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Short Stories and Poems by CF-Members
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Crucified Veronika
Magistrate
Sexual Pleasure and Crucifixion
I have only one passion, one desire, one obsession: to be crucified.
From forum to forum, from false Master to false Master, more interested in whipping me and raping me than in satisfying my need, despite all their false claims about their experience of crucifixion, I've finally decided to crucify myself while waiting to find the one who will be able to do it, taking all the necessary precautions to avoid making me a cripple.
I'm quite sporty. I'm on a handball team, and I jog almost every day. My heart is in great shape, and my lung capacity is also at its maximum, but being hung by my arms is something quite different.
In the almost abandoned communal attic of the block of flats where I live, the large roof beams, and particularly the central support beam on which a horizontal beam running from one side of the roof to the other rests, together form a T-shaped cross, which will be perfect for my crucifixion.
First problem: If I tie my wrists together with several turns of rope to make sure I don't fall, how will I then be able to lock the ropes and, just as importantly, how do I free myself?
I finally found a solution. I bought some leather bracelets from a sex shop, where I explained what I wanted to do with them, and they were already fitted with rings so I could hang myself by my arms.
I would have preferred to use ropes for my wrists, but I wouldn't have been able to do that on my own. So, let's go with the leather bracelets.
On my improvised Patibulum, I screwed two large hooks used in workshops to hang heavy equipment or tools on the wall.
On the vertical beam, I screwed a small platform for my feet with two metal brackets like those used for bookshelves.
I look at my improvised cross and am pretty proud of myself.
I've got to try this out straight away!
I'm already sweaty from fixing and installing it, and what's more, the wood of the vertical beam is far from smooth, so I risk tearing my clothes by crucifying myself.
The idea of being able to do it naked has always aroused me and is the best solution. No one uses this attic any more, so there's no risk of me being discovered, and without hesitating, I strip entirely.
A wave of pleasure and happiness washes over me. I'm naked in this attic, which is exciting in itself, and in front of me, my cross is waiting for me.
I climb up the old wooden ladder I found in the attic, which opens in the middle, and place it under the cross.
From the ladder, I'm high enough to hang my first bracelet easily, and I'm just finishing hanging the second one when the ladder topples forward because my feet are pressing too hard. I have just enough time to put one foot on the little platform to catch myself.
It all happened quite suddenly, throwing me forward, and the pain in my arms is already intense.
I'm both happy to feel crucified in my attic but also immediately panicked: how am I going to get down from my cross without the ladder?
I'm no longer trying to find out what it feels like to be crucified; I urgently need to find a way to unhook myself before I'm too weak to do so if I stay on the cross for too long.
I've been trying to unhook one of my arms for several minutes now, but to no avail - I'm not going to die crucified in my attic on my first attempt.
I have the idea of jumping onto the little platform with both feet to try and unhook myself, but it is too low.
Worse, my repeated jumps had bent the brackets underneath, so it is now leaning dangerously forward, and I have to make an extra effort not to slip.
Then I have an idea. I position my two feet on the right-hand side of the beam and press down with all my strength, using my thighs to push my body towards the side of the arm I want to unhook.
I'm almost there, but the effort in my thighs and the pain in my other arm and shoulder are unbearable.
I've been trying to free myself for at least half an hour.
Every time I try, I get the same result: I can't get off.
All that's left is the humiliation of being naked and crucified in front of one of my neighbours, hoping that someone will hear me.
It's either that or death.
I scream softly at first, but as the minutes pass, I suffer more and more, and then I scream louder and louder.
No one comes.
Although my thighs are pretty muscular, the cramps become unbearable as I have to hold on to them to breathe, and I panic even more because every time I slide down the small platform, soaked in my sweat and now so inclined, I asphyxiate more and more.
The pain in my arms and shoulders has become unbearable, and I'm screaming in fear and pain.
My vision blurs, I'm shaking.
Suddenly, the attic door opens. It's Sylvia, my next-door neighbour.
I barely have the strength to tell her to untie me before collapsing back onto my now useless thighs.
I can hardly breathe, but I can see her approaching the ladder, climbing it and finally unhooking one of my arms.
But no sooner had she unhooked the other one than I fell on top of her, causing her to topple over with the ladder, and we both ended up on the floor.
Luckily, it was nothing serious, and she helps me to sit up, as I have no strength left.
I'm sweaty and so dirty from falling on the dusty attic floor.
There I am, sitting on the floor in front of her, completely naked.
She comes up to me and kisses me; I feel her hands on my breasts; I moan; she goes on, lies me on my back, spreads my thighs and puts her hand on my sex, wide open in front of her.
I've never made love to a girl, but I can't resist her; she's just saved my life, and it's far from unpleasant...
She made me come as I've rarely come before, and all the boys who've made love to me would be very jealous.
We kiss for a long time, then we get up, and I go to get dressed, but she tells me that I have to stay naked for her if I want to thank her completely.
She's the one who handles my clothes to stop me from covering up if we meet anyone in the corridors, and she makes me walk in front of her.
We take the back staircase, and when we reach our landing, she opens the door to the corridor and tells me to go to the door of her flat.
I'm in the middle of the corridor when the lift doors open; it's the boy at the back with one of his friends.
I hide my breasts and sex as best I can with my hands and run towards the door of Sylvia's flat, but she follows me, walking quietly while the two boys look at me.
She tells me to raise my arms above my head if I want her to open her door, and, flushed with shame, I obey her, leaving the two boys to enjoy the view.
I'm finally in her house. She undresses and, in turn, drags me into her bathroom.
The water in the shower isn't the hottest.
Then I collapsed on her bed, where I fell asleep almost immediately, exhausted physically but also nervously from the stress of thinking I was going to die on the cross.
A few days later, I'm naked again in the attic.
Sylvia is tying my arms to the hooks, and I'm putting my feet on the little platform, still leaning over.
Sylvia is standing in front of me, watching me suffer and... cum.
Being naked in front of her and crucified at the same time makes me wet.
She kisses my feet, and I moan.
She approaches the ladder and climbs up.
Her hands slide up my thighs, caressing them, bending them as my feet try to hold themselves on the little platform.
She tells me to spread my thighs and stay there.
I feel her fingers between the lips of my sex, I am trembling with pleasure, but this makes me relax my efforts to hold myself together, and the pain in my arms and shoulders intensifies.
At the same time, her caresses on my clitoris become more rapid as her fingers push inside me, and suddenly I explode, I cum, I flow, I spurt, the pain in my upper body, in my arms, in my shoulders is wrenching, as extreme as the orgasm that shakes me.
Several times a week, Sylvia crucifies me and makes me cum on the cross.
I don't need a Master, I've already got everything I need at home!
I have only one passion, one desire, one obsession: to be crucified.
From forum to forum, from false Master to false Master, more interested in whipping me and raping me than in satisfying my need, despite all their false claims about their experience of crucifixion, I've finally decided to crucify myself while waiting to find the one who will be able to do it, taking all the necessary precautions to avoid making me a cripple.
I'm quite sporty. I'm on a handball team, and I jog almost every day. My heart is in great shape, and my lung capacity is also at its maximum, but being hung by my arms is something quite different.
In the almost abandoned communal attic of the block of flats where I live, the large roof beams, and particularly the central support beam on which a horizontal beam running from one side of the roof to the other rests, together form a T-shaped cross, which will be perfect for my crucifixion.
First problem: If I tie my wrists together with several turns of rope to make sure I don't fall, how will I then be able to lock the ropes and, just as importantly, how do I free myself?
I finally found a solution. I bought some leather bracelets from a sex shop, where I explained what I wanted to do with them, and they were already fitted with rings so I could hang myself by my arms.
I would have preferred to use ropes for my wrists, but I wouldn't have been able to do that on my own. So, let's go with the leather bracelets.
On my improvised Patibulum, I screwed two large hooks used in workshops to hang heavy equipment or tools on the wall.
On the vertical beam, I screwed a small platform for my feet with two metal brackets like those used for bookshelves.
I look at my improvised cross and am pretty proud of myself.
I've got to try this out straight away!
I'm already sweaty from fixing and installing it, and what's more, the wood of the vertical beam is far from smooth, so I risk tearing my clothes by crucifying myself.
The idea of being able to do it naked has always aroused me and is the best solution. No one uses this attic any more, so there's no risk of me being discovered, and without hesitating, I strip entirely.
A wave of pleasure and happiness washes over me. I'm naked in this attic, which is exciting in itself, and in front of me, my cross is waiting for me.
I climb up the old wooden ladder I found in the attic, which opens in the middle, and place it under the cross.
From the ladder, I'm high enough to hang my first bracelet easily, and I'm just finishing hanging the second one when the ladder topples forward because my feet are pressing too hard. I have just enough time to put one foot on the little platform to catch myself.
It all happened quite suddenly, throwing me forward, and the pain in my arms is already intense.
I'm both happy to feel crucified in my attic but also immediately panicked: how am I going to get down from my cross without the ladder?
I'm no longer trying to find out what it feels like to be crucified; I urgently need to find a way to unhook myself before I'm too weak to do so if I stay on the cross for too long.
I've been trying to unhook one of my arms for several minutes now, but to no avail - I'm not going to die crucified in my attic on my first attempt.
I have the idea of jumping onto the little platform with both feet to try and unhook myself, but it is too low.
Worse, my repeated jumps had bent the brackets underneath, so it is now leaning dangerously forward, and I have to make an extra effort not to slip.
Then I have an idea. I position my two feet on the right-hand side of the beam and press down with all my strength, using my thighs to push my body towards the side of the arm I want to unhook.
I'm almost there, but the effort in my thighs and the pain in my other arm and shoulder are unbearable.
I've been trying to free myself for at least half an hour.
Every time I try, I get the same result: I can't get off.
All that's left is the humiliation of being naked and crucified in front of one of my neighbours, hoping that someone will hear me.
It's either that or death.
I scream softly at first, but as the minutes pass, I suffer more and more, and then I scream louder and louder.
No one comes.
Although my thighs are pretty muscular, the cramps become unbearable as I have to hold on to them to breathe, and I panic even more because every time I slide down the small platform, soaked in my sweat and now so inclined, I asphyxiate more and more.
The pain in my arms and shoulders has become unbearable, and I'm screaming in fear and pain.
My vision blurs, I'm shaking.
Suddenly, the attic door opens. It's Sylvia, my next-door neighbour.
I barely have the strength to tell her to untie me before collapsing back onto my now useless thighs.
I can hardly breathe, but I can see her approaching the ladder, climbing it and finally unhooking one of my arms.
But no sooner had she unhooked the other one than I fell on top of her, causing her to topple over with the ladder, and we both ended up on the floor.
Luckily, it was nothing serious, and she helps me to sit up, as I have no strength left.
I'm sweaty and so dirty from falling on the dusty attic floor.
There I am, sitting on the floor in front of her, completely naked.
She comes up to me and kisses me; I feel her hands on my breasts; I moan; she goes on, lies me on my back, spreads my thighs and puts her hand on my sex, wide open in front of her.
I've never made love to a girl, but I can't resist her; she's just saved my life, and it's far from unpleasant...
She made me come as I've rarely come before, and all the boys who've made love to me would be very jealous.
We kiss for a long time, then we get up, and I go to get dressed, but she tells me that I have to stay naked for her if I want to thank her completely.
She's the one who handles my clothes to stop me from covering up if we meet anyone in the corridors, and she makes me walk in front of her.
We take the back staircase, and when we reach our landing, she opens the door to the corridor and tells me to go to the door of her flat.
I'm in the middle of the corridor when the lift doors open; it's the boy at the back with one of his friends.
I hide my breasts and sex as best I can with my hands and run towards the door of Sylvia's flat, but she follows me, walking quietly while the two boys look at me.
She tells me to raise my arms above my head if I want her to open her door, and, flushed with shame, I obey her, leaving the two boys to enjoy the view.
I'm finally in her house. She undresses and, in turn, drags me into her bathroom.
The water in the shower isn't the hottest.
Then I collapsed on her bed, where I fell asleep almost immediately, exhausted physically but also nervously from the stress of thinking I was going to die on the cross.
A few days later, I'm naked again in the attic.
Sylvia is tying my arms to the hooks, and I'm putting my feet on the little platform, still leaning over.
Sylvia is standing in front of me, watching me suffer and... cum.
Being naked in front of her and crucified at the same time makes me wet.
She kisses my feet, and I moan.
She approaches the ladder and climbs up.
Her hands slide up my thighs, caressing them, bending them as my feet try to hold themselves on the little platform.
She tells me to spread my thighs and stay there.
I feel her fingers between the lips of my sex, I am trembling with pleasure, but this makes me relax my efforts to hold myself together, and the pain in my arms and shoulders intensifies.
At the same time, her caresses on my clitoris become more rapid as her fingers push inside me, and suddenly I explode, I cum, I flow, I spurt, the pain in my upper body, in my arms, in my shoulders is wrenching, as extreme as the orgasm that shakes me.
Several times a week, Sylvia crucifies me and makes me cum on the cross.
I don't need a Master, I've already got everything I need at home!
thecuriousone
Governor
I am in doubt... is this a story or a true experience? I like this story.
Crucified Veronika
Magistrate
I'll let you guess!!
Crucified Veronika
Magistrate
Ok... it was true
Crucified Veronika
Magistrate
The self-crucifixion part is 100% true. It happened a little over a week ago and went bad exactly as I wrote it.
And my next-door neighbour, Sylvia (not her real name), saved my life.
But there was nobody in the corridor when I had to walk nude with her.
And I have only done it two times with Sylvia since the first time.
Sylvia will be on the cross next time because she wants to do it, too.
And my next-door neighbour, Sylvia (not her real name), saved my life.
But there was nobody in the corridor when I had to walk nude with her.
And I have only done it two times with Sylvia since the first time.
Sylvia will be on the cross next time because she wants to do it, too.
thecuriousone
Governor
You are lucky with a neighbour like that.
Crucified Veronika
Magistrate
Yes, not only did Sylvia save my life, but I can be crucified safely now.
And doing it in front of another person adds a lot to the erotic part of crucifixion.
And, at least for me, doing it nude adds a lot to my crucifixion.
You feel fully vulnerable, at the disposal of the others.
They can let you die on the cross, and they can torture you, humiliate you, and, that's the best part: help you have an orgasm like I never had one.
The pain mixed with the pleasure at that level is a discovery for me.
We will see now if Sylvia likes it as much as I do. She wants to do it, but being on the cross or just being a spectator is not at all the same thing. I can now testify!
I have only one regret: I should have done it for years! My life has entirely changed.
Kiduttaja
Consul
real, fantasy or half&half it is anyhow a nice story
Crucified Veronika
Magistrate
Thank you!!! Real for all the self-crucifixion part and Sylvia saving me. But after it, I only did it 2 times since, not several times a week.
Miras
Governor
Head above cloud
Every now and then, I wondered if insanity could be sexy under some circumstances. What is certain is that power is incredibly sexy, and those two states are much closer than most people would like.
I felt insane tonight, but on the other hand, there was nothing unreasonable about fulfilling my old idea. I remember one time as a teenager, flying with my mom on vacation. I giggled as soon as I saw the manly figure of the pilot and whispered how I wished I could feel those hairy arms on me.
Mom immediately slapped me. I must have spoken too loudly. Since then, I haven't confided in my parents about my passions. They wouldn't have helped me anyway.
A lot was about to change tonight. Under a false name, I booked a room at the Macedonia Hotel, where the airplane's crew - flying under FireHorse Airlines was staying. I knew Captain Moran could be blunt when dealing with flight attendants, and I will use that today.
On the bed, I unpacked a tantalizing red uniform - skirt, top, and cap. I slipped into it my slim figure, for whose olive complexion I could be grateful to a father from Crete and a mother from Tunisia. I was glad that the top was a little smaller because my giant breasts stretched it even more. To disguise myself further, I wore a red wig and distinctive glasses decorated with the tails of Chinese dragons.
I went down the stairs and went to the hotel bar. It wasn't that late, but the ladies and gentlemen were enough to get drunk and sing about people they could mostly recognize - sailors, soldiers and hookers. But they were not singing about flight attendants. Even before I entered among the drunks, I looked at the crowd, in which people from all over the world, from Americans to Zanzibari, were represented. No, I haven't seen any girls in a uniform similar to what I was wearing. I had no illusions. Many of them ended up in the guest room. Well, it certainly benefited the company.
And the current situation suited me. The incoming flight attendant naturally attracted lustful glances, whether it was because of the inseparable pair of breasts, ready to burst from the neckline or round ass, accentuated by the clingy skirt, whenever I turned and bent down correctly. Of course, I was glad that the muscular and black-haired Moran was among the interested parties.
He was licking a tall glass of tequila, but it was clear to me that he would like to lick some sensitive part of a woman's body. I needed something else from him. Anyway, he was in a state where no passenger on his plane should see him.
I walked over to him and imitated his alcohol-induced smile.
"Which one are you?" he asked me.
"Fatima," I said. No one like that serves on his flight, but he doesn't know that. "The Fateful" I added.
He laughed. "You girls are always taking care of the passengers. In the air and at the hotel. While on the ground, you should focus on the flight captain." His hand slowly slid lower. I was glad I wasn't a guy, and my excitement didn't show.
"Look, our company is owned by a lady!" I used the tone I learned from my husband. I laughed at the captain and even spat on his tequila. I walked away, but I could feel him looking at me, his lust turning into a desire to teach a sassy woman, and a subordinate one at that, good manners.
So far, it worked for me.
I went from one extreme to the other. I spotted one of the Mediterranean-looking tourists and sat down next to him. I must have sounded like Barney Gumble from The Simpsons when I spoke. "Hey kid, I'm a big girl who loves drinks more than her clothes. Shall we make a deal?" I unbuttoned my top provocatively, and the guy could see a little better the skin of my breasts and the fabric of my bra, which was already see-through.
"Just a moment ago, you spoke more clearly, you hussy!" Moran's voice and the iron grip around my wrist confirmed that I scored.
"I'm not your property, you pig!" I shouted at him.
"You may not be, but you are an embarrassment to me and the company!" Moran smacked me over the right bottom cheek and thigh. God, that hurt. I made the right choice!
"You can't please a woman, so you beat her?" I asked him out loud.
He pulled me so that I fell from the chair to the floor. "I have some drunk drops for you!" he informed me and was already dragging me away from the bar.
I had to stay true to my role as a drunken bimbo, so I tossed and turned along the way. I hoped he would give me a few more premature blows, but his hands guided me in the right direction. It was exciting to release all the control and let the other guide me!
Moran carried me up two floors and busted open a dark door. I closed my eyes and imagined that he led me into the basement of an old school janitor, who had a motley display of straps, birches, and canes hanging on the wall and ceiling. I had to settle for one guy today.
"Hold her hands!" Moran shouted in front of him, and I had to look up. I saw his co-pilot in front of me. Ah yes, this twenty-two-year-old boy with dreamy eyes behind glasses.
"What did she do?" he asked.
"She was offering herself drunk to strangers. Hold her, I say, that darkie ass needs some blood!"
The boy's presence suddenly made me embarrassed, but it was the fact that I couldn't do anything about it that I was starting to like. Despite the movements of his hands, he pressed me into their soft couch, over which I had to lean.
The captain hiked my skirt from behind. My panties might amuse him. Yellow field and colored circles, scattered like balls on a children's playground.
I felt their fabric disintegrate, and I didn't have to fake a short-lived fit of rage at all.
"Don't move, bitch!" Moran shouted. "Do you want to have a pattern on your ass?"I'll make it for you.
"Sing me one, two, three, four!"
He spanked me with all his might. I dreamed about this from elementary school through college. A strong man's palm hitting the immaculate landscape of my ass. Like lightning starting a forest fire.
I decided to disobey his earlier instructions, and that turned out to be mistake.
SLAPSLAPSLAPSLAPSLAPSLAPSLAPSLAP!!!!
His hand was coming down on my ass like it was a broken machine, I just knew it was totally on purpose, and I just received extra points for defiance.
The spanking must have lasted at least six minutes, although I admit that while I was howling and my ass was burning, my sense of time was getting worse. Presumably, if King Kong punished the lady he climbed a skyscraper with, she would feel the same way. It was ironic. I wanted him to stop, but at the same time, I thought it should be more like a break. Apart from the ass, it was my hands and pussy that suffered more. My thighs welded themselves together between each stroke, and I felt the heat in my proverbial boiler. I knew that if I stuck one or two fingers in there, I would bring myself to an instant orgasm. However, my fingers remained in the young man's grip. The moron misinterpreted the attempts to free myself. He didn't let me go even when Moran stopped slapping me and stepped back.
"You didn't want to count, so you sang for us, hot lady," the pilot said sarcastically. "Don't worry, I won't cheat you of the symbol of the captain's masculinity."
By the sounds of it, he was unbuckling his belt as he retreated. I started to get scared. Maybe I should have explained to him who I was and that I was doing this on purpose, but I didn't want to do that when he had already seen my cunt.
I turned my head. He took a few steps back and scanned the space in front of him, the belt in hand, like a baseball player. I gritted my teeth and-
SWWIIIISHHH.
"AAAAAAAWWWW-AH-AH!!!"
I had to praise him in my mind. He led the blow masterfully. Leather hit the worst affected spot on my ass, which would have been dark red on lighter skin than mine, but it also marked areas that had been untouched until then.
"May you be on your feet for the rest of the flight!" Moran stated, repeating the previous strike. I swore before that I wouldn't yell, but I couldn't. I cried, and she could do absolutely nothing but experience the slowly forming lines of pain on my wriggling behind. Moran sometimes took a longer break, but he played with me, giving me false hope because then his belt reprimanded me all the more, depriving me of the slightest hope of sitting down in the next two weeks.
I felt his palm slide over my ass, on which you could no longer find a single intact part.
"Then one more for mommy!"
SLAP!
"OW!"
"One for Daddy!"
SLAP!
"OW!"
"And one for slutty daughter!
The belt smashed my behind along its length, and I was too crazy at that point to know if I should feel the pleasure or not.
"Let her go!"
Once I regained control of my hands, my first instinct was to rub my bottom, but Moran pinned me down again. I felt him unbutton my skirt in the front and let it drop to the floor to the panties. "You'll stop by tomorrow for them," he announced as he slowly led me to the door. I saw that he was looking at my battered ass, which made me unable to walk very fast. Moran opened the door for me, and I felt him reach out again. Panicking, I ran out into the corridor in a panic. The pilot closed the door to his room with a laugh.
I must say that at that moment, I was afraid because I found myself under my floor, with my crotch breezing in the air, my ass blazing from the uncompromising ordeal. I couldn't let anyone see me, but as I realized before, I couldn't run. I reached the stairs, repeatedly hissing, stroking the punished parts, and looking around. Finally, I reached my room with dignity and fished the key out of my pocket.
I stayed half-naked in the room for a long time. The new layer of fabric would hurt me more, and what's more, I could finally enjoy the feeling of being a naughty wench that someone had just shown the consequences of her actions. I felt throbbing in my pussy. It resonated with the throbbing in my ass, all the more as I patted myself extra lovingly and needed to satisfy the awakened desire.
I lay on my side on the bed, closed my eyes, and slipped my fingers between my soft lips. I imagined my husband, but in my imagination, I was lying across his knees and calling for help in vain, as his hands were even firmer than Moran's. The sensual fantasies were suddenly full of details. I could vividly visualize the restaurant where I recently made a fuss, but now, I paid for it, like my evening dress.
Thanks to the stormy orgasm, I might have screamed, but today, I didn't want to attract attention anymore. After a satisfying moment of pleasure, I was left with a sore ass. I took the traditional bucket with ice and champagne and, this time, was more interested in the ice. I spread a towel on the chair and covered it with the glacial layer.
I took a breather, nestled down my backside, and called the secretary. "Becky?"
"Yes, ma'am?"
"We have to deal with those complaints about Moran, but not this year. He's too useful to my Airlines for now."
Every now and then, I wondered if insanity could be sexy under some circumstances. What is certain is that power is incredibly sexy, and those two states are much closer than most people would like.
I felt insane tonight, but on the other hand, there was nothing unreasonable about fulfilling my old idea. I remember one time as a teenager, flying with my mom on vacation. I giggled as soon as I saw the manly figure of the pilot and whispered how I wished I could feel those hairy arms on me.
Mom immediately slapped me. I must have spoken too loudly. Since then, I haven't confided in my parents about my passions. They wouldn't have helped me anyway.
A lot was about to change tonight. Under a false name, I booked a room at the Macedonia Hotel, where the airplane's crew - flying under FireHorse Airlines was staying. I knew Captain Moran could be blunt when dealing with flight attendants, and I will use that today.
On the bed, I unpacked a tantalizing red uniform - skirt, top, and cap. I slipped into it my slim figure, for whose olive complexion I could be grateful to a father from Crete and a mother from Tunisia. I was glad that the top was a little smaller because my giant breasts stretched it even more. To disguise myself further, I wore a red wig and distinctive glasses decorated with the tails of Chinese dragons.
I went down the stairs and went to the hotel bar. It wasn't that late, but the ladies and gentlemen were enough to get drunk and sing about people they could mostly recognize - sailors, soldiers and hookers. But they were not singing about flight attendants. Even before I entered among the drunks, I looked at the crowd, in which people from all over the world, from Americans to Zanzibari, were represented. No, I haven't seen any girls in a uniform similar to what I was wearing. I had no illusions. Many of them ended up in the guest room. Well, it certainly benefited the company.
And the current situation suited me. The incoming flight attendant naturally attracted lustful glances, whether it was because of the inseparable pair of breasts, ready to burst from the neckline or round ass, accentuated by the clingy skirt, whenever I turned and bent down correctly. Of course, I was glad that the muscular and black-haired Moran was among the interested parties.
He was licking a tall glass of tequila, but it was clear to me that he would like to lick some sensitive part of a woman's body. I needed something else from him. Anyway, he was in a state where no passenger on his plane should see him.
I walked over to him and imitated his alcohol-induced smile.
"Which one are you?" he asked me.
"Fatima," I said. No one like that serves on his flight, but he doesn't know that. "The Fateful" I added.
He laughed. "You girls are always taking care of the passengers. In the air and at the hotel. While on the ground, you should focus on the flight captain." His hand slowly slid lower. I was glad I wasn't a guy, and my excitement didn't show.
"Look, our company is owned by a lady!" I used the tone I learned from my husband. I laughed at the captain and even spat on his tequila. I walked away, but I could feel him looking at me, his lust turning into a desire to teach a sassy woman, and a subordinate one at that, good manners.
So far, it worked for me.
I went from one extreme to the other. I spotted one of the Mediterranean-looking tourists and sat down next to him. I must have sounded like Barney Gumble from The Simpsons when I spoke. "Hey kid, I'm a big girl who loves drinks more than her clothes. Shall we make a deal?" I unbuttoned my top provocatively, and the guy could see a little better the skin of my breasts and the fabric of my bra, which was already see-through.
"Just a moment ago, you spoke more clearly, you hussy!" Moran's voice and the iron grip around my wrist confirmed that I scored.
"I'm not your property, you pig!" I shouted at him.
"You may not be, but you are an embarrassment to me and the company!" Moran smacked me over the right bottom cheek and thigh. God, that hurt. I made the right choice!
"You can't please a woman, so you beat her?" I asked him out loud.
He pulled me so that I fell from the chair to the floor. "I have some drunk drops for you!" he informed me and was already dragging me away from the bar.
I had to stay true to my role as a drunken bimbo, so I tossed and turned along the way. I hoped he would give me a few more premature blows, but his hands guided me in the right direction. It was exciting to release all the control and let the other guide me!
Moran carried me up two floors and busted open a dark door. I closed my eyes and imagined that he led me into the basement of an old school janitor, who had a motley display of straps, birches, and canes hanging on the wall and ceiling. I had to settle for one guy today.
"Hold her hands!" Moran shouted in front of him, and I had to look up. I saw his co-pilot in front of me. Ah yes, this twenty-two-year-old boy with dreamy eyes behind glasses.
"What did she do?" he asked.
"She was offering herself drunk to strangers. Hold her, I say, that darkie ass needs some blood!"
The boy's presence suddenly made me embarrassed, but it was the fact that I couldn't do anything about it that I was starting to like. Despite the movements of his hands, he pressed me into their soft couch, over which I had to lean.
The captain hiked my skirt from behind. My panties might amuse him. Yellow field and colored circles, scattered like balls on a children's playground.
I felt their fabric disintegrate, and I didn't have to fake a short-lived fit of rage at all.
"Don't move, bitch!" Moran shouted. "Do you want to have a pattern on your ass?"I'll make it for you.
"Sing me one, two, three, four!"
He spanked me with all his might. I dreamed about this from elementary school through college. A strong man's palm hitting the immaculate landscape of my ass. Like lightning starting a forest fire.
I decided to disobey his earlier instructions, and that turned out to be mistake.
SLAPSLAPSLAPSLAPSLAPSLAPSLAPSLAP!!!!
His hand was coming down on my ass like it was a broken machine, I just knew it was totally on purpose, and I just received extra points for defiance.
The spanking must have lasted at least six minutes, although I admit that while I was howling and my ass was burning, my sense of time was getting worse. Presumably, if King Kong punished the lady he climbed a skyscraper with, she would feel the same way. It was ironic. I wanted him to stop, but at the same time, I thought it should be more like a break. Apart from the ass, it was my hands and pussy that suffered more. My thighs welded themselves together between each stroke, and I felt the heat in my proverbial boiler. I knew that if I stuck one or two fingers in there, I would bring myself to an instant orgasm. However, my fingers remained in the young man's grip. The moron misinterpreted the attempts to free myself. He didn't let me go even when Moran stopped slapping me and stepped back.
"You didn't want to count, so you sang for us, hot lady," the pilot said sarcastically. "Don't worry, I won't cheat you of the symbol of the captain's masculinity."
By the sounds of it, he was unbuckling his belt as he retreated. I started to get scared. Maybe I should have explained to him who I was and that I was doing this on purpose, but I didn't want to do that when he had already seen my cunt.
I turned my head. He took a few steps back and scanned the space in front of him, the belt in hand, like a baseball player. I gritted my teeth and-
SWWIIIISHHH.
"AAAAAAAWWWW-AH-AH!!!"
I had to praise him in my mind. He led the blow masterfully. Leather hit the worst affected spot on my ass, which would have been dark red on lighter skin than mine, but it also marked areas that had been untouched until then.
"May you be on your feet for the rest of the flight!" Moran stated, repeating the previous strike. I swore before that I wouldn't yell, but I couldn't. I cried, and she could do absolutely nothing but experience the slowly forming lines of pain on my wriggling behind. Moran sometimes took a longer break, but he played with me, giving me false hope because then his belt reprimanded me all the more, depriving me of the slightest hope of sitting down in the next two weeks.
I felt his palm slide over my ass, on which you could no longer find a single intact part.
"Then one more for mommy!"
SLAP!
"OW!"
"One for Daddy!"
SLAP!
"OW!"
"And one for slutty daughter!
The belt smashed my behind along its length, and I was too crazy at that point to know if I should feel the pleasure or not.
"Let her go!"
Once I regained control of my hands, my first instinct was to rub my bottom, but Moran pinned me down again. I felt him unbutton my skirt in the front and let it drop to the floor to the panties. "You'll stop by tomorrow for them," he announced as he slowly led me to the door. I saw that he was looking at my battered ass, which made me unable to walk very fast. Moran opened the door for me, and I felt him reach out again. Panicking, I ran out into the corridor in a panic. The pilot closed the door to his room with a laugh.
I must say that at that moment, I was afraid because I found myself under my floor, with my crotch breezing in the air, my ass blazing from the uncompromising ordeal. I couldn't let anyone see me, but as I realized before, I couldn't run. I reached the stairs, repeatedly hissing, stroking the punished parts, and looking around. Finally, I reached my room with dignity and fished the key out of my pocket.
I stayed half-naked in the room for a long time. The new layer of fabric would hurt me more, and what's more, I could finally enjoy the feeling of being a naughty wench that someone had just shown the consequences of her actions. I felt throbbing in my pussy. It resonated with the throbbing in my ass, all the more as I patted myself extra lovingly and needed to satisfy the awakened desire.
I lay on my side on the bed, closed my eyes, and slipped my fingers between my soft lips. I imagined my husband, but in my imagination, I was lying across his knees and calling for help in vain, as his hands were even firmer than Moran's. The sensual fantasies were suddenly full of details. I could vividly visualize the restaurant where I recently made a fuss, but now, I paid for it, like my evening dress.
Thanks to the stormy orgasm, I might have screamed, but today, I didn't want to attract attention anymore. After a satisfying moment of pleasure, I was left with a sore ass. I took the traditional bucket with ice and champagne and, this time, was more interested in the ice. I spread a towel on the chair and covered it with the glacial layer.
I took a breather, nestled down my backside, and called the secretary. "Becky?"
"Yes, ma'am?"
"We have to deal with those complaints about Moran, but not this year. He's too useful to my Airlines for now."
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thecuriousone
Governor
Ha nice surprising end
Miras
Governor
Thanks, I would say it would have a lot lesser effect without it...
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thecuriousone
Governor
Exactly
