Note: You can change font size, font face, and turn on dark mode by clicking the "A" icon tab in the Story Info Box.
You can temporarily switch back to a Classic Literotica® experience during our ongoing public Beta testing. Please consider leaving feedback on issues you experience or suggest improvements.
Click hereMy pre-cum is dripping as I ride like wild on my saddle of penetrating. She is catching the drops on her boobs, rubbing them in, while the audience cheers.
And that makes me aware of another thing. That liter or so of water they forced me to drink—every drop—distending my small belly... I feel it now, cramping, urgent, making me swell with pressure. That was Amanda's plan, to make me piss myself out for my audience. Another humiliation as my bladder releases the golden stream.
Okay, honey. Whether or not I need to go—and I am blushing a hot bright red-a little stream is starting from my pussy. I shove my hips forward, straining like a wanton, thrusting my opening out beyond the end of the stick. Amanda sees, still looking up and laughing.
It starts, tickling of my ultra-sensitive lips, a burning sensation in my urethra, and the small golden stream arching down. Amanda barely moves, laughing out loud. First one boob—only the big tip—catches the stream, then she shifts so the other tip gets its share. Both are now wet, glistening flesh, dripping golden drops. This girl is nuts! Sensing the end, she steps forward, face up, mouth open, the crowd cheering madly, and catches in the final golden drops between her lips...
And then I am coming, riding the cutting-edge sawing into my cunt. The dance of crucifixion has become frantic, tits lifted glistening with sweat, then my sopping wet black flag. My hips are grinding incessantly, dragging the hugely engorged, battered, sore clit, maddened with stimulation. I find I can squash myself down, hard, and get my asshole into the act, too, sawing it along the cutting edge until it is inflamed with need.
It is a total collapse, right in time with my final cries—wild cries, like panic, shouting for more and more—as I fall forward, all strength gone from my arms, back, legs, belly... I feel only dissociated sensations: the lingering hungry tingle between my legs, burning all along my crack, the pressure of my tits pressing against something, hot sunlight on a patch of my back, my lips open and wet, saliva dripping...
I think I am being lowered. I feel myself lighter, dropping slowly, and then the ground. My eyes are shut; I can't open them, now. I am on the ground. I feel a wish, but only a distant wish, for those naked, cheering young men to come and take me. All take me, one by one. Each one stiffer and harder, but each also gentler, loving, comforting. Like real sex, but not jaded.
Nothing comes until gentle hands are lifting me to my feet. Helping me walk. I feel beneath my feet grass, sand, and finally the warm wet edge of a tiny wave tickling my toes. For a moment, a warm sea breeze cools my skin. It ruffles the sticky wet thatch between my legs. I step forward, still held, and feel water warm on my knees, thighs, belly, breasts—and then it stops.
I love these picnic trips with dad and my brothers. How come we haven't done it in so long? Maybe just seems long.
I can let myself ease back, now, so my body floats, cooling my neck, and slowly, with tiny hand motions, I can propel myself back toward the shore. I worry just a little, in one of those odd dreaming interludes, that since I am asleep I might turn unknowingly and paddle out far into the bay and be lost under a July moon in a dark blue sky. My dad would call to me, wouldn't he? Take care of me so I can sleep peacefully?
When have I ever been so relaxed? Oh, satisfaction!
- COMMENTS
EllenMelvilleover 4 years agoAuthorNow, THAT is sophisticated literary discrimination. The question is whether the ratings given here are on the Erection Scale or are on the Literary Art scale. Is the story rated for the sexual arousal if occasions in the reader or for the effectiveness as fiction? I can see either one, but I am guessing most readers rate the Erection factor--but that, inevitably, that reaction is influenced by how well the story is executed. Obviously, none of us is here as a literary critic first and foremost. We are here to get off. On the other hand, that is very subjective, because one man's cummer is another man's bummer. Whereas, if the rating were a guide to the effectiveness with which the author conveys his or her subject, whatever it may be, readers will know what a powerful experience awaits them thought not whether it will uplift or downcast.
joefeltonover 4 years agoEllen, I didn't care for the subject, but had to give you 5*'s for creating a new and original story.
EllenMelvilleover 4 years agoAuthorPeople are truly diverse in what "gets them off." Undeniably, though, for centuries Christian art and commentary have acknowledged that the naked crucifixion of Jesus has inescapable erotic appeal--especially in those eras when women were expected to have no erotic feelings, no interest in the naked human male. Critics have tried to deal with the artworks that portray the crucifixion in an obviously erotic way. Some, at least, have simply conceded that the "prurience," as well as the "piety," simply is there.
Some of us at least know that each year around Easter there are re-enacted crucifixions around the world, some using real nails, and women are featured more than men. They usually are not nude but definitely "exposed." And the crowded gather---why? Probably "prurience and piety."
On question and answer Web site, there always are many questions about "Was Jesus naked?" "Was Jesus crucified completely naked?" "Were women crucified by the Romans?" "Were they naked?" "Were the raped, first?" Mostly "yes," to all these.
What surprises me are the number of women--see them on dozens and dozens of porn sites--who volunteer for a crucifixion fantasy. In every possible setting from the woods to shipboard, cellar to the photo studio, women let themselves be tied in poses, filmed writhing and squirming, stretched and exposed, whipped. What is shown on the internet STILL shocks me, I must admit. I mean this is PUBLIC. But, then, I never thought I routinely would see fucking on television and comedy shows where every other word is "fuck."
None of this argues, of course, that Anon is wrong. But the number of people who have "favorited" the story and "followed" me because of it, suggests that this was not brand new, breakthrough blasphemy for many.
The only problem with Anon, for ME, is that he rates the story a "1" and, with few ratings, that pulls down the score so the story no longer is rated "hot." If not rated in some way, it because harder to "discover" in the gigantic Literotica archives.
Something like one out of two thousand readers who open the story bother to rate it, giving inordinate power to one or two who rate it a "1." The only incentive to write these stories is to be read, after all, so it matters to me if people who like my stories go through and rate them highly.
