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.