Quiet Paul
Tribune
I did say they probably would prefer the quicker option - seems reasonable and quite thoughtful on my part. Such ingratitude from an experienced victimApparently the victim has no say in any of this?
I did say they probably would prefer the quicker option - seems reasonable and quite thoughtful on my part. Such ingratitude from an experienced victimApparently the victim has no say in any of this?
I did say they probably would prefer the quicker option - seems reasonable and quite thoughtful on my part. Such ingratitude from an experienced victim
I seem to remember, dear Barbaria, that a while ago you suggested that you are 'a proper lady'. Not behaving like that, you're not. I should know. I know a few.Stick my tongue out and say blahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
I seem to remember, dear Barbaria, that a while ago you suggested that you are 'a proper lady'. Not behaving like that, you're not. I should know. I know a few.
Don't try too hard . Your obstreperousness is rather appealing!Chastised again....sorry QP...I will try to behave now.
Hey, Eulalia, this is just wonderful. The pain and the shame come through brilliantly. Yet again, wonderful, descriptive and deeply emotional writing. Beautiful.just doing my familiar task of bringing Barb's thread back on topic ,
and not wanting to compete with her powerful poem,
just adding another angle,
here's my treatment
(from Crucifixa)
Aaah!
That sickening jolt!
All of me tugged
on four flesh-rending nails,
ripping racked girlhood!
Worse: in between my thighs
the Spike -
that special cruelty the Romans use
to consummate their virgin-victim's
honeymoon of pain!
First I fought, frenzied,
trying to tear,
my fingers free from those fixed nails.
At last,
I recognised, resigned:
there’s no escape.
Accept
the agony
that surges through
with every lunge
of my long, slow death-dance.
Yet still I strive with aching thighs
to ease my tortured sex
around the exploring Spike,
flex up my supple body,
feel how close
ecstatic pleasure lies to exquisite pain!
Excited schoolboys now observe
each throb of my loins
as the triumphant metal penetrates my female parts,
province by province,
conquering me.
Tribute trickles purple
down my surrendered thighs,
drips for Rome’s soil to sup.
Wolf-whistles!
Word's got round,
"A pretty crucifixa on the Ostian Way!"
Youths jeer and joke,
their girl-friends giggle and gloat.
Older men ogle me, lay bets...
"She's suffering,
that slave-slut -
so she should!"
hisses a hag.
Submit.
It's what they like to see....
Breasts that will never nourish,
hips that will never bear,
toss, thrust, tormented.
Parched lips panting,
schoolgirl teeth flash in the sun,
sun-baked, thirst-maddened,
frantic, I twist my head,
try to suck sweat off my shoulder.
Oozing wounds crawl
with flesh-gnawing flies -
each breath is agony …
Ah, crucifixion!
Summit of sadist’s skill!
Making me, every sinew taut,
torture – and fuck - myself!
Oh my goodness Eul! I have no words for this! I hope so badly I can produce work that is so powerful and gets other girls as wet as this had made me! You and Barb are truly amazing! (gets back to work dejectedly on The Lost Chronicle...)just doing my familiar task of bringing Barb's thread back on topic ,
and not wanting to compete with her powerful poem,
just adding another angle,
here's my treatment
(from Crucifixa)
Aaah!
That sickening jolt!
All of me tugged
on four flesh-rending nails,
ripping racked girlhood!
Worse: in between my thighs
the Spike -
that special cruelty the Romans use
to consummate their virgin-victim's
honeymoon of pain!
First I fought, frenzied,
trying to tear,
my fingers free from those fixed nails.
At last,
I recognised, resigned:
there’s no escape.
Accept
the agony
that surges through
with every lunge
of my long, slow death-dance.
Yet still I strive with aching thighs
to ease my tortured sex
around the exploring Spike,
flex up my supple body,
feel how close
ecstatic pleasure lies to exquisite pain!
Excited schoolboys now observe
each throb of my loins
as the triumphant metal penetrates my female parts,
province by province,
conquering me.
Tribute trickles purple
down my surrendered thighs,
drips for Rome’s soil to sup.
Wolf-whistles!
Word's got round,
"A pretty crucifixa on the Ostian Way!"
Youths jeer and joke,
their girl-friends giggle and gloat.
Older men ogle me, lay bets...
"She's suffering,
that slave-slut -
so she should!"
hisses a hag.
Submit.
It's what they like to see....
Breasts that will never nourish,
hips that will never bear,
toss, thrust, tormented.
Parched lips panting,
schoolgirl teeth flash in the sun,
sun-baked, thirst-maddened,
frantic, I twist my head,
try to suck sweat off my shoulder.
Oozing wounds crawl
with flesh-gnawing flies -
each breath is agony …
Ah, crucifixion!
Summit of sadist’s skill!
Making me, every sinew taut,
torture – and fuck - myself!
just doing my familiar task of bringing Barb's thread back on topic ,
and not wanting to compete with her powerful poem,
just adding another angle,
here's my treatment
(from Crucifixa)
Aaah!
That sickening jolt!
All of me tugged
on four flesh-rending nails,
ripping racked girlhood!
Worse: in between my thighs
the Spike -
that special cruelty the Romans use
to consummate their virgin-victim's
honeymoon of pain!
First I fought, frenzied,
trying to tear,
my fingers free from those fixed nails.
At last,
I recognised, resigned:
there’s no escape.
Accept
the agony
that surges through
with every lunge
of my long, slow death-dance.
Yet still I strive with aching thighs
to ease my tortured sex
around the exploring Spike,
flex up my supple body,
feel how close
ecstatic pleasure lies to exquisite pain!
Excited schoolboys now observe
each throb of my loins
as the triumphant metal penetrates my female parts,
province by province,
conquering me.
Tribute trickles purple
down my surrendered thighs,
drips for Rome’s soil to sup.
Wolf-whistles!
Word's got round,
"A pretty crucifixa on the Ostian Way!"
Youths jeer and joke,
their girl-friends giggle and gloat.
Older men ogle me, lay bets...
"She's suffering,
that slave-slut -
so she should!"
hisses a hag.
Submit.
It's what they like to see....
Breasts that will never nourish,
hips that will never bear,
toss, thrust, tormented.
Parched lips panting,
schoolgirl teeth flash in the sun,
sun-baked, thirst-maddened,
frantic, I twist my head,
try to suck sweat off my shoulder.
Oozing wounds crawl
with flesh-gnawing flies -
each breath is agony …
Ah, crucifixion!
Summit of sadist’s skill!
Making me, every sinew taut,
torture – and fuck - myself!
Eul's work has a disturbing tendency to bring about those emotions and responses!Eulalia,
After reading this marvelous work I went back and found the original document you referenced: "Crucifixa"
I am stunned, amazed, tingling, aching, stimulated, sopping....
You've said everything I wish I could say.
Yours is a unique talent!
just doing my familiar task of bringing Barb's thread back on topic ,
and not wanting to compete with her powerful poem,
just adding another angle,
here's my treatment
(from Crucifixa)
Aaah!
That sickening jolt!
All of me tugged
on four flesh-rending nails,
ripping racked girlhood!
Worse: in between my thighs
the Spike -
that special cruelty the Romans use
to consummate their virgin-victim's
honeymoon of pain!
First I fought, frenzied,
trying to tear,
my fingers free from those fixed nails.
At last,
I recognised, resigned:
there’s no escape.
Accept
the agony
that surges through
with every lunge
of my long, slow death-dance.
Yet still I strive with aching thighs
to ease my tortured sex
around the exploring Spike,
flex up my supple body,
feel how close
ecstatic pleasure lies to exquisite pain!
Excited schoolboys now observe
each throb of my loins
as the triumphant metal penetrates my female parts,
province by province,
conquering me.
Tribute trickles purple
down my surrendered thighs,
drips for Rome’s soil to sup.
Wolf-whistles!
Word's got round,
"A pretty crucifixa on the Ostian Way!"
Youths jeer and joke,
their girl-friends giggle and gloat.
Older men ogle me, lay bets...
"She's suffering,
that slave-slut -
so she should!"
hisses a hag.
Submit.
It's what they like to see....
Breasts that will never nourish,
hips that will never bear,
toss, thrust, tormented.
Parched lips panting,
schoolgirl teeth flash in the sun,
sun-baked, thirst-maddened,
frantic, I twist my head,
try to suck sweat off my shoulder.
Oozing wounds crawl
with flesh-gnawing flies -
each breath is agony …
Ah, crucifixion!
Summit of sadist’s skill!
Making me, every sinew taut,
torture – and fuck - myself!
WOW Eul....wonderful contribution to this thread, and I do believe it does mine one better!! Powerful!!
Love yours
Love Eul's
Love this thread
Make that four.That's three love....score=three love.
That's three love....score=three love.
No,I'm not into sports.Been watching Wimbledon?
Been watching Wimbledon?
Thanks for the Like Barb...love you!No,I'm not into sports.
I like bedroom sports.Don't blame you, Connie