Joe
“God almighty! Nails?” Doc stared at me.
“Doc, you knew this was coming sooner or later,” I said.
“Damn! Nails, well… Nails are a challenge. Hell, anytime you start piercing the human body there are risks.” Doc said thoughtfully, sipping his beer.
“Fuck it, I’ll just tell her no,” I said.
“I didn’t say that it couldn’t be done,” Doc said, “just that there are risks. Hell, there are risks when you rope someone to a cross, too. Do it wrong, and they can end up with blood clots, nerve damage, even torn ligaments and dislocated shoulders. And yes, I damn well knew she was going to want this sometime. I guess I hoped maybe she’d forget about it, let it go.”
“She won’t. It’s always been a dream of hers, you know that. You should have seen her kneeling in front of me naked, asking me for this. She could hardly get a grip on herself, trying to pretend that there was nothing wrong, but I watched her nipples swell until they were hard as a couple of pebbles! She was squirming and getting wet between the legs just trying to talk about it! I purposely dragged it out, taking my time to answer her, just to watch her squirm. If I hadn’t let up on her I think she’d have been dripping on the floor!”
Doc chuckled at that, shook his head. “No kidding? Damn, I’d have liked to have been a fly on the wall and seen that! Well, a few years ago I wouldn’t – no, couldn’t be involved. But nothing like a war to push medical technology forward. Now, at least since 2019, we’ve got stem cell regeneration.”
“Yeah, read about that, 3D tissue printing, all kinds of amazing stuff,” I said. “So you can do that now?”
“Hell, they’ve been printing organs like livers, kidneys and lungs for a few years. Last year they finally printed a complete heart. Couple more years they’ll be printing off tissue-matched replacement limbs to order, and all I’ll have to do is connect up the bone ends with plates and screws, let the vascular guy connect up the major blood vessels and let the stem cell regen fill in the gaps and connect up the rest of the soft tissue, the nerves, muscles, tendons, everything, all by itself.”
“So a few nail holes…”
“A few nail holes in her hands and feet will be like spackling up nail holes in your wall so you can paint. Literally. I’ll pack the wounds with gel matrix and stem cells, slap a plastic bandage on both sides, and Bob’s your uncle, as the Brits say.”
“You know,” I said, “I’ve heard about stuff like this but somehow I thought you’d have to go to one of the big hospitals to get it done. Damn! How long does it take to heal?”
“A few days, a week max, depending on the amount of damage,” Doc said. “Tear a tendon or ligament and we’ll have to immobilize a finger or two, maybe a wrist, for a couple of days. We still want to minimize that, so we have to do this right and carefully. I can put a mark on her palms and the tops of her feet where the nails have to go. You understand that the nails can’t carry her weight? She has to be roped to the cross just like the other times.”
“Yes, that’s clear.”
“Those nails are going to take some weight anyway. Her wrists and feet are going to slip just a little under those ropes no matter what. The nails are going to hurt like hell going in and worse later, when her struggling has settled her body weight onto them more. Still amazes me sometimes at what she’ll do. She’s lucky she’s got you to keep her from really hurting herself, you know.”
“Yeah, I do have to watch out for her,” I said. “She knows that no matter what, I won’t allow her to go beyond her limits. Although I’m not really sure what those limits are any more.”
“Well, I can tell you this: She’s going to be in bed for a day or two after this one and hobbling around for a few more days after that. I’m going to give her a shot of Amoxicillin two days before and pills to start the day after we take her down just to head anything off,” Doc said.
“That doesn’t surprise me!” I said, “Any idea about those nails?”
“Yeah, I’ll google that right now and see if anyone has what we need…” Doc pulled out his phone and spoke the search terms.
“Yes, lots of hits...” Doc studied his screen, spoke in a few more terms to narrow the search, clicked on links, dragged his finger down, looked, did the reverse-pinch thing to enlarge a picture. “Ok, these will work, stainless steel, long enough but still thin. Sending this link to you now and you can order them. Probably have to buy a pound of them just to get the four you’ll need.”
“Ok, good, thanks!” I said.
“Ok, and get some of those big washers for them too, you know the kind?”
“Yeah, fender washers. I’ll get some stainless steel ones to match. Those will probably run about an inch in diameter, make a nice big shield to keep her from pulling her wounds over the nail heads. Want another beer? I’m getting one.” I opened the refrigerator and grabbed a couple of beers.
“Yeah, sure, thanks. Now the twenty-four hours, whatever. We’ll monitor her and if it looks like she’s getting too far gone, we’ll just have to take her down early. Be interesting to see if she can actually do it. You know how incredible that girl is?”
“Here’s your beer. That makes sense, why not? She’ll either do it or she won’t, we just have to make sure that she’s ok. And yes, she is incredible, in a lot of ways! What do you think about this other thing? I know what you said about sensory deprivation and all. Is this something we can control somehow?”
“The answer is maybe. Lots of studies have been done about sensory deprivation and altered states. There was an old movie back in the twentieth century, hell, around 1980 I think, with William Hurt, back when he was young. Kind of silly, but the effects are real enough. You deprive someone of normal sensation and the brain begins to create its own sensations. cat was deprived of any visual stimulus, and she was already crucified, so her brain used her fantasy to create an altered state of consciousness for her.”
“So is that normal? Does everyone do that?”
“Yes, it’s normal, and no, she’s not crazy. At least not any crazier than any other sexual masochist who desperately wants to be crucified would have to be. Kidding about that! All of us in our group are into BDSM, so what’s normal? Hell, you’ve seen her go into an altered state of consciousness every time she’s gone into subspace during a whipping.”
“She wants to go back there, to be really nailed to a cross in ancient Rome. Do you think we have a chance of getting her there?”
“I think we do, yes. Her fantasy is very strong. So we’ll deprive her of sensory input and replace it with our own.
“As far as her sense of touch,” Doc continued, “she’s only going to be able to feel the cross, the ropes and the nails from her actual crucifixion. She’s going to be halfway there just from that. So we deprive her of visual stimuli, maybe cover her eyes somehow to block out all light. Then we deprive her of any other auditory stimuli except what she’d hear if she was in a place of execution in ancient Rome, which we’ll have to create somehow.”
“What, with a crowd shouting Latin insults?” I said, laughing.
“I don’t think so,” Doc replied. “According to what she said, she could understand what the other characters in her scenario were saying. So I guess English will work. We just need to think about what sounds you’d have heard in a place like that. A crowd jeering at her, crows, maybe a dog or two barking and growling, screams, moans and groans from other victims there. Her brain will obviously fill in things too.”
“So vision and hearing. What else? Taste, the only thing she’ll taste is water. I guess I could give her that vinegar mixture that the Bible says they gave Jesus, instead. That would be something she’d only taste on a Roman cross!”
“Good idea!” Doc said, “that couldn’t hurt. A taste that’s foreign to her, disconnected from her normal reality. And that stuff was supposed to have some nutritional value, too, so it would help keep her going.”
“Ok, that just leaves smell. How important do you think that would be?” I asked, thinking about it.
“Actually, that could be very important. You know that smell is linked very strongly to memory. I’m not sure, but I think that if she gets the right smells, the ones that match what she fantasizes, it ought to go a long way toward evoking the altered state she wants. You’re an engineer, think about how we could produce those smells!”
“Wait a minute!” I said, trying to be serious but unable to keep from laughing. “Are you saying that engineers ought to know about stink because we do?”
“No!” Doc laughed. “Nothing a shower wouldn’t fix, anyway! I just don’t know who else would be better qualified to figure that one out. The source of the odors is one thing, but the rest is about air movement, velocity, volume, concentration, hell, I don’t know!”
“Now that’ll take some thought,” I said. Boy did it take some thought. I’d staged a number of crucifixions for cat, but this one was going to be a real challenge.
cat and I have been together for about four years now. I’d been into the BDSM lifestyle for a few years before that, into some D/s relationships with various girls. Some worked out better than others, but none of them lasted more than a few months. Sometimes it was my inexperience, and sometimes they decided that they weren’t cut out for slavery.
I’ve had a fascination with crucifixion from as far back as I can remember, and with the idea of crucifying naked girls from the time I hit puberty. And I found out once I got into the lifestyle that there were girls who wanted someone to crucify them, too. I had relationships with several of those, built crosses, found that most of those girls could last no more than fifteen minutes once they were suspended. Being suspended by roped wrists and feet, stretched out naked on a cross looks erotic, but few people realize just how over-the-top painful that can be.
But I learned from those, got better and gained confidence in my role as a master, and along the way got something of a reputation, both as a Dom and as one skilled in crucifixion.
And then Catherine found me. Beautiful, petite, blonde-haired, blue-eyed, athletic Catherine, with her wonderful rounded boobs with their perky nipples and her incredible sculpted ass. She was only eighteen at the time, but no girl was ever more certain of what she wanted. And she was no less sure that I was the one who could fulfill her needs. I told her the rules she’d have to follow if she wanted to be my slave, and she agreed without any hesitation whatever. And so Catherine took my collar and became catherine, or just cat.
By that time, I was pretty expert at bondage, knew what kinds of ropes worked best and how to tie a woman so that she was restrained but wouldn’t be damaged beyond some redness and minor bruises. I could read a woman’s body during a whipping and know when she needed more or less, and when it was time to stop, no matter what she might be saying.
Being a skillful master is an art. It’s not about being a sadist or inflicting pain; it’s about understanding her fantasies and needs, and giving her what she has to have to fulfill those needs. And it’s about judging when you’ve gone just far enough and not beyond, always leaving them tantalized and wanting more rather than hurting and sore and sorry they did it.
cat was obsessed with the cross, so much so that it was a challenge to give her as much as she could handle and stop her before she went too far. Because cat had no limits. If I didn’t maintain strict control, she’d have done permanent damage to herself or even died on the cross. As a matter of fact, she claims that her ultimate desire is to die on the cross, on her own terms, and while she is still young enough to look good doing it.
cat is a challenge!
And this was going to be the biggest challenge yet. It was time to tell her that on the morning of June 15, 2023, four months from now, she would be crucified naked, with nails driven through her hands and feet, and that she would hang on the cross for twenty-four hours, until the morning of June 16.
And there's even an actual plot in there somewhere!
