Wednesday in Soho

A petite redhead stands before me smiling wickedly. Her thumb gently scrapes through the moisture between my pouting lips then reaches under me and impales my bottom. I groan as she brings her right hand up; taking my clit between thumb and forefinger she slowly coaxes it out.

I screech in agony as fingernails pinch into me. I know she must have drawn blood. Bruce pushes the woman away from me but she shrugs him off, simply standing back and allowing the next in line to step forward. My tear filled eyes see a knowing smirk on her face. Tears are rolling down my cheeks as a tall man with sandy blond hair takes her place. He fixes me with his slate gray eyes and I cannot turn away.

" She will pay for that," he tells me with calm assurance. I glance at her again and see a look of fear wash the smugness off her face. I am glad. They must be a couple, which is why she is waiting for him. He reaches out with an upturned left hand. Gently his palm cups my mons; a finger stretches out along the crevice of my pussy, lovingly stroking in a gentle forward sweep. All thoughts of pain and terror are swept away and I begin to grind myself against the proffered palm. As my motion becomes more vigorous, the finger slips into me. I groan and begin to work my hips up and down. He keeps his hand pressed against me. All of the frustrations, the desires, desperate need and yes, even the pain of this long day, are building to a sharp point. A second finger slips into me, pressing outward, widening my already distended lips. A low guttural groan begins to climb several octaves as my lungs slowly empty. A third finger slips in and my tears flow. A thumb softly strums across my throbbing clit and I burst. I am emptied of everything as I helplessly pump down on the triad of fingers filling me. My wants, desires, and needs simply flow out of me into his upturned palm. The world begins to narrow and darken but I can't think of anything. My cross vibrates with my release and I am his.

"Breath!" some small corner of my mind screams and for a panicked moment I am sure I've forgotten how. Finally with a gasp my lungs begin to refill. The fingers have withdrawn. I wonder if they have been expelled by the spasm that shook me to the core. I open my eyes and see the tall blond standing before me. He is smiling complacently. His left hand still cupped below me holds a small puddle of my secretions. He raises this to my nose and I can do nothing but inhale. I am truly emptied, released; beyond caring, nothing can matter now. With another rasping breath I steady myself on my cross.

My arms and legs are exhausted and I lower myself onto the sedile. The man who has done this to me still stands before me. The line behind him is getting restless. They want their turn with me. He isn't finished though; he dips three fingers of his right hand into the puddle of moisture that he cups in his left. Carefully he draws a moist line across my belly. My belly shudders in response. He then traces circles around my nipples and brushes lines along the underside of my outstretched arms. My body twitches and jerks with each touch of those moistened fingers. I was wrong. I wasn't beyond caring. I am being anointed with my own essence. He is determined to show me I can still blush. He turns at last and casually sweeps his left palm across the redheads face. She glares at me with pure hatred. If looks could drive nails I would never leave this cross. He grabs her by the arm and they both returned to their seats.

The line continues but I am barely aware. I remain perched upon the end of my sedile, open and uncaring, while the end of the line files by. They seem to want to punish me now as more of them pinch and slap my tender flesh than caress it. It is well after three when the line finally ends and the audience is thanked for their participation. Mark reminds them that they can purchase souvenir photos in the lobby. Those that had paid the extra ten pounds come forward to have their picture taken with a real live crucified damsel. A couple, one on either side, their arms entwined across my naked rump. A young man resting his head against the side of my chest while he throws an arm around my waist. Lovely photos for the scrapbook on the coffee table and no doubt a few will end up on the net.

I am exhausted when they finally lower my cross and release me. I spend a few minutes resting in place catching my breath. Eventually Mark comes and helps me up. He has brought me a change of clothing. Whilst I'm done for the day and can head home and rest, he has an evening show to prepare for.

© copyright 2004 Mad Lews