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Cornu

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deborah777 said:
I would end up alternating between my bumhole and my fanny... ;P
Click to expand...

:confused: Oh really :confused:.

Anddddddddddd........

You put the?

Isn't fanny and bum one and the same?

Okay, no one will get that reference.

Anyway! Unless it is left to you, to decide, by leaving you free till you must take it in.

It's really not a "point of discussion". :p

image.jpg
 
Using the vagina as entry hole seems more exciting to me. That way the executioner could start with trying to bring her to orgasm first by not putting it so far in so that it hurts her (but of course it would have to be a smooth cornu then, not rough wood), ultimate pleasure followed by ultimate pain ... with an audience watching for her to also feel ultimate humiliation.
 
fred_mc said:
Using the vagina as entry hole seems more exciting to me. That way the executioner could start with trying to bring her to orgasm first by not putting it so far in so that it hurts her (but of course it would have to be a smooth cornu then, not rough wood), ultimate pleasure followed by ultimate pain ... with an audience watching for her to also feel ultimate humiliation.
Click to expand...
It is good description, but I must say that I like thick and rough wood. She can have orgasm in rough torment. The crowd can see her body in hard pain and orgasm.
 
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...
A tribute to the erotic power and pain of the cornu
 
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...
Excellent !!
 
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