Caroline on the Cross

Caroline noticed the breasts particularly. They were of moderate size, a comfortable B cup and riding lower than they once would have, but not by that much and they were still shapely. What caught Caroline's eye were the ornaments. From each ringed nipple depended a crucifix, perhaps an inch across by two inches long and obviously rather heavy for their size. They jerked and bobbled noticeably when the woman moved. Caroline wondered where she might have seen her before.

She lowered her head and closed her eyes, intent on enduring her torment. A few moments later she felt someone paying attention to her breasts. A light, sensual stroke on each, followed by a harder slap. She opened her eyes and looked at the face that was now only a few feet away from her. It was the woman with the crucifixes dangling from her nipples. She was alternately stroking and then lightly slapping Caroline's breasts with the crop. Suddenly Caroline recognized who she was.

"Sister Emma!" she managed to croak out in her surprise.

The woman gave her a particularly stinging blow to her right nipple, then shushed her.

"Remember, um, Caroline," she said softly but sternly, "no real names here. Here I'm Saint Catherine. Or Saint Catherine of the Lash if you prefer it in full. Oh, don't look so surprised! They do let us out of the convent now and then, you know. To visit our families and take care of other, ah, shall we say personal affairs."

She gave Caroline's breasts a few more light strokes. Then she used the tip of the crop to trace the lines of her body, always ending up at Caroline's crotch.

"My, but you've become a fine young woman. I always thought you would. I used to guess how my sixth-graders would develop you know. Which ugly ducklings would become swans, which young swans would turn into old ducks. And which young innocents would grow to be not so innocent. You surprised me there. I hadn't noticed you taking so much interest in those delightful virgin martyr stories.

"Well, I'd like to stay and watch you some more, but I'm due for some chastisement. Getting now, giving later this afternoon. By the way, don't be surprised if you see another familiar face from your school days. Here she's known as Saint Agatha. If you remember your martyr stories you can guess her specialty."

Saint Catherine gave one of her own breasts a hard squeeze and a twist. Then she turned to leave, handing the crop to another bystander. She turned and winked at Caroline.

"We must get together some time, dear. Oh, and I'll be sure to bring my ruler."

Caroline watched her walk away, still so surprised that she barely noticed that someone else had claimed the crop and was delivering a stinging blow to her left breast.

And so it continued. For a time Caroline tried to work out how much longer she had to endure her torture, guessing at how much time had passed. It gave her mind something to do while members of the crowd periodically tormented her body. In a real crucifixion, she knew from her studies, a healthy victim might last three days or more. The Planners had set hers at a mere three hours. But the three hours were beginning to seem interminable. What could it have been like to spend a day, two days, three days on a real cross?

"OK, it's time," Caroline heard the Chief Tormentor say to his assistant. "That's three hours. Let's finish her."

A strange mix of emotions ran through Caroline. There was relief. It would be over soon, There was a certain sense of triumph. She had survived. She had held out. She had taken all the torments they gave her and not broken. She wanted to cry out in elation and pride.

And something else. Now that the end was in sight she no longer had to repress the sexual tension that had been growing in her since that morning in the darkened room. The mix of her fantasy with the scene, her exposure and the torments, mostly to her sexual regions, had left her more aroused than she'd ever been before. Somehow the pain had been replaced by growing, explosive need for release.

The Chief Tormentor armed himself with a pole. A thick dildo was mounted on the end of it. He flicked a small switch on the shaft. Caroline heard, faintly, the hum of a vibrator. He approached her, the dildo spear held like a weapon across his body.

"Finish me," she whispered. "Finish me!"

He raised it towards her, at an angle that left no doubt where he planned to go with it. As the pink intruder approached she stretched her body towards it, thrust her belly as far forward as her bounds would allow as if to engulf it. But he denied it to her. Just a light touch with the very tip at the spot where her slit began and then he withdrew it. He did it again, and then once more, teasing her with the sensation.

She stretched even further against her bonds, wiggling and thrusting her hips lasciviously, trying to impale herself on the pink phallic spear point. Distantly she heard the sound of the crowd, but in her concentration it came through as a distant murmuring.

"Pretty lively for three hours on the cross" she heard someone say.

Finally the Chief Tormentor relented. He thrust his vibrator spear home and began working it gently up and down. Caroline was less gentle in her motions. Within moments she experienced a climax like she'd never had before. And she vocalized like she never had before.

"I bet they heard that all the way out to the country road," an onlooker observed. The first orgasm was followed by another of slightly lesser intensity, and then still another and another until finally Caroline hung limp, totally spent, in her bonds. She may or may not have heard the applause of the crowd as the Chief Tormentor recruited a half dozen helpers to lower the cross to the ground. Caroline was released and wrapped in a fluffy white bath robe. Several women from the crowd volunteered to cradle her while they waited for the electric cart that would take her back to the Villa, a warm bath, a massage and reality.

The End (for now)