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Cornu

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Wragg134 said:
Do you know what I'd thought about Crux poetry? I'd thought 'It's all been done; after all, it's just a body on a cross, what's the point of writing anything else?'

But Barbaria has demonstrated, once again, through her stupendous poem, that is SO not true. Not only does she describe that God-awful decision, whether to use the cornu or not, but she did so in words that meant that I could FEEL that cornu penetrating my vagina, and as a quick glance at the info to your left will reveal, I haven't actually got one!

But Barbaria thinks about every word in her poems. She chooses them, like a woodcarver chooses his tools, each one precise and used with the same absolute precision, so that she finishes with a piece of work which is exact and perfect, and which has exactly the effect on her audience that this Master of her Craft intended.

Barbaria, I just adore your poems. I don't care who knows it, I don't care if the entire World Wide Web sees this post - Barbaria is a GENIUS!!!

Wragg
Click to expand...


Wragg I am blushing:rolleyes:...thank you...and I am happy to confirm for everyone that our chronicler indeed does not have a vagina;)
 
shevak2006 said:
Yes, quite the turn-on. And, it seems, for Barb...err, the victim...too!:D

But does she have an orgasm?

"And through the pain
an erotic tingle
can it be?
No, God, please no?"

Does she want it, or not? The last line with the question mark seems to me to be indecision on the part of the victim. She doesn't want to orgasm in front of the crowd, but given the penetration, it might be almost impossible to avoid. I find the idea of a crucified woman obtaining sexual pleasure on the cross to be extremely erotic. At what point does unrelieved pain make any sensation of genuine pleasure impossible?

I say go for it! :D
Click to expand...

It's all left to your imagination shevak.....you go for it!;)
 
That so many women, all adult, intensively enjoy the crucifixion, perhaps privately practice it in their own way, is for me and I guess for all men here an enrichment of my/our knowledge. And more, the diversity of experience seems inexhaustible. Till now a warm-blooded thanksgiving!
Fox
 
Wragg134 said:
Do you know what I'd thought about Crux poetry? I'd thought 'It's all been done; after all, it's just a body on a cross, what's the point of writing anything else?'

But Barbaria has demonstrated, once again, through her stupendous poem, that is SO not true. Not only does she describe that God-awful decision, whether to use the cornu or not, but she did so in words that meant that I could FEEL that cornu penetrating my vagina, and as a quick glance at the info to your left will reveal, I haven't actually got one!

But Barbaria thinks about every word in her poems. She chooses them, like a woodcarver chooses his tools, each one precise and used with the same absolute precision, so that she finishes with a piece of work which is exact and perfect, and which has exactly the effect on her audience that this Master of her Craft intended.

Barbaria, I just adore your poems. I don't care who knows it, I don't care if the entire World Wide Web sees this post - Barbaria is a GENIUS!!!

Wragg
Click to expand...
I sure wish he would stop sugar coating it and just say what he feels, Barb! :p :D
But he is so right, too! :bdsm-heart:
 
Quiet Paul said:
At the risk of belittling Barbaria's wonderful writing, I have in the last two minutes (this is true) caught a BBC commentator at the Wimbledon championships describing a female player as 'propelling herself up and out'!

Is there something about female tennis players that we don't know about?
Click to expand...
You need to watch out for their drop shots and their back hand.

;)
 
Barbaria1 said:
CORNU

Rough-hewn wood
stained dark with blood
narrowing to a blunt tip
brightly sheathed in bronze

It scrapes against
my whip-scourged back
tormenting me as I hang
naked under the sun

Hours have passed
my muscles ache
I have danced the dance
my strength is sapped

It jabs at me
abrades my skin
a constant reminder
of my last recourse

The crowd jeers
points at my sex
so indecently exposed
‘tween trembling thighs

Come on!
they urge
get up on it
give thyself a rest!

Yet I hesitate
resist, delay
Is it not the
final humiliation?

Defiant to the last
I won’t submit
to such indignity
let them jeer and taunt

But weakness prevails
I am no longer able
to pull myself up
to gasp for breath

With one last push
I rest myself
upon its dreadful
blunted point

I balance myself precariously
on its bronze-sheathed tip
carefully considering
my limited options

Do I shift
my hips forward?
and accept the tip
up my tight behind?

Or do I
edge backward
and surrender willfully
my sacred womanhood

A grim choice!
I am so tight
the former could
rip me apart

But the other
seems so vulgar
nothing more than
a crowd-pleasing act

Pain or pleasure,
on a phallic horn of wood
Does it really
all come down to that?

How insidious can that be
to force a dying woman to choose
what orifice to sacrifice
for a few more hours of misery

I make my choice
the tip slides in
‘tween my open
accepting lips

The crowd cheers lustily
they got their wish
before their very eyes
I have impaled myself on that cruel cornu

But now I can relax a bit
ease the cramps in my legs
and relax the pressure on my wrists
for that the cornu proves useful

But such relief is short lived
only to be exchanged
for the growing agony
of ever-deepening impalement

From the cornu’s phallic thrust
there is never any escape
Once the corny enters you
it penetrates relentlessly

Slowly, inexorably
it works its way,
deeper and deeper,
further and further in

It tears and abrades
my tender insides
thrusting, stretching
burying to the hilt

I cry out in anguish
the pain intense
my bloody fluids
gush over its broad base

And through the pain
an erotic tingle
can it be?
No, God, please no?

The crowd erupts
in delightful rapture
Look! they cry
She’s fucking her cross

Laughter, cat calls,
merriment and taunts,
greet my final
performance of the day

Now all that’s left
is for me to die
slowly, painfully
who knows how long?

Hanging forward
head turned down
long brown hair
splayed ‘cross wobbling breasts

Gazing down at that
phallic piece of wood
pressed in so deeply
spreading wide my tortured loins

My constant companion
for the duration
both extender of life
and instrument of shame

The cornu giveth
and the corny taketh
I had no choice
impaled I die


Barbaria, July 2014
Click to expand...
MY EVIL TWIN LOVE It SO MUCH !
flower1
Thks Barb flower2
 
Barbaria1 said:
CORNU

Rough-hewn wood
stained dark with blood
narrowing to a blunt tip
brightly sheathed in bronze

It scrapes against
my whip-scourged back
tormenting me as I hang
naked under the sun

Hours have passed
my muscles ache
I have danced the dance
my strength is sapped

It jabs at me
abrades my skin
a constant reminder
of my last recourse

The crowd jeers
points at my sex
so indecently exposed
‘tween trembling thighs

Come on!
they urge
get up on it
give thyself a rest!

Yet I hesitate
resist, delay
Is it not the
final humiliation?

Defiant to the last
I won’t submit
to such indignity
let them jeer and taunt

But weakness prevails
I am no longer able
to pull myself up
to gasp for breath

With one last push
I rest myself
upon its dreadful
blunted point

I balance myself precariously
on its bronze-sheathed tip
carefully considering
my limited options

Do I shift
my hips forward?
and accept the tip
up my tight behind?

Or do I
edge backward
and surrender willfully
my sacred womanhood

A grim choice!
I am so tight
the former could
rip me apart

But the other
seems so vulgar
nothing more than
a crowd-pleasing act

Pain or pleasure,
on a phallic horn of wood
Does it really
all come down to that?

How insidious can that be
to force a dying woman to choose
what orifice to sacrifice
for a few more hours of misery

I make my choice
the tip slides in
‘tween my open
accepting lips

The crowd cheers lustily
they got their wish
before their very eyes
I have impaled myself on that cruel cornu

But now I can relax a bit
ease the cramps in my legs
and relax the pressure on my wrists
for that the cornu proves useful

But such relief is short lived
only to be exchanged
for the growing agony
of ever-deepening impalement

From the cornu’s phallic thrust
there is never any escape
Once the corny enters you
it penetrates relentlessly

Slowly, inexorably
it works its way,
deeper and deeper,
further and further in

It tears and abrades
my tender insides
thrusting, stretching
burying to the hilt

I cry out in anguish
the pain intense
my bloody fluids
gush over its broad base

And through the pain
an erotic tingle
can it be?
No, God, please no?

The crowd erupts
in delightful rapture
Look! they cry
She’s fucking her cross

Laughter, cat calls,
merriment and taunts,
greet my final
performance of the day

Now all that’s left
is for me to die
slowly, painfully
who knows how long?

Hanging forward
head turned down
long brown hair
splayed ‘cross wobbling breasts

Gazing down at that
phallic piece of wood
pressed in so deeply
spreading wide my tortured loins

My constant companion
for the duration
both extender of life
and instrument of shame

The cornu giveth
and the corny taketh
I had no choice
impaled I die


Barbaria, July 2014
Click to expand...
Pain,shame in long time suffer. You give us everythink we need
 
Fox-on-Cross said:
That so many women, all adult, intensively enjoy the crucifixion, perhaps privately practice it in their own way, is for me and I guess for all men here an enrichment of my/our knowledge. And more, the diversity of experience seems inexhaustible. Till now a warm-blooded thanksgiving!
Fox
Click to expand...

And just where did all that "warm blood" rush to gentlemen? Hmmm?
 
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