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Altered States - New Story By Jedakk

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Deleted member jedakk

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“Altered States” is a new crucifixion story I’ve written and mentioned a few times over the past several months. The time is finally here for me to start posting it.

Here’s a little about it:

In 2023, cat and her master, Joe, are members of a BDSM group. cat is obsessed with being crucified, always trying to last longer, fantasizing about being a victim nailed to a cross at a grim place of execution outside the gates of ancient Rome. They live in an old house on some acreage that was built in the 1950s when everyone’s fear was a Soviet nuclear attack. Consequently, the house has a spacious fallout shelter with an entrance from the basement which now serves as an excellent dungeon, sealed so that no outside light or air can enter - nor can anyone hear your screams.

So when she is well into her time on the cross and the power goes out, and cat ends up alone in the dark on her cross, she discovers a way to enter into an altered state of consciousness. For a short time, she feels what it’s like to be nailed to a Roman cross before a jeering crowd along with other suffering victims. Her altered state ends when the lights suddenly come back, but she knows that she has to get back there, has to experience the cross fully.

And she finds out that her altered state of consciousness may be more real than she imagined.

Yes, I have shamelessly plagiarized the name of the 1980 movie, “Altered States” starring William Hurt, so sue me! I will post this story in segments and it will probably take several weeks to post it all. I live for feedback, so please let me know what you think, what you like and don’t like, etc.

And no, I don’t have any illustrations for this one although I might, if I ever get time, do some.
 
Altered States


Part 1: The plan

Chapter 1: A Slave is Crucified
(January 25, 2023 – 8:30 PM)

catherine
“Owwwooooo!” I groaned, trembling in agony. The wooden sedile between my legs had just rammed up into my bruised pussy for about the twentieth time. My Master sat back from the poker table, looked at me and grinned.

“Fuck you!” I managed to shout through tears of pain and frustration, leaning toward him as far as my outstretched arms and bound wrists on that fucking cross would let me. It sounded so loud in that dungeon with its concrete walls, no windows, no connection to the outside at all. It was an old fallout shelter that connected to our basement. No one outside could hear me scream, much less shout, in here.

“I’ll see your fifty cents and raise you a quarter,” said Liz, studying her cards and ignoring me. She was one of the other three sitting around the beat-up folding poker table with my Master.

I narrowed my eyes and glowered down at them from my cross. “And fuck all of you bastards too, dammit!” I gasped through gritted teeth.

“Fold,” Doc said. Doc actually is a medical doctor, a member of our BDSM group and our medical adviser who keeps me out of real trouble. And that night he was there keeping an eye on me.

“Methinks thou dost protest too much, slave!” Doc said, chuckling as he turned toward me. “Look how red her face is! Are we getting a bit sore between the legs there?

“Oh! Did the little bitch hurt her pussy again?” Liz asked, looking at me with pretended concern and laughing. “Oooo, it’s soooo big and soooo hard! It won’t fit in me!” She giggled, mocking me.

I gathered up what spit I could and tried to launch it at them, but it only traveled about four feet before arcing straight down to splatter on the painted concrete floor.

“Now that wasn’t nice at all!” Sarah, Doc’s wife exclaimed with mock seriousness. “We’re onlookers, it’s our job to jeer!” She laughed. “When you’re an onlooker you’ll get to jeer too!”

“Yeah, and crucifixion victims spit on people,” I countered. “That’s what we do,” I said, licking my dry lips, grimacing at a sudden muscle spasm. “I – Ow! Dammit! I… just need a drink so I can get up enough spit to do a better job of it.”

It had already been a long time since the whipping, since my Master had put the timber across my shoulders and led me in here at the end of a rope. Hours, at least, since he’d ripped away the ragged loincloth I was wearing, and it was time for me to lie down on the cross. I didn’t struggle when he was wrapping the soft ropes around and around my wrists and the timber; I could have worked my hands free of those. But then the wraps around those, between my wrists and the wood, cinched it all tight, and then there was no escape, no longer any possibility of changing my mind, no going back.

No going back.

Not that I’d wanted to, nor ever would. No, I was already squeezing my thighs together against the pressure down there, deep in my abdomen, building, pussy lips swelling and achingly sensitive just from being naked, bound and helpless. Under the control, at the mercy, of others, all my choices taken away. God, I wanted this so much!

My Master and Doc had raised my cross then, slowly and carefully. I couldn’t help but pant with fear and excitement at the delicious helpless feeling, my body slipping downward as the cross became more vertical, my weight pulling against the ropes, the anticipation of that final drop when it slid into its socket in the floor.

The thud when it dropped into place jolted me, sent a thrill through me and it set off pulsing in my womb that echoed the shock of it. Oh, so wonderful it made me shiver! I sucked in my breath, God, it almost sent me over the edge!

The muscles in my arms, shoulders, and chest were stretched out so tightly against the ropes that bound my wrists; I could already feel the strain in my chest, the extra work it took to push air out of my lungs. Not a factor for me then, but it would be soon enough.

Oh, I had been anticipating this for weeks!

With the adrenaline rush, everything around me, everything that touched me seemed so much sharper, clearer, more detailed, there was the feeling of rough wood at my back, my bare ass against it, so exposed, so vulnerable and helpless!

And then they were roping my feet to the cross, Doc helping get them into position while my Master tied them, and all I could do was watch. There was that last wrap, cinching them down, the last knot pulled tight, and my helplessness was complete, absolute. They backed away then and all of them were looking at me, watching me.

Because I was crucified.

I was a beautiful, naked woman, hanging, oh so completely exposed, and so helpless on a cross. And I loved the effect that I could see I was having on them. So vulnerable, and yet so much power!

And my suffering was just beginning.
 
I was a beautiful, naked woman, hanging, oh so completely exposed, and so helpless on a cross. And I loved the effect that I could see I was having on them. So vulnerable, and yet so much power

I like this statement... I think it captures nicely what I, and perhaps all the women on this site, find so erotically exciting about the idea of being crucified ... naked, hanging, exposed, helpless, vulnerable and in an oddly intoxicating way exerting an attention grabbing feminine power over all who watch our suffering.
 
I was a beautiful, naked woman, hanging, oh so completely exposed, and so helpless on a cross. And I loved the effect that I could see I was having on them. So vulnerable, and yet so much power

I like this statement... I think it captures nicely what I, and perhaps all the women on this site, find so erotically exciting about the idea of being crucified ... naked, hanging, exposed, helpless, vulnerable and in an oddly intoxicating way exerting an attention grabbing feminine power over all who watch our suffering.

Years ago a woman I met on one of these sites talked about how she had once worked as a stripper, and had that feeling of power - every male eye in the audience locked on her every move and probably some of the female ones, too. I'd never considered that before, but once she said it, it made perfect sense. I never forgot it.
 
“Altered States” is a new crucifixion story I’ve written and mentioned a few times over the past several months. The time is finally here for me to start posting it.

Here’s a little about it:

In 2023, cat and her master, Joe, are members of a BDSM group. cat is obsessed with being crucified, always trying to last longer, fantasizing about being a victim nailed to a cross at a grim place of execution outside the gates of ancient Rome. They live in an old house on some acreage that was built in the 1950s when everyone’s fear was a Soviet nuclear attack. Consequently, the house has a spacious fallout shelter with an entrance from the basement which now serves as an excellent dungeon, sealed so that no outside light or air can enter - nor can anyone hear your screams.

So when she is well into her time on the cross and the power goes out, and cat ends up alone in the dark on her cross, she discovers a way to enter into an altered state of consciousness. For a short time, she feels what it’s like to be nailed to a Roman cross before a jeering crowd along with other suffering victims. Her altered state ends when the lights suddenly come back, but she knows that she has to get back there, has to experience the cross fully.

And she finds out that her altered state of consciousness may be more real than she imagined.

Yes, I have shamelessly plagiarized the name of the 1980 movie, “Altered States” starring William Hurt, so sue me! I will post this story in segments and it will probably take several weeks to post it all. I live for feedback, so please let me know what you think, what you like and don’t like, etc.

And no, I don’t have any illustrations for this one although I might, if I ever get time, do some.
Wow, can't wait for more
 
I was a beautiful, naked woman, hanging, oh so completely exposed, and so helpless on a cross. And I loved the effect that I could see I was having on them. So vulnerable, and yet so much power

I like this statement... I think it captures nicely what I, and perhaps all the women on this site, find so erotically exciting about the idea of being crucified ... naked, hanging, exposed, helpless, vulnerable and in an oddly intoxicating way exerting an attention grabbing feminine power over all who watch our suffering.

Oh yes! Yes! Yes! (Why do I sound like I'm having an orgasm? Hmmm.)

Jedakk's story is so intense and gripping! I can't wait for the next part! (Will there be images? If not, I have so many in my head right now.);)

Barb, I was searching for words to reply and then you so perfectly summed up what I was trying to say. Perfect!

Oh yes! Yes! Yes!:D
 
Before I go on, I need to say "thanks" to Eulalia for all of her time and effort in reading this story and giving me advice from a woman's point of view. I'm writing about things that a man is just not equipped to truly understand, and I wanted to get it right. I knew I'd gotten close when I read her comment back in June where she said, "I've read it and re-read it with considerable pleasure!:devil:" And since then I've revised it heavily and added 25 pages or so. When I asked her to review several new scenes I'd added to see if they rang true from a woman's point of view, she said that one of them made her laugh out loud. I can't thank Eulalia enough for her time, encouragement, and thoughtful advice.

In the following chapter, the things cat says about "that fucking sedile" aren't entirely made up. (Sorry about the language, cat has a real potty mouth!) I've corresponded with a number of women over the years who have endured some pretty extreme crucifixions, and cat's experience with the sedile is very similar to what was described to me. Except for the problems due to the piercing in her clit - I made that up. But I did a lot of research to back it up! :devil:

And describing a female orgasm, well, I asked a woman to describe how it feels, and she couldn't really. After I thought about that I realized that I wasn't sure that I could describe how a male orgasm feels very well, either. But I did give it a shot, and you ladies can judge whether I'm in the ballpark with it or not.

Here's Chapter 2.
 
Chapter 2: Suffering on the Cross

catherine
I had no idea exactly how much time had passed since then, having long since lost track of it. Long enough that I ached all over with fatigue and I was drifting in and out of reality. So many times I’d endured the struggle to raise myself, hold myself up on legs trembling with fatigue, the long, slow slide downward to hang once more. Over and over again with no end.

And right now, I didn’t want it to end!

The sudden shock of that sedile in my pussy had jolted me back to reality all at once, but I knew I’d be lost once again in my endless suffering shortly. And I was pretty sure that the end of my eight-hour sentence was still far away.

Still too soon, I thought.

I was hanging naked on a cross in this dungeon because it was my fantasy to be crucified, and nudity was a mandatory part of that. And as much as it hurt, I wanted it, needed the pain, the feeling of helplessness, the humiliation, desperately. And my Master, who understood me better than anyone, knew that.

The sedile between my legs was a rough four-inch by four-inch piece of timber turned edge-up, too long by design for me to push my hips forward and slide my ass down in front of it. Straddling it, having it pressed up between my legs was inevitable. I had no choice but to try to find a way to rest my weight on it when my legs gave out.

And since I was naked, that meant that my bare pussy was pressed down onto the hard edge and rough wood. I didn’t want it in my crack, up inside of me where it would spread my pussy lips apart and force its way into the moist pink parts of me that are so wonderfully sensitive and so exceedingly vulnerable.

But I’d learned through experience that there was no way to escape it.

Of course I tried to ride it side-saddle, tried to shift to one side or the other, catch it on the edge of my crotch somehow, anything I could do within the limited range of motion I had on the cross. That worked for about ten seconds, until I let myself ease further down, putting more of my weight on it, exploring the pain, my legs being forced apart by its width, and I got lulled into thinking that maybe this time it would be ok.

That was about the time that I would realize too late that I was sliding sideways toward the middle of my crotch, and before I could catch myself, that damned hard edge would bury itself in my pussy. And I tried that enough times to know exactly what was going to happen to me, what I could neither prevent nor escape.

To make things worse, my clit is pierced and there’s a ring in it, which my Master ordered me not to remove. Well fuck me! I guess he thought I could take it out and put it back like an earring! No, hell no, that’s not the way it works. Men forget that we can’t even see ourselves down there except with a mirror!

So the thing is, about half the time, with no warning at all, that fucking ring would catch on the damned sedile somehow. Obviously I couldn’t see what was happening to me down there, but it felt like it was twisting my clit and then there’d be a really hard pinch that felt like someone was piercing it with a red-hot ice pick.

I couldn’t stop myself from screaming and cursing every time that happened, the pain was so intense. I would reflexively strain against the ropes holding my wrists to the crossbeam, wanting so badly to reach down between my legs and rub it, ease the throbbing, but there was nothing at all I could do. I was helpless.

All I could do was hang there and endure it while the pain slowly subsided.

And no one was going to show me any mercy.

I’ll never understand how a part of my body that’s no bigger than the tip of my little finger could deliver so much pleasure or such intense pain. My clit is ordinarily so very sensitive that anything other than the caress of the tip of a soft, moist tongue hurts. Squeezing it against that sedile was like rubbing a sunburn with sandpaper! Dammit, it really hurt!

I instinctively wanted to push up, try to get off of that fucking sedile, but sometimes my legs were so exhausted they wouldn’t work and all I could do was squirm helplessly. The edge of this rough wood against the most sensitive part of me, the way the metal ring inside of it forced its swollen pink tip against the wood, pinching it! God! It shot a bolt of agony up into me every time, making me writhe and groan.

On top of that, there would be these stabbing pains in other parts of my body – my back, legs, parts of me that didn’t seem to be connected to my clit at all. Doc said it was called “referred pain,” but whatever you called it, it just damn well hurt like hell! And it made my Master and the other onlookers grin appreciatively at the way it made my naked body, gleaming with sweat, shudder and twist sensuously.

And despite the pain, I loved what I saw it doing to them, the lust in their eyes, the way they watched me like they were hypnotized. And it captivated me too, when I watched the video of my crucifixion later. I had to back up and watch those parts again, more than once, proud of my tight, athletic body and how I looked displayed on the cross.

Well fuck me, whether I liked the cross or what was done to me wasn’t the point! I don’t make those choices.

I’m a slave.

I have to do what I’m told. No, I want to do what I’m told, because this is the life I chose, to be a submissive, to submit to my Master, no matter what. Doesn’t matter what I think, want or feel, or how much it hurts, I will always submit, always. I will never embarrass my Master by refusing to do whatever he orders me to do.

Oh, I knew that I could scream and groan, beg for mercy, curse, heap abuse on everybody watching me, whatever. But I knew as surely as the sun rises that my Master would never allow me any mercy until he’d gotten everything out of me that there was!

And it was always a lot more than I thought I had.

And each time he crucified me it was always, always, slow torture, longer and more painful than the last.

My Master is very creative when it comes to ways to torture me.

The pain was better now. No, not better, I was just getting a grip on it, trying to control myself, not let it control me. Or maybe I was beginning to get a little mercifully numb down there.

It was easier to breathe with this sedile my Master gave me, but I had to pay a price in pain. And then there was the humiliation. There I was completely naked, helpless, and vulnerable, crucified. There were people watching me. Every bit of my writhing and struggling, every moan of pain, their eyes were there watching me, enjoying the erotic spectacle. When I had to pee, I had to do it from the cross with people watching me.

Worst of all, there was no way for me to hide it when I had an orgasm on the cross.

I knew they could see the signs when my orgasm was building; the way I rubbed against the sedile, ever so slightly at first, the arousal like a spark taking hold, smoldering in me. When I raised myself, I had to squeeze my thighs together, trying to contain it, feeling the warm wetness. Either way, there was always that point of no return when my body did what it was going to do on its own, completely out of my control and always so amazingly wonderful.

It was like riding a roller coaster, the way it takes you up and up until you reach the top, and you know what’s coming, and it’s frightening because you can’t control it! But you want it so much too, and you surrender yourself completely to it and let it take you where it will. And then the cars are released and there’s the out-of-control falling helplessness as you plummet downward, everything else a blur, screaming, moaning without knowing it, conscious only of your body and that incredible feeling. Then you soar up again, over and over until it’s spent and the waves of ecstasy slowly subside to leave you glowing with pleasure.

You’re never more helpless than when you’re in the midst of an orgasm, completely at its mercy until it’s done. And when the pulsing in my womb, the undulating of my hips and my blissful moans gradually slowed and I came back to myself, there were always the onlookers who had been watching me the whole time.

Despite the pleasure and escape from the pain of the cross, in the end it was so… humiliating to know that they had been watching it all.

Even though I’d done that many times in front of these same people, all members of our BDSM group, I always found that I was burning with shame when I came back to myself afterward.
 
And describing a female orgasm, well, I asked a woman to describe how it feels, and she couldn't really. After I thought about that I realized that I wasn't sure that I could describe how a male orgasm feels very well, either. But I did give it a shot, and you ladies can judge whether I'm in the ballpark with it or not.

I read about a study where men and women were asked to describe their orgasms. Then, all references to genitals were removed and experts were asked to guess which description were which. None could do any better than random guesses. I think the roller coaster analogy appeared in many of both genders.

Nice descriptive writing.
 
Chapter 2: Suffering on the Cross

Worst of all, there was no way for me to hide it when I had an orgasm on the cross.

I knew they could see the signs when my orgasm was building; the way I rubbed against the sedile, ever so slightly at first, the arousal like a spark taking hold, smoldering in me. When I raised myself, I had to squeeze my thighs together, trying to contain it, feeling the warm wetness. Either way, there was always that point of no return when my body did what it was going to do on its own, completely out of my control and always so amazingly wonderful.

It was like riding a roller coaster, the way it takes you up and up until you reach the top, and you know what’s coming, and it’s frightening because you can’t control it! But you want it so much too, and you surrender yourself completely to it and let it take you where it will. And then the cars are released and there’s the out-of-control falling helplessness as you plummet downward, everything else a blur, screaming, moaning without knowing it, conscious only of your body and that incredible feeling. Then you soar up again, over and over until it’s spent and the waves of ecstasy slowly subside to leave you glowing with pleasure.

You’re never more helpless than when you’re in the midst of an orgasm, completely at its mercy until it’s done. And when the pulsing in my womb, the undulating of my hips and my blissful moans gradually slowed and I came back to myself, there were always the onlookers who had been watching me the whole time.

Despite the pleasure and escape from the pain of the cross, in the end it was so… humiliating to know that they had been watching it all.

Even though I’d done that many times in front of these same people, all members of our BDSM group, I always found that I was burning with shame when I came back to myself afterward.

I do like your definition of 'suffering'! :) ;)

Intensely erotic writing, Jedakk!! :very_hot:
 
Great to have you back writing Jedakk

Chapter 2: Suffering on the Cross
Despite the pleasure and escape from the pain of the cross, in the end it was so… humiliating to know that they had been watching it all.
Even though I’d done that many times in front of these same people, all members of our BDSM group, I always found that I was burning with shame when I came back to myself afterward.

And that doubtless adds to the pleasure, in its way.
How much more intense would it be to suffer the cross and to orgasm in front of a crowd of strangers, neighbours, family?
 
I read about a study where men and women were asked to describe their orgasms. Then, all references to genitals were removed and experts were asked to guess which description were which. None could do any better than random guesses. I think the roller coaster analogy appeared in many of both genders.

Nice descriptive writing.

Yeah, that roller coaster thing isn't altogether original, it's just what cat came up with to describe the power of her orgasms on the cross, and I dutifully recorded it! :devil: Seriously, some authors talk about how their characters just seem to take off and do things on their own, and I know what they mean.

I've done a good bit of personal research into male and female orgasms over the years, strictly hands-on up until the time a young lady relieved me of my virginity when we were both fourteen, and a series of other young ladies had their way with me during high school up until I met my future wife and she assumed the duty of having her way with me. So this has been a lengthy research project as these things go, and after more than 50 years of dutifully gathering data, the study is ongoing.

What I've observed during this research is that when the female participants experienced orgasm, they had more stuff to experience it with than the male participant (me) and it wasn't all between their legs, either, as their backs arched and it seems that their toes even curled sometimes.

Go figure.
 
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