher did with her. Mrs. Riefer was tall and strong and she used that strength. She took what she wanted. She grabbed. She touched Christa. She almost forcefully stimulated her and forced the girl to one orgasm after another. She squeezed Christa's arms over her head and pressed them into the pillows. Then she knelt over Christa's face, forcing her to satisfy her with her mouth.

Christa kissed and licked eagerly. Her tongue played with the clitoris piercing the teacher. She enjoyed hearing her teacher moaning. She enjoyed being subject to Mrs. Riefer, submitting to the massive teacher who treated her so rudely. Christa became the obedient slave of her teacher. She did everything Mrs. Riefer demanded of her and let everything be done with her. She enjoyed every minute of that long afternoon as the tall, strong woman conquered her again and again. She liked to be dominated by the energetic tall woman.

Christa only regretted that her teacher did not tie her up. She would have liked to have Ms. Riefer tie her to the bed or tie her hands behind her back before she had to kneel on the floor in front of her and satisfy her with her mouth.

But she dared not say a word. She did not dare to speak of her secret desires. She was too shy for that. She could only submit and obey if something was required of her. She was a willing slave, but she could not ask for anything.

I'll bet, sister Zita is like Mrs. Riefer, Christa thought as she hung silently on the cross for a while, enjoying the tension in her arms. It was already painful and that was good. Pain made her humble. Pain made her obedient. Pain made her submissive. Pain was good.
 
Sassi said:
The Pilgrim Girl - The Story of a Submission - 11

Sister Zita led Christa into the chapel. She closed the door, but she did not lock. There's no one else on the monastery grounds, Christa thought as she took off her clothes at the time. Then she stood naked in the front of sister Zita.

The nun looked at her from head to toe. She smiled. "A brave young girl who is willing to atone for the sins of the world. You have strengt. I like you, Christa."
She pointed at the cross: "You may now lay down on the cross. Everything is still set as yesterday The cross is ready for you. Are you ready for the cross?"

"Yes, sister," said Christa, lying naked on the cross. She stretched her legs and spread her arms. Sister
Zita strapped her down. She was not squeamish about Christa. Resolutely she pressed the wrists of the girl in the open leather cuffs and locked them. Then she fastened Christa's ankles. This, too, she did very roughly. She grabbed tight.

The nuns hand went between Christa's legs and her forefinger rattled teasingly on the piercing in the clitoris.
"Still the piercing," said Sister Zita.
Christa listened. Sounded that somehow reproaching? Did the nurse not like her wearing the intimate piercing?
But sister Zita was spirited as a fish in the water.

She leaned over Christa and gave her a kiss on the mouth: "Now you will atone, little one!
"Yes, sister Zita," Christa answered. "I'm ready."
Ready to spend two hours on the cross. No ifs and buts. Without net and double bottom. Without a chance to get away earlier. Even if it should be unbearable.

The sister walked past Christa's outstretched arms and to the crank. She started to crank. The cross was raised. Christa rose. She had her eyes straight ahead and focused on the feeling. It was like levitation.
The day before, Christa had been so excited that she had barely noticed what it felt like to be raised. This time she absorbed everything. Piece by piece, she rose. She felt her body weight begin to tighten on her handcuffs.

She went higher and higher. More weight pulled on Christas arms. The cross continued to rise. Normally Christa would have slipped down, but the leather cuffs kept her in place. They held her at the cross. It was a fascinating feeling. Christa realized she was inextricably linked to the great wooden cross. She was attached. She could not get away on her own. She was totally dependent on Sister Zita.

A gentle jolt and the cross was vertical. Christa was held by her handcuffs and foot shackles, forced to hang on the cross with outstretched arms. The cross forced her to unfamiliar posture and Christa had to take that, whether she wanted it or not. Not her, the cross determined her posture. Christa accepted that all around. She did not mind being dictated from the outside. Should the cross force her! She loved it.

Sister Zita stepped in front of the cross. She looked up at Christa. Then she knelt down and prayed softly. Then she knelt again in front of the statue of Mary on the left side. Christa could see the naked feet of the nun. They were like everything to Sister Zita: tall, strong, well-formed and healthy. You could see that these feet never wore too tight high-heeled shoes. Sister Zita was a barefooter, as was her role model, the holy Zita of Lucca.

Sister Zita was done with praying. She got up and stood in front of the cross. She looked at Christa calmly. Her eyes moved over the body of the naked girl on the cross.

Do you like what you see, Sister Zita? Christa thought. Take a look at everything! I do not stop you. I can not do it at all. I have to take your viewing and I like to do it. Do you want to touch me? Would you like to touch me? Do it! I will not fight back. First of all, I can not defend myself because I'm helpless and second, I do not want to fight back. Take it easy, sister! Like yesterday. That would be great.

Sister Zita did nothing like that. She smiled at Christa and waved goodbye.
"I'm going now. From time to time I come back and look after you, my child. But no matter what, I will not prematurely take you down from the cross, even if you ask me. Do you understand?"

Christa nodded. "Yes, sister Zita. I have to stay at the cross for two hours. I can not come down before that."
"You must not go down before that," the nun confirmed. Then she went. Christa saw her bare soles as she walked along the passage between the pews. The soles of Sister Zita were darkly discolored, almost black.

The door fell into the lock. Christa was alone in the chapel. With a sigh, she sank into the handcuffs. Crucified! She was crucified! Christa was blissful. She was tied to a big wooden cross. Again! For the second time. And there would be more times. She could not believe her luck.

Will Sister Zita touch me again later on like yesterday? she mused as she writhed on the cross. I would not mind. I would like it. She is like Mrs. Riefer. I bet!

Ms. Riefer, her home economics teacher, was in her mid-forties, a tall, heavily boned woman, massively built. Mrs. Riefer had not been fat. She was strong and massive. The teacher had the stature of a wrestler. Mrs. Riefer was energetic, self-confident and strict. At the end of the school year she should be transferred to another school.

Shortly before the end of the last school year, Christa had just turned eighteen, the teacher invited Christa to her home. Christa had accepted the invitation. Mrs. Riefer opened coffee and cake and then she picked up Christa with her strong arms as if she were a small child and carried her into the bedroom.
She laid Christa on the wide bed and took off her clothes, first shoes and socks, then the jeans and the panties, finally the blouse. Christa did not wear a bra.

Christa had been lying naked on the bed, watching her teacher undress. Mrs. Riefer looked exactly as she had always imagined: tall and strong, broad and muscular, a figure like a wrestler. She was massive but not fat.
Christa had glanced at the woman's lap and saw that her teacher, just like herself, shaved intimately. And she wore a clit piercing similar to Christa's.

It was a strange feeling to see that her teacher, a woman over forty years old, had an intimate piercing. But it was also a strange feeling that this woman had stripped her and now Christa lay stark naked on the bed of this teacher. Christa had not resisted when her teacher took her clothes off.

Mrs. Riefer had looked down on Christa and said: "Now you are of age. Once, at least, I want you before I go to the new school!" Then she had come to Christa on the bed and taken her. She was energetic and strict. She did not ask, she ordered. Christa obeyed willingly. Christa loved to obey. She had always been submissive in a way that set her apart from other girls.

She obeyed, no matter what her teacher did with her. Mrs. Riefer was tall and strong and she used that strength. She took what she wanted. She grabbed. She touched Christa. She almost forcefully stimulated her and forced the girl to one orgasm after another. She squeezed Christa's arms over her head and pressed them into the pillows. Then she knelt over Christa's face, forcing her to satisfy her with her mouth.

Christa kissed and licked eagerly. Her tongue played with the clitoris piercing the teacher. She enjoyed hearing her teacher moaning. She enjoyed being subject to Mrs. Riefer, submitting to the massive teacher who treated her so rudely. Christa became the obedient slave of her teacher. She did everything Mrs. Riefer demanded of her and let everything be done with her. She enjoyed every minute of that long afternoon as the tall, strong woman conquered her again and again. She liked to be dominated by the energetic tall woman.

Christa only regretted that her teacher did not tie her up. She would have liked to have Ms. Riefer tie her to the bed or tie her hands behind her back before she had to kneel on the floor in front of her and satisfy her with her mouth.

But she dared not say a word. She did not dare to speak of her secret desires. She was too shy for that. She could only submit and obey if something was required of her. She was a willing slave, but she could not ask for anything.

I'll bet, sister Zita is like Mrs. Riefer, Christa thought as she hung silently on the cross for a while, enjoying the tension in her arms. It was already painful and that was good. Pain made her humble. Pain made her obedient. Pain made her submissive. Pain was good.
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Again a great chapter in which the reader Christas wishes and inclinations are impressively revealed. Keep it up, Sassi!
 
The Pilgrim Girl - The Story of a Submission - 12

Christa accepted the oncoming pain with humility. She welcomed it. The pain showed her that she was truly crucified. It was not a game, it was reality. It was nice. Christa felt pure gratitude.

Two hours, she thought. Today I have to endure two hours. Twice as much as yesterday. How will it be? Twice as long, by all means. Will it hurt twice as much? Will the pain get worse or will it reach a certain level and then just stay the same? I have no idea. It is only the second crucifixion of my life. Oh God! How that sounds! My second crucifixion!

Again she thanked the fate that had led her to the old cloister of Obermurscheid. She almost did not come here, because there was so little information on the internet. There was almost no information. Some entries had even claimed that the monastery was closed.

"It's not!" Christa said loudly. She was startled. Speaking aloud felt naughty. She wanted to be a humble girl, not a naughty girl.
Well, she thought with some amusement, I can hardly do more than speak aloud in the chapel. I am tied up and can barely move. I can not do anything bad.

"Two hours," she said. This time she spoke softly. "I will not be able to do anything for two hours except to squirm when it gets really hard to endure."
She decided to hang on the cross as quietly as possible when sister Zita was with her. She did not want to fidget in front of the nun.

"We'll see, Christa Weber," she said to herself. "Yesterday you had a nice dance when sister Zita was here. You curled up on the cross like a worm on a fishing hook. That certainly looked unseemly, as naked as you were. That was not humble and obedient at all."
Christa sighed. For a while she hung very still.

"I could not help it," she murmured. "It happened by itself. My body started to move to avoid the pain. Yes, I know, it has not used much. No matter how I moved, it always hurt, at least towards the end."
She tried to lean back against the cross. Toward the end. That meant roughly three quarters of an hour. That would happen the same way today. She would start to squirm.

Maybe she would even dance the whole second hour on the cross. Up, down, right, left, press your legs, bend your legs, let yourself sink into the handcuffs, stand up, stretch your hips and lean back against the cross, dodge to the left, dodge to the right - a never-ending dance.
Dancing, squirming, in a futile attempt to escape the oncoming pain that grew stronger and stronger.

Christa shuddered. The thought frightened her. At the same time he filled her with immeasurable arousement. She wanted the anguish to make her dance, that the agonizing agony forced her to squirm on the cross. She wanted to savor the pain.

"I will stay longer on the cross every day," she said loudly into the chapel. "More pain every day. I will wish to be freed, but once strapped to the cross, there is no escape."
She shuddered. She would be forced to bear it. Between her legs it began to tingle. Forced! Yes! That was good! She would endure everything, simply because she had to!

The door opened. Sister Zita came to Christa. She had the bicycle bottle with her.
Now? Yesterday she had it only after half an hour. But I have been crucified for some time. I think I'm hanging on the cross for half an hour. Cool! I endured half an hour without complaining or dancing too wildly. I have endured it.

She looked at the water bottle. Good God, I'm thirsty! It's good that the sister gives me something to drink. Soon she will put the little staircase in front of my cross, come up to me and I'll drink.

But that did not happen. Instead, the nun put down the drinking bottle on the top step of the small stepladder. Then she knelt in front of the cross and began to pray. She looked at Christa closely. She let her eyes wander over the naked girl's body on the cross. She looked at Christa with pleasure.

Christa had to wait a long time for her water. Sister Zita spoke many prayers as she knelt in front of the cross. Christa found it harder and harder to hang calm on the cross from minute to minute.
I can not stand it anymore, she thought. It will not be long before I start to squirm. I can not help it! Please sister Zita, hurry up!

Sister Zita did not hurry. She kept praying calmly, prayer after prayer. She knew many prayers. All the while she looked at Christa. Christa saw the arousing in the nun's eyes.
She likes to see me suffer, she thought. She knows I'm thirsty and I can barely hang still on the cross. Maybe she purposely prays for so long to see my resistance collapse and how I start dancing on the cross. Oh no! I dont want that! I want to be a good cross girl!

She fought the impulse to squirm. It was hard. She barely made it, but still it worked. Sister Zita continued to pray undismayed.
Christa looked at the water bottle. She swallowed. Her mouth was dry. She moistened her dried lips with her tongue.

Below the cross, the sister rose. She turned left and knelt in front of the statue of Mary. Again Christa could look at the naked feet of the nun. They were white, except for the dark discolored soles.

Sister Zita ended her prayers. Christa was still calmly on the cross, although she was suffering in the meantime. Her arms howled in agony. Her whole body ached and wanted to move to avoid the pain. Christa did not allow it. She hung silently on the crossbeam. She was a little proud of herself for doing that.

She felt the pain in her forearm muscles, which were cruelly stretched, as well as in the muscles of her upper arms, which were just as brutally stretched. Her shoulders protested against the pain they were being subjected to.
Move!, they seemed to call at Christa. Come on! Up with you! It hurts! Wind yourself!
Christa remained silent. She did not move.

She saw Sister Zita looking up to her. She recognized recognition in the view of the nun.
"You are very brave, Christa," said the nun. "Or very humble and submissive. It's a pleasure to look at you! You look beautiful. You are a pretty cross girl. A real cross princess. For real!"

At last the nurse pushed the little stepladder in front of the cross. She came up and gave Christa a drink. Christa drank.
"Thanks," she said. "Thank you, sister Zita!" How humble she sounded! How fervently! How grateful!
She completely depended on this nun, that was absolutely clear to her at that moment. Because she was completely helpless.

Sister Zita stroked Christas cheek: "Yes, it's hard, my child." How comforting her voice sounded! "But you will do it. You have strength! Only one more hour and it´s over."

Christa first thought she had missunderstood. Only one hour left?!? Does that mean that she has been hanging on the cross for an hour? She was stunned.
Am I really crucified for so long? One hour?
But hadn´t she danced extensively? Hadn´t she wriggled with all her might?

A huge feeling of happiness came over Christa. She had endured an hour on the cross without complaint. She had passed the time in humility and devotion. The second hour she would endure too. And she knew for sure that she would ask Sister Zita for more next day.
It should be three hours on the cross, she thought. I want to suffer! I want to feel it! The cross should make me humble! The cross should take away my pride! The cross should break my resistance!

She felt Sister Zita's hand between her legs. Her fingers played with the clitoris piercing. Yes, yes! Christa thought. Please touch me, sister! But sister Zita took her hand away. She climbed down the stepladder and pushed it aside.
"I'm leaving," she said. "So you can continue to repent, Christa. Atone! Atone in humility and obedience!" She turned away and drifted on bare feet trough the chapel and left.
Christa was alone again.
 
Sassi said:
The Pilgrim Girl - The Story of a Submission - 12

Christa accepted the oncoming pain with humility. She welcomed it. The pain showed her that she was truly crucified. It was not a game, it was reality. It was nice. Christa felt pure gratitude.

Two hours, she thought. Today I have to endure two hours. Twice as much as yesterday. How will it be? Twice as long, by all means. Will it hurt twice as much? Will the pain get worse or will it reach a certain level and then just stay the same? I have no idea. It is only the second crucifixion of my life. Oh God! How that sounds! My second crucifixion!

Again she thanked the fate that had led her to the old cloister of Obermurscheid. She almost did not come here, because there was so little information on the internet. There was almost no information. Some entries had even claimed that the monastery was closed.

"It's not!" Christa said loudly. She was startled. Speaking aloud felt naughty. She wanted to be a humble girl, not a naughty girl.
Well, she thought with some amusement, I can hardly do more than speak aloud in the chapel. I am tied up and can barely move. I can not do anything bad.

"Two hours," she said. This time she spoke softly. "I will not be able to do anything for two hours except to squirm when it gets really hard to endure."
She decided to hang on the cross as quietly as possible when sister Zita was with her. She did not want to fidget in front of the nun.

"We'll see, Christa Weber," she said to herself. "Yesterday you had a nice dance when sister Zita was here. You curled up on the cross like a worm on a fishing hook. That certainly looked unseemly, as naked as you were. That was not humble and obedient at all."
Christa sighed. For a while she hung very still.

"I could not help it," she murmured. "It happened by itself. My body started to move to avoid the pain. Yes, I know, it has not used much. No matter how I moved, it always hurt, at least towards the end."
She tried to lean back against the cross. Toward the end. That meant roughly three quarters of an hour. That would happen the same way today. She would start to squirm.

Maybe she would even dance the whole second hour on the cross. Up, down, right, left, press your legs, bend your legs, let yourself sink into the handcuffs, stand up, stretch your hips and lean back against the cross, dodge to the left, dodge to the right - a never-ending dance.
Dancing, squirming, in a futile attempt to escape the oncoming pain that grew stronger and stronger.

Christa shuddered. The thought frightened her. At the same time he filled her with immeasurable arousement. She wanted the anguish to make her dance, that the agonizing agony forced her to squirm on the cross. She wanted to savor the pain.

"I will stay longer on the cross every day," she said loudly into the chapel. "More pain every day. I will wish to be freed, but once strapped to the cross, there is no escape."
She shuddered. She would be forced to bear it. Between her legs it began to tingle. Forced! Yes! That was good! She would endure everything, simply because she had to!

The door opened. Sister Zita came to Christa. She had the bicycle bottle with her.
Now? Yesterday she had it only after half an hour. But I have been crucified for some time. I think I'm hanging on the cross for half an hour. Cool! I endured half an hour without complaining or dancing too wildly. I have endured it.

She looked at the water bottle. Good God, I'm thirsty! It's good that the sister gives me something to drink. Soon she will put the little staircase in front of my cross, come up to me and I'll drink.

But that did not happen. Instead, the nun put down the drinking bottle on the top step of the small stepladder. Then she knelt in front of the cross and began to pray. She looked at Christa closely. She let her eyes wander over the naked girl's body on the cross. She looked at Christa with pleasure.

Christa had to wait a long time for her water. Sister Zita spoke many prayers as she knelt in front of the cross. Christa found it harder and harder to hang calm on the cross from minute to minute.
I can not stand it anymore, she thought. It will not be long before I start to squirm. I can not help it! Please sister Zita, hurry up!

Sister Zita did not hurry. She kept praying calmly, prayer after prayer. She knew many prayers. All the while she looked at Christa. Christa saw the arousing in the nun's eyes.
She likes to see me suffer, she thought. She knows I'm thirsty and I can barely hang still on the cross. Maybe she purposely prays for so long to see my resistance collapse and how I start dancing on the cross. Oh no! I dont want that! I want to be a good cross girl!

She fought the impulse to squirm. It was hard. She barely made it, but still it worked. Sister Zita continued to pray undismayed.
Christa looked at the water bottle. She swallowed. Her mouth was dry. She moistened her dried lips with her tongue.

Below the cross, the sister rose. She turned left and knelt in front of the statue of Mary. Again Christa could look at the naked feet of the nun. They were white, except for the dark discolored soles.

Sister Zita ended her prayers. Christa was still calmly on the cross, although she was suffering in the meantime. Her arms howled in agony. Her whole body ached and wanted to move to avoid the pain. Christa did not allow it. She hung silently on the crossbeam. She was a little proud of herself for doing that.

She felt the pain in her forearm muscles, which were cruelly stretched, as well as in the muscles of her upper arms, which were just as brutally stretched. Her shoulders protested against the pain they were being subjected to.
Move!, they seemed to call at Christa. Come on! Up with you! It hurts! Wind yourself!
Christa remained silent. She did not move.

She saw Sister Zita looking up to her. She recognized recognition in the view of the nun.
"You are very brave, Christa," said the nun. "Or very humble and submissive. It's a pleasure to look at you! You look beautiful. You are a pretty cross girl. A real cross princess. For real!"

At last the nurse pushed the little stepladder in front of the cross. She came up and gave Christa a drink. Christa drank.
"Thanks," she said. "Thank you, sister Zita!" How humble she sounded! How fervently! How grateful!
She completely depended on this nun, that was absolutely clear to her at that moment. Because she was completely helpless.

Sister Zita stroked Christas cheek: "Yes, it's hard, my child." How comforting her voice sounded! "But you will do it. You have strength! Only one more hour and it´s over."

Christa first thought she had missunderstood. Only one hour left?!? Does that mean that she has been hanging on the cross for an hour? She was stunned.
Am I really crucified for so long? One hour?
But hadn´t she danced extensively? Hadn´t she wriggled with all her might?

A huge feeling of happiness came over Christa. She had endured an hour on the cross without complaint. She had passed the time in humility and devotion. The second hour she would endure too. And she knew for sure that she would ask Sister Zita for more next day.
It should be three hours on the cross, she thought. I want to suffer! I want to feel it! The cross should make me humble! The cross should take away my pride! The cross should break my resistance!

She felt Sister Zita's hand between her legs. Her fingers played with the clitoris piercing. Yes, yes! Christa thought. Please touch me, sister! But sister Zita took her hand away. She climbed down the stepladder and pushed it aside.
"I'm leaving," she said. "So you can continue to repent, Christa. Atone! Atone in humility and obedience!" She turned away and drifted on bare feet trough the chapel and left.
Christa was alone again.
Click to expand...
very very good....thank you !!!!
 
The Pilgrim Girl - The Story of a Submission - 13

An hour, Christa thought. I have actually been crucified for an hour. Wow!
There was a tingling in her lap.
One hour! That is crazy! I just took it! Like nothing!
She dropped into the bondage and lowered her head. She hung there for a while.

Exactly so I have endured, she thought. In this attitude. As long as Sister Zita was with me, I did not want to writhe on the cross.
She felt the pain in her body come up. Her cruelly stretched arms protested. Christa suppressed a moan. She felt that her body wanted to move. The need to escape the pain by evasive movements increased.

Groaning, Christa raised her head. Sweat ran down her face. She was sweating all over. Her body was covered with a thin film of sweat. An hour was over. The second was about to become harder than the first one.
"Oh god! That´s unbelievable!" She reared up. She gasped. Her legs trembled as they tried to push her body up.

At some point I can not do that anymore, Christa thought. My legs get tired. At some point I can not push myself up. So what? The answer was merciless: then she would hang on her cruelly outstretched arms and the pain would come to her and get stronger, even if she hung very quietly on the cross. The pain would come over her like an invisible lion and put its claws into her muscles and mangle them.

"No!" Christa gasped. "No! Please do not!" Groaning, she writhed on the cross. She could not keep still. Impossible! She had to move her body. She fought against the bondage in an effort to avoid the oncoming pain, at least a little bit. The movement brought little relief, but she kept dancing on the wood.
Why am I doing this? she wondered. Why am I squirming? It does not help! All I can do is make the pain worse.
But she could not stop it. She danced a slow dance of anguish on the cross.

"So much for that!" she gasped into the empty chapel. "So that's how it works."
It was not as she had hoped: that she would eventually reach a certain level of pain and then continue until her time of repentance was over. It was rather that the pain steadily increased in the course of her crucifixion. Pain grew stronger with each passing minute she writhed on the wood.

"And I want to endure three hours tomorrow?" she sneered. "I can not stand this here! Ouch!"
With a sobbing sound, she sank into the shackles. Her cruelly stretched arms and shoulders complained promptly.
"Ow!" Christa moaned. "It hurts! It hurts so bad!"
She pushed herself up. She started to dance on the cross again. She could not do anything about it.

She wondered if she could ask Sister Zita to set her free the next time she would come to the chapel.
I could say I strained something. The shoulder maybe. Or a wrist. I ...
But the nun had told her emphatically that she would not take her down from the cross prematurely, no matter how much she begged for it.

"I have to endure, even though I can not stand it anymore," Christa gasped. "Oh God! That's so terrible! I had no idea how much that would hurt!"
But give up? Begging sister Zita for mercy? No! What a shame! She would not do that. No way!

Christa heard a small voice in her head say, "You're going to beg, Christa. You will! Maybe not today. You may spend two hours without pleading for salvation. But if you make it longer, it will come to that. At some point it hurts so much that you lose the battle. You will not care. The main thing will be, you get free! You will beg sister Zita to release you. You will plead. You will whine, Christa. You'll tease sister Zita in tears to get set you free."

"But that will not happen," the little voice in Christa's head said. "Sister Zita told you! She will not let you down prematurely. You stay strapped on the cross until your time is over."

Christa swallowed. She fought against the shackles that stretched her arms cruelly.
"No way!" She gasped. "I can not leave, no matter how much I beg and plead!" In her lap it began to tingle again.
"I'm being forced to endure it," she groaned. The tingling increased. "I can not get away!"

Despite all the pain, she felt arousal. She was experiencing exactly what she had always wanted. She was tied to a cross and could not get away. She had to stand at the wooden beam for a long time, whether she wanted it or not. She could fervently argue that she could not stand it any longer, not a single minute, really! It wouldn´t help in any way. She had to endure it.
And somehow, Christa thought, that was beautiful, excitingly beautiful.

It hurt and yet it was beautiful. It was arousing to have to endure it under duress, not to let go, to fight senselessly against the bondage that mercilessly held her to the cross. It was the helplessness that gave Christa an unnamed arousal, defenseless abandonment. She was dependent on the will of a religious sister. Sister Zita determined how long she had to endure on the cross, not Christa. Begging was futile.

"Ooh!" Christa collapsed on the cross. She felt exhausted and tired. She could feel the pain in her outstretched arms and the trembling in her bent legs.
It hurts! she thought. No matter what I do, it hurts. I can not help it. It is completely hopeless. Yes that's it! There is no way out! I'm in the middle of it and I cannot get free.

The door of the chapel opened. Sister Zita came in. Christa looked at her.
What time is it? she wondered. Is the second hour over? Is sister Zita coming to rescue me? The nun floated on bare feet along the passage between the pews. She knelt in front of the cross and began to pray. She took her time.
Then she turned to the statue of the Virgin and continued her prayers.
Christa looked at the nun's bare feet.

She is barefoot and free. She can always get up and leave. I'm barefoot, too, but I'm not free. I can not leave. I'm strapped to a cross.
A smile, distorted with pain, slipped over Christa's face. Actually, I am the one who experiences the beautiful. I experience an exciting compulsion. I experience what I have wished for.

The nun got up. She pushed the small stepladder in front of the cross and climbed up. She gave Christa a drink. Christa drank hastily. She was thirsty. She had sweated a lot. When the bottle was drunk, the nun placed it in a pew and climbed back up to Christa.
She stroked Christa's cheek. "You look beautiful in your devotion," she said. "I can see how difficult it is for you. You are sweating. You writhe. You suffer."

The nun smiled. "It's good. You suffer for our Lord! And You suffer to atone for the sins of the world. You're doing a fantastic job, Christa. You can be proud of yourself. Rarely have I seen such devotion."

I'm not the only one, Christa thought. I am not the first. Other girls have suffered on this cross.
"Sister Zita," she said. "Sister Zita!"
"Yes, my child?"
"Sister Zita," Christa gasped. "It hurts."

"Of course it hurts, my dear," the nun said soothingly. She kissed Christa on the mouth. Christa returned the kiss. She felt the nun's tongue and granted her access.
The sister took lips lips away of those Christas. "It's good that you are suffering, child. That is true repentance. You have to stand it, Christa. The harder it is for you, the more effective it is. The pain is part of it. The pain will purify you. The pain will make you humble. Do not fight back, Christa! Take the pain. Submit. Show devotion!"

"Yes, sister," Christa said. She pressed her lips together. I will not beg! she decided. No way! I will not do that! I do not give up!
The sister smiled at her. Then she kissed Christa again on the mouth. Her tongue made energetic entrance. Christa got involved. She obeyed the unspoken command. Do it with me, sister !, she thought. You can do whatever you want with me. I obey unconditionally!
 
The Pilgrim Girl - The Story of a Submission - 14

Christa was kissed by the nun. She felt Sister Zita's right hand brush down on her naked body.
Yes! She thought. Yes! Please do it, sister!

She did it. Christa felt a big, strong hand down there, where she was so soft and extremely sensitive. This hand reached out. She touched Christa. Sister Zita did not show false reserve. She fucked Christa with a firm hand. She gave Christa no orgasm, she forced her to have one.

Christa had read about it. It was called a forced orgasm. A dominant person forced one to orgasm. One was forced to come. It was pure madness. She came as never before in her life. She squirmed under Sister Zita's firm hand. She could not suppress a loud moan and was infinitely ashamed of her exuberant lust.

Christa squirmed. She gasped and groaned. She danced on Sister Zita's strong hand. She gave herself up. She submitted. She was ready for anything. If Sister Zita had in that moment asked if Christa was ready to endure on the Cross until midnight, she would have happily affirmed.

Christa came with an outcry. She reared up in her shackles. It was overflowing her in waves. She came on the cross. Then she sank trembling in the shackles.
She felt the need to thank sister Zita exuberantly. But she did not dare. Sister Zita had done something to her, which nuns usually did not do. Maybe she did not think it was proper for Christa to talk about it.

She watched as the nun cleared away the stepladder and knelt again in front of the cross. Again sister Zita prayed and she looked at Christa all the time. She did not take her eyes off the crucified girl. There was a shine in the sister's eyes as she looked at Christa.
Christa felt totally naked under this gaze and that, where she was already naked anyway.

Finally, Sister Zita finished her prayers. She stepped behind the cross and worked the crank. The cross lowered. Christa had to suppress a sigh of relief. It was over. She was glad for that. It had been very hard. But now that it was over, she felt pride and gratitude that she had had to endure it. She was already looking forward to her next crucifixion.

The nun opened the leather cuffs and released Christa. "Kneel down!" she demanded in a commanding voice.
Christa obeyed. She knelt in front of Sister Zita on the cool stone floor.
"Say thanks!" the nun demanded.
Christa looked up at her. "Thank you, sister Zita," she said humbly. "Thank you for letting me repent. Thank you."

Sister Zita smiled at her, "That's right, my child. Stand up. Come with me to the next door." She led Christa into the next room with the chain dangling from the ceiling. Christa looked closer. Something was different. There she saw it. At the bottom of the chain hung wide iron handcuffs. An uneasy feeling stalked her.

"Come closer!" the nun commanded. She waved Christa. Hesitantly Christa followed the order. She stared at the iron chain dangling from the ceiling.
"Your hands!" snarled the sister. So, yes! Christa recoiled. Sister Zita wanted to hang her up by the hands. That could only mean one thing: she wanted to flog her!

"Come on!" The nurse called impatiently. Christa went to her. Everything in her was against it, but she could not disobey. She had to follow Sister Cita's orders. She felt a sob rising in her throat. She did not want to be flogged, not now that she had suffered so much on the cross. Nevertheless, she stepped under the dangling chain.

"Hands up!", the sister demanded. Zita raised her arms. The nun put her wrists in the wide iron bands. She closed the hinges and locked the iron handcuffs. Now Christa was fastened helpless in the iron. She could not get away. Her heart was beating wildly. What would come now?

Sister Zita went to the wall. There was a crank. She turned it and the chain Christa was hanging on straightened. The nun turned the crank until Christa hung outstreched on the chain.
Then she got a wash bowl of warm water and the soft sponge that Christa already knew and started to wash the girl from head to toe.

Christa almost started crying in relief. No flogging! Not today! That was good. She would be whipped, someday. She would allow Sister Zita to hang her naked on this chain and whip her mercilessly, but not today.

Sister Zita washed Christa extensively. This time also the hair. Then she carefully dried the girl hanging from her hands. She freed her from the handcuffs and led her put on her clothes, which were neatly hung over a chair back: "Get dressed, Christa."
Christa obeyed. She got dressed. Then she stood before sister Zita, in jeans and blouse and with bare feet, because she had walked without shoes to the monastery.

"I have to clean up in the main building," said the nurse. "Would you like to help me with this?"
"Yes," Christa answered. She liked the idea of having to clean the convent buildings bare-footed. It came to one of her favorite fantasies, in which she was a poor orphan girl, who always had to go barefoot and had to toil the long day at the orphanage like a maid. Oh yes, she liked that.

She followed Sister Zita into the main building. They picked up buckets, cleaning rags and cleaning supplies. Then they went up to the first floor.
"Start with this room right here," Sister Zita ordered. "I'll take care of the room opposite. You can fetch water at the tap at the toilet at the end of the corridor. Wipe the floor damp. That is enough."

Christa got down to work. The room she needed to clean was a large office with desks, filing cabinets, and a drawer board that ran the length of a wall.
As she wiped the floor, she imagined she was a poor barefoot orphan, forced by strict nuns to do all sorts of work. If she did not do something right, penalties threatened.

She arrived at the drawer board. Several tall windows let light into the room. Christa looked out. She saw the monastery wall directly below and the locked gate. Behind it was the forest through which the old pilgrim's way led. Christa recognized a movement in the forest. She looked closer. She saw two hikers on the pilgrim path. She could see the people well.

Christa looked at the scene. She could see the pilgrimage well, as he led along the edge of the forest. She could see well between the trees. She could follow the road for almost two kilometers to the right with her eyes.
"I came from there," she mumbled. "There is the small pension where I stay overnight. From here you can see the whole pilgrim way. You can see who is walking down the path."

She turned away from the window and continued to brush the floor. In front of her was a drawer from the shelf. It was not completely closed. Christa grabbed the drawer to close it. She did not want to bump into the protruding drawer while she was cleaning. She saw something in it. It was a pair of binoculars. Christa pushed the drawer back into the shelf. Then she continued cleaning.
 
The Pilgrim Girl - The Story of a Submission - 15

Over the course of an hour, she and the sister cleaned all the floors beside the corridor.
"That's it for today," said Sister Zita happily. "Do you know something, my dear? We make ourselves comfortable downstairs in the backyard and enjoy coffee and cake. Do you like nut cake? I baked some."

Christa said she likes nut cake. The nun told her to clear away the cleaning utensils.
When Christa had finished, she heard the voice of Sister Zita: "Christa! Come here on the spot!"
Christa hurried. She found the nurse in the room she had cleaned first, the room with the desks and the board on the wall. Sister Zita was standing with her hands behind her back near the windows next to a desk.

"Come here!" she ordered sternly. Christa obeyed. The nun nodded toward the desk: "You did not do your job properly! They have messed up! Under the desk was not cleaned!"
Christa thought she didn´t hear correctly. What did sister Zita say? She had wiped under the desk. She remembered how she had pulled out the wheeled swivel chair from under the desk to wipe underneath.

She wanted to say something. Sister Zita cut her off sharply: "I do not want to hear stories, girl! You did not do your job right! Stretch out your hands!"
"What?" Christa asked, stunned. The nun's stern tone irritated her, but it also caused a strange feeling in her stomach. A shiver passed over her.

"Hold out your hands, girl!" sister Zita snarled. "Come on!"
Christa held out her hands, palms up. The nun took his hands out from behind. In her right hand she held a stick. Christa stared at the thing in disbelief. That could not ...

Sister Zita raised her hand with the stick. Then she hit Christa's left hand with full force. The stick slammed on her palm. A sharp, burning pain flooded Christas hand. She screamed. Already another blow hit her right hand. Again Christa screamed.

"So," the sister said. "That was the punishment for your sloppy work, girl! Now you will kneel and thank me for the punishment!"
"But I havn´t ...!", Christa began. She had not messed up. She had decently cleaned. She knew that exactly.

The nun's eyes blazed. "You have the audacity?!" she yelled. "What do you think of contradicting me!? Stretch out your hands!"
"But sister Zita!", Christa called. "I can explain everything! I have ..."
"Stretch out your hands!" the nun ordered in a stentor voice. Christa obeyed. She could not help it.

Sister Zita took a swing. Then she hit Christa's left hand with force.
Christa screamed. That hurt! Really hurt! It was followed by an equally hard blow to her right palm. Christa howled loudly. Through a tear veil she saw the nurse. Another blow hit her left hand. She screamed again. Then the right hand. Christa screamed.

Sister Zita let the stick disappear under her robe. She stared at Christa with cold eyes: "Now kneel down, girl, and thank for your punishment!"
Christa knelt in tears before the nun. Tears, she looked up at her. "Thank you, sister Zita, for the punishment," she sobbed. "Thank you for punishing me."

With the sister a transformation took place. Suddenly her eyes stopped looking stern and cold. They were full of compassion. Sister Zita covered Christa's face with her hands. She stroked her hair. "Now it's good, isn´t it, my child? You accept your punishment?"
"Yes, sister," Christa said.

The nun stroked her. Then she pulled Christa's head close and squeezed her gently. "You must not rebel, my child. Rebellion is bad. It makes you bad and disobedient. Only in obedience is security and joy. You must become more obedient." She leaned down to Christa and kissed her. "You will be obedient from now on, won´t you, Christa?"

The nun smiled at her. Her face radiated pure kindness. "Then it's all right now, my child. Stay here on your knees! Repent and wait until I call you!"
"Yes, sister," said Christa good-naturedly.
The nun left. Christa remained kneeling on the floor. She did not dare to move until Sister Zita called from below: "Come in, Christa! For coffee and cake."

On wobbly legs Christa ran down the stairs. Sister Zita was waiting for her behind the house. On the lawn next to the herb garden stood a table with folding chairs. The table was set. There was coffee and cake. Sister Zita smiled at Christa as she ran barefoot across the short-cut lawn. Christa felt the soft grass beneath her bare soles.

The nun stood and waited for her. When Christa arrived at the table, she took something out of her robe: "One more thing!" She showed Christa what she was holding in her hand. It was a rope about a meter long. "Turn around and put your hands behind your back!"
Christa could not help but obey. She turned and arched her arms backwards. She felt the nun tie her hands behind her back. Her heart began to beat.

When her hands were tied tightly, the sister turned Christa over and gently pressed her onto one of the folding chairs: "Sit down, my child! Now there is coffee and cake. You will like it."
Christa sat down. The nurse shoved the second chair next to hers and sat down. Then she began to feed Christa with cake. In between, she gave her a cup of coffee to drink: "Caution! It´s hot! Not that you burn yourself."

Christa experienced the picnic outdoors as in a dream. She sat with her hands tied behind her back, next to a nun who had just hit her with a stick on her hands, and was fed like a little child.

"That's fine," said Sister Zita. "Always be good. You do not have to rebel, Christa. That's not good for you. Good are only obedience and humility, submission and dedication. You understand that, right?"
"Yes, Sister Zita," Christa answered and drank from the cup the sister held out to her.

After the little picnic, Sister Zita picked up Christa's legs and took her bare feet on her lap. She stroked Christa's feet.
"Now you are feeling better, aren´t you, my child? All the rebellion has disappeared from your mind?"
"Yes, sister Zita," Christa answered. She could not help it. She should have been outraged by the ruthless treatment she had received from the nun. Instead she took everything submissively.

Because she liked what had happened to her. Christa felt deeply ashamed and at the same time rejoicing. She loved it! It had been nice.
Did Sister Zita know? Did the nun have an antenna for girls who had such feelings deeply in their hearts? Or was it a shot in the blue, a test balloon, how far could she go at Christa?

Christa did not know. It did not matter to her. The only important thing was that Sister Zita was just like the stern nuns in her secret fantasies, the nuns who harshly handled poor orphan or school girls and severely punished them for the smallest mistakes.

Sister Zita continued to stroke Christa's bare feet. "Where do you actually live?", she wanted to know.
"In the Pension Waldmüller in ..."
"I know where that is," the nurse interrupted her. "That's far away, my child! You have to walk a very long distance every day." She looked at Christa's bare feet. "Barefoot, too. It is not cheap either. House Waldmüller has high prices for bed and breakfast."

"I saved a lot for my vacation," Christa replied. It was a strange and utterly surrealistic feeling to sit next to this nun with her hands tied behind her back and talk to her while the nurse stroked her feet.

"Anyway!", Sister Zita insisted. "You do not have to spend your hard-earned money, my child. If you want, you can cancel your room in House Waldmüller and stay here with me. I would provide you a room with a bed. You could help me to keep the buildings clean." She smiled widely, "And of course You are allowed to repent on the cross for the sins of the world every day. As often and as long as you like!"
"I'll think about it," Christa promised.

Half an hour later, sister Zita released Christa from the bondage. She escorted the girl to the gate and let her out. As a farewell she hugged Christa and kissed her mouth. "See you tomorrow," the nun said, stroking Christa's cheek. "See you tomorrow, little barefoot penitent girl."
 
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