...just a question... How high are Lisette's feet above the floor???
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The Girl With No Name
- Thread starter Eulalia
- Start date
I was beside myself. Why hadn’t I noticed her before? Had I not seen her? I can’t believe it – perhaps she came in later? Anja. Anja Haug! When I was walking through the hall, I wasn’t seing anything clearly. During the flogging I certainly wasn’t, and then I’d been so woozy with pain and shame that people's faces were only bright spots hovering around me in the room. Anja Haug. She’d been there the whole time. She’d watched as I was tied up and beaten. She’d seen how I had been strapped up naked onto the cross. And now she was standing down there and looking at me.
When our eyes met, she blushed. We were red, her cheeks were bright red, but she went on looking straight at me. "Yes," said her eyes, "I'm just like you, Lisette, I envy you, I want to be in your place. At last I can witness how you endure it" A burning desire was in Anja's eyes, such as I’d never seen before. So ironic, Anja Haug, going astray!
"I'm not going to give anything away," said her eyes, "this must be our sweet little secret, Lisette." She nodded imperceptibly. I nodded back. None of the bystanders could have picked up anything of our secret conversation. Anja. Anja Haug. What has she learned from my crucifixion? How did it seem to her? How Dorothea had actually raised me? I had no idea. Anja Haug. My shame returned to full strength. Anja. Anja was loking at me naked on the cross, tied up, helpless, exposed naked. Ironically, Anja ....
There were no longer so many people in front of the cross, some were eating and drinking, some were listening to the music, singing or dancing. Some were chattering. Then they’d come from time to time to the nameless girl on the cross, and looked at her. But I was never alone, I was under constant observation. Not only was Anja looking at me with great interest, many others did too. Some hardly moved an inch. They stood there the whole time and gazed andgazed. Others came and went. Even from a distance, I was being watched, none of my emotions escaped the attentive audience. I felt exposed as never before.
How many down there wanted to change places with me? Probably not all. Some for sure, I could see it in their faces. In their eyes was this longing, like in the eyes of the old lady, and in Anja’s. My cousin didn’t look like that. She loved hard punishments, but for the cross she had no leaning. She’d told me that openly and honestly, after I'd shackled her like an X to the wall of the workshop and showed her how effective the nipple clamps are, if you want to ask a woman ot reveal most intimate secrets. Especially if a third clip was screwed onto her highly sensitive clitoris, and was twisted continuously. Oh, how she’d sobbed, my dear Doro! In tears, she’d confessed everything, really everything. That she loved torturing me beyond measure, holding me me captive, flogging me, bringing me to tears, listening to my cries. She loved it just as much when she herself was subjected to these tortures. Only one thing didn’t do it for her, being hung up for a long time. For my cousin, bondage was only a means to an end, to force her to take hard punishment and not be able to escape.
So Dorothea was gazing at me because she liked to experience the sight of a helpless naked girl strapped on the cross. She was waiting for my tears, my cries, my prayers. Others down there just wanted that too, sadistic men and women, who find it fun to watch the progress of a girl who’s having to endure torments. In the eyes of many women I saw a hard gleam, "You’re going to get to feel it, you little bitch," those eyes seemed to say, "soon you’ll begin to howl. We like it that way." Others may have just been awestruck, seeing me naked and tied up.
And how they all stared! I was very aware of my nakedness. My shame was great, it never left me, it was always there, deeping again and again the redness in my cheeks, which was promptly and loudly commented upon down. I felt ashamed of it, even a bit outraged at these shameless people who are staring at me so. But above all, it excited me beyond measure.
Oh, I'm not going to admit in a thousand years that I love it, Doro! If you want to know that, you’ll have to torture me and extort a confession from me under the worst possible pain! It’s exciting, it’s nice, but it’s even more beautiful to be ashamed. Wild! My heart was singing with happiness, my pussy mewed quietly and contentedly. Down there they know nothing, yeah, I'm still keeping secrets from you! Just like my hidden soles, they’re naked and you can’t see them. Yeah! It makes me horny, hanging in front of you, and you don’t know it. I felt a little bit wild and wicked, it was hot - and how! You can see it, Lisette, the little voice said in my mind. You’re exhibited naked – in public, Lisette. That's what you always wanted. Admit it. Enjoy it. Enjoy your shame. I enjoyed. I stretched myself defiantly on the cross. I moved deliberately in a sensual way. I saw how the men felt it cool down there. The eyes of some of the women began to take on a treacherous gleam, they were talking about me. More they were not allowed. No one could touch me. I was off-limits to the crowd.
I squirmed, I clenched my legs and stretched my body on the cross. "She getting sexy feelings! Just look!" "How cool!" "Unbelievable!" "She’s going to cum!" "Nonsense!" "Yes! She’s showing it! See how she’s rearing up and thrusting her pelvis. Her pussy’s thick and wet, you can see it clearly – she’s riding for an orgasm!" "And how!" "Me too, if I have watch her any longer, oh God, that's so cool!" A man grabbed his partner by the arm and whispered something in her ear. She giggled loudly. "Now come on," he said. His voice was shaky and pleading. His partner knelt down before him on her knees. I saw her soles, darkened from walking barefoot, as she opened his pants and pleasured him with her mouth. He began to moan, looking at me the whole time. Two other couples did the same. I don’t believe this, I thought, they’re sucking off their men in front of everybody! I opened my eyes, as a man kneeling at his wife's feet threw up her skirt and began to satisfy her with his lips and tongue. No-one said a word about it, they went on talking only about me.
"Her cunt’s full!" "Hot, isn’t it!" "She’s a masochist. It excites them to be put on public display and to be bound naked. She likes that. It excites her." "She’s cumming any moment, I tell you. Oh God, how awesome!"
I was ashamed of myself enough to sink into the ground, but I couldn’t stop now, impossible! I squirmed more vigorously and pressed my thighs together, tensing up my pelvic floor muscles and letting go again. Again and again, in slow rhythm…
When our eyes met, she blushed. We were red, her cheeks were bright red, but she went on looking straight at me. "Yes," said her eyes, "I'm just like you, Lisette, I envy you, I want to be in your place. At last I can witness how you endure it" A burning desire was in Anja's eyes, such as I’d never seen before. So ironic, Anja Haug, going astray!
"I'm not going to give anything away," said her eyes, "this must be our sweet little secret, Lisette." She nodded imperceptibly. I nodded back. None of the bystanders could have picked up anything of our secret conversation. Anja. Anja Haug. What has she learned from my crucifixion? How did it seem to her? How Dorothea had actually raised me? I had no idea. Anja Haug. My shame returned to full strength. Anja. Anja was loking at me naked on the cross, tied up, helpless, exposed naked. Ironically, Anja ....
There were no longer so many people in front of the cross, some were eating and drinking, some were listening to the music, singing or dancing. Some were chattering. Then they’d come from time to time to the nameless girl on the cross, and looked at her. But I was never alone, I was under constant observation. Not only was Anja looking at me with great interest, many others did too. Some hardly moved an inch. They stood there the whole time and gazed andgazed. Others came and went. Even from a distance, I was being watched, none of my emotions escaped the attentive audience. I felt exposed as never before.
How many down there wanted to change places with me? Probably not all. Some for sure, I could see it in their faces. In their eyes was this longing, like in the eyes of the old lady, and in Anja’s. My cousin didn’t look like that. She loved hard punishments, but for the cross she had no leaning. She’d told me that openly and honestly, after I'd shackled her like an X to the wall of the workshop and showed her how effective the nipple clamps are, if you want to ask a woman ot reveal most intimate secrets. Especially if a third clip was screwed onto her highly sensitive clitoris, and was twisted continuously. Oh, how she’d sobbed, my dear Doro! In tears, she’d confessed everything, really everything. That she loved torturing me beyond measure, holding me me captive, flogging me, bringing me to tears, listening to my cries. She loved it just as much when she herself was subjected to these tortures. Only one thing didn’t do it for her, being hung up for a long time. For my cousin, bondage was only a means to an end, to force her to take hard punishment and not be able to escape.
So Dorothea was gazing at me because she liked to experience the sight of a helpless naked girl strapped on the cross. She was waiting for my tears, my cries, my prayers. Others down there just wanted that too, sadistic men and women, who find it fun to watch the progress of a girl who’s having to endure torments. In the eyes of many women I saw a hard gleam, "You’re going to get to feel it, you little bitch," those eyes seemed to say, "soon you’ll begin to howl. We like it that way." Others may have just been awestruck, seeing me naked and tied up.
And how they all stared! I was very aware of my nakedness. My shame was great, it never left me, it was always there, deeping again and again the redness in my cheeks, which was promptly and loudly commented upon down. I felt ashamed of it, even a bit outraged at these shameless people who are staring at me so. But above all, it excited me beyond measure.
Oh, I'm not going to admit in a thousand years that I love it, Doro! If you want to know that, you’ll have to torture me and extort a confession from me under the worst possible pain! It’s exciting, it’s nice, but it’s even more beautiful to be ashamed. Wild! My heart was singing with happiness, my pussy mewed quietly and contentedly. Down there they know nothing, yeah, I'm still keeping secrets from you! Just like my hidden soles, they’re naked and you can’t see them. Yeah! It makes me horny, hanging in front of you, and you don’t know it. I felt a little bit wild and wicked, it was hot - and how! You can see it, Lisette, the little voice said in my mind. You’re exhibited naked – in public, Lisette. That's what you always wanted. Admit it. Enjoy it. Enjoy your shame. I enjoyed. I stretched myself defiantly on the cross. I moved deliberately in a sensual way. I saw how the men felt it cool down there. The eyes of some of the women began to take on a treacherous gleam, they were talking about me. More they were not allowed. No one could touch me. I was off-limits to the crowd.
I squirmed, I clenched my legs and stretched my body on the cross. "She getting sexy feelings! Just look!" "How cool!" "Unbelievable!" "She’s going to cum!" "Nonsense!" "Yes! She’s showing it! See how she’s rearing up and thrusting her pelvis. Her pussy’s thick and wet, you can see it clearly – she’s riding for an orgasm!" "And how!" "Me too, if I have watch her any longer, oh God, that's so cool!" A man grabbed his partner by the arm and whispered something in her ear. She giggled loudly. "Now come on," he said. His voice was shaky and pleading. His partner knelt down before him on her knees. I saw her soles, darkened from walking barefoot, as she opened his pants and pleasured him with her mouth. He began to moan, looking at me the whole time. Two other couples did the same. I don’t believe this, I thought, they’re sucking off their men in front of everybody! I opened my eyes, as a man kneeling at his wife's feet threw up her skirt and began to satisfy her with his lips and tongue. No-one said a word about it, they went on talking only about me.
"Her cunt’s full!" "Hot, isn’t it!" "She’s a masochist. It excites them to be put on public display and to be bound naked. She likes that. It excites her." "She’s cumming any moment, I tell you. Oh God, how awesome!"
I was ashamed of myself enough to sink into the ground, but I couldn’t stop now, impossible! I squirmed more vigorously and pressed my thighs together, tensing up my pelvic floor muscles and letting go again. Again and again, in slow rhythm…
Primus pilus
Magister Australis
Oh Eul, an airline lounge was really not the right place to read Lisette this morning especially with no one to go down on their knees and undo Pp's flies......
I thought about my flogging in front of all these people. It had begun with no further ceremony. Maybe next time? Next time?? I froze on the cross. Down below they were watching me, curious. I let myself sink in the bondage and began to squirm again. Oh, how I fought against the leather cuffs that held me onto the cross, I was squirming with excitement!
Yes… a ceremony. A repetition. Many repetitions? Regular repetitions? A club? A club? A Crux-Girls' Club?? What a thought!
I saw myself standing barefoot, dressed in torn, threadbare rags, before a tribunal, my hands and feet in heavy irons. They sentence me to eight hours on the cross. Before that, I would be whipped. Out in the open air, they hang me with my arms stretched out, naked on a kind ofscafold. About a hundred people have come to watch. They whip me. They used no jockey’s crop, but a real heavy leather whip. I scream like a banshee while I’m whipped again and again, the leather wrapping all around my naked body, striking, bouncing, causing explosions of pain.
Then I have to carry my cross to the place itself. It’s a relatively light construction, not too heavy for me, but it’s still exhausting. They goad me along with blows and lashes through a wide alleyway of people. To left and right, men and women are standing and gawping. I have to drag my cross barefoot along a dirt road, herded on relentlessly by the henchmen with their whips. Only the very last part of the track is over a meadow where the grass is soft, kind to my battered feet.
They tie me to the cross, there in the middle of the meadow, hauling it up high with ropes. To the front, back and side, several men are holding ropes to stabilize me, so the cross won’t tip over. With a solid thud it slides into a hole in the ground. They put in wooden wedges and stones, until the cross is steady and upright. Then I hang up there on it, sobbing, freshly-whipped, my body full of terrible bruises from the leather lash, my suffering only just starting.
I’m out here alone? Or are there several crosses? Anja Haug’s on a cross right next to me. A thirty-year-old woman’s right in front of us. On the scaffold, a tall blonde girl has just cried out hoarsely under the whiplash. She’ll soon be company for us. Eight hours? Or more? Ten? Twelve? Tears. Sobs. Cries. Suffering. Torments. And everything before the eyes of more than a hundred spectators. For one day, terrible suffering, helpless pain on the cross. Anja Haug next to me. We’re suffering together, were crying together, we’re being conquered by agony, we’re princesses of pain, sisters in pain, pain-sisters.
The idea thrilled me so much that I came. I reared up with a suppressed cry, and then I came on the cross. They saw it down there and they said so out loud. They were commenting on my every movement, every sound I made. I was abysmally ashamed of myself, but I couldn’t help it, and I was loving it too.
Anja Haug was looking at me wide-eyed. After it happened, I slumped in my bondage with a sigh. Suddenly I felt a gentle stroking on my bare feet, like the caress of a little water-brook. I let my head fall forward and looked to see who was doing it, and again I had reason to marvel - it was an Asian woman, more specifically a Japanese woman. But not just any Japanese woman, it was the lady who’d snapped Doro and me under our skirts, in the church in Heiligenborn when my cousin and I were posing as models for the Japanese camera enthusiasts. "Boooooootiful, yes," she’d whispered and smiled at us. Today, she smiled at me again, knowingly, but friendly too. I smiled back, and turned bright red – which was, of course, commented upon loudly by the assembled spectators.
Yes… a ceremony. A repetition. Many repetitions? Regular repetitions? A club? A club? A Crux-Girls' Club?? What a thought!
I saw myself standing barefoot, dressed in torn, threadbare rags, before a tribunal, my hands and feet in heavy irons. They sentence me to eight hours on the cross. Before that, I would be whipped. Out in the open air, they hang me with my arms stretched out, naked on a kind ofscafold. About a hundred people have come to watch. They whip me. They used no jockey’s crop, but a real heavy leather whip. I scream like a banshee while I’m whipped again and again, the leather wrapping all around my naked body, striking, bouncing, causing explosions of pain.
Then I have to carry my cross to the place itself. It’s a relatively light construction, not too heavy for me, but it’s still exhausting. They goad me along with blows and lashes through a wide alleyway of people. To left and right, men and women are standing and gawping. I have to drag my cross barefoot along a dirt road, herded on relentlessly by the henchmen with their whips. Only the very last part of the track is over a meadow where the grass is soft, kind to my battered feet.
They tie me to the cross, there in the middle of the meadow, hauling it up high with ropes. To the front, back and side, several men are holding ropes to stabilize me, so the cross won’t tip over. With a solid thud it slides into a hole in the ground. They put in wooden wedges and stones, until the cross is steady and upright. Then I hang up there on it, sobbing, freshly-whipped, my body full of terrible bruises from the leather lash, my suffering only just starting.
I’m out here alone? Or are there several crosses? Anja Haug’s on a cross right next to me. A thirty-year-old woman’s right in front of us. On the scaffold, a tall blonde girl has just cried out hoarsely under the whiplash. She’ll soon be company for us. Eight hours? Or more? Ten? Twelve? Tears. Sobs. Cries. Suffering. Torments. And everything before the eyes of more than a hundred spectators. For one day, terrible suffering, helpless pain on the cross. Anja Haug next to me. We’re suffering together, were crying together, we’re being conquered by agony, we’re princesses of pain, sisters in pain, pain-sisters.
The idea thrilled me so much that I came. I reared up with a suppressed cry, and then I came on the cross. They saw it down there and they said so out loud. They were commenting on my every movement, every sound I made. I was abysmally ashamed of myself, but I couldn’t help it, and I was loving it too.
Anja Haug was looking at me wide-eyed. After it happened, I slumped in my bondage with a sigh. Suddenly I felt a gentle stroking on my bare feet, like the caress of a little water-brook. I let my head fall forward and looked to see who was doing it, and again I had reason to marvel - it was an Asian woman, more specifically a Japanese woman. But not just any Japanese woman, it was the lady who’d snapped Doro and me under our skirts, in the church in Heiligenborn when my cousin and I were posing as models for the Japanese camera enthusiasts. "Boooooootiful, yes," she’d whispered and smiled at us. Today, she smiled at me again, knowingly, but friendly too. I smiled back, and turned bright red – which was, of course, commented upon loudly by the assembled spectators.
Primus pilus
Magister Australis
Two servings of Lisette for Pp in one day Eulalia. He is so pleased and he needs to tell Lisette that he has whipped her like this many times in his thoughts.
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Gradually it was becoming harder for me. My old friend moved on, as always, at a leisurely pace. Mr. Pain has never been in a hurry, why should he be? He’ll always get me anyway. He stroked my extended arms and stabbed me in the shoulder. He pressed me across my chest and stretched my pectoral muscles until they taut as harp-strings. He made my calves grow weak and shaky, and forced me to keep moving myself on the cross.
My time of peace came to an end. Whether I liked it or not, I had to move. I stretched myself high and let my upper body fall forward. That put my back away from the wood of the cross for a short time, but not far, not for long. Down below, the Japanese woman was standing close to Dorothea and Anja. All three were barefoot - secret accomplices, I called them. Were they really? Anja certainly. Doro probably, albeit in a very different way. And the Japanese woman? She wore an elaborately-made costume. She looked like a rich damsel. Her bare feet were in an interesting contrast. I noticed something on: No woman, not one of the girls that was without shoes, was wearing colorued nail polish, they all presented themselves as naturally as possible.
I overheard some shreds of pseudo-medieval ‘market language’, a screwed-up kind of High German that’s supposed to mimic the language of the Middle Ages.
"Mayest thou fare well in thy task, noble warrior," said the girl at the ticket desk to a brave knight.
"My heartfelt thanks, fair maiden," answered the man in chain mail, "Well, it falleth unto me to sing unto yon damsel upon the cross."
Aha, my personal jukebox! That’s not so bad!
A beer-belly, over which billowed yellow and red diamonds, pushed through the people. It was Daniel of course, and he was carrying a lute through the crowd. Among the throng, there seemed to be ringing sounds, yes, quite loud sounds from the middle of the audience - musical bells, the only explanation. Fun! Let’s hear them, loudly!
Daniel pushed his embonpoint through the throng of curious spectators like an icebreaker and stood with his lute under the cross. He was wearing tight-fitting trousers made of light green velvet – a fat frog with a top of red and yellow diamonds and a plumed hat, with eyes that were staring at me greedily and lustfully. What he saw seemed to please Daniel’s appetite. In his already tight pants it was getting tighter, he was pushing up a circus tent in them at the sight of me. But he was not the only one!
Before you pluck the strings noble Musicus, please get a damsel to blow your trumpet, so that peace may return in your badly strained pants, I thought, and had to suppress a laugh with some effort. Oh ha ha haaa! I was hanging on the cross and it really did hurt now, I was embarrassed to death, and I was super-excited at the same time. And still I had nothing better to do, than to make up stupid jokes about my chauffeur, even if kept them to myself. The thoughts you remember are the ones that come without thinking, that enter your imagination without your pausing for thought - as long as you don’t think that others think your thoughts without thinking, because they have to stop to think, while your thoughts are thoughtless. Thank you, dear thoughts.
My mouth twitched treacherously. Daniel plucked the strings and sang forth. When he started singing, my laughter left me abruptly. The guy was fat and no way attractive, he looked like a sick walrus, still poking up the tent in his pants, but he had a voice that pierced me to the core, a baritone of such richness, it began to vibrate deep in my belly. He sang the famous song "Wilekomen Sumerweter Sueze" (‘welcome, sweet summer weather’), a very popular song at medieval feasts, from the Carmina Burana.[1] But Daniel had amended the text, his song wasn’t about a dancing party on the village green in the beautiful summer weather, he was singing about me!
"Oh see the damsel, her white body shining on the cross,
Sweetly her hips hang swaying on the tree .... "
And so it went on, extolling over and over again my natural beauty. He sang that my hair that was like flames, and my eyes were green like ponds in the forest, he sang of the rosy buds on my white breasts. I was blushing, hanging naked in front of him and having to listen to this - even more so when, from all directions, people flocked to listen to him and look at me. But Daniel’s song hit me in the heart. He sang of my naked body, he left nothing out, not even "the sweet delicate furrow", but he never sounded obscene or offensive, quite the contrary, the song was sweet and amazingly beautiful.
Suddenly tears welled up in my eyes, I couldn’t help it, it just came over me. Of course people commented immediately. Anja Haug looked up at me, she looked sympathetic, like she was praying for me with her eyes. Doro had folded her arms across her chest and was grinning up at me. "So?" her flashing eyes seemed to say, "Isn’t this a wonderful serenade our boy’s performing for you?” Yes, it was.
When Daniel finished the song, everyone clapped and cheered, applauding loudly, - the clapping went on, they were vigorously demanding an encore. Daniel agreed to sing a familiar song of Walther von der Vogelweide, but again he sang a completely different text – a song just for me. I would never have dreamed that one day I’d be strapped stark naked up on a cross, while a young man sang about me in front of everyone. I hung quietly, with moist eyes, on the cross and listened to his beautiful velvet voice. My heart was overflowing with joy, it was beautiful - just beautiful.
[1] In fact it was by the Bavarian Minnesinger, Neidhardt von Reuental c1190 – c1246. You can hear it at:
My time of peace came to an end. Whether I liked it or not, I had to move. I stretched myself high and let my upper body fall forward. That put my back away from the wood of the cross for a short time, but not far, not for long. Down below, the Japanese woman was standing close to Dorothea and Anja. All three were barefoot - secret accomplices, I called them. Were they really? Anja certainly. Doro probably, albeit in a very different way. And the Japanese woman? She wore an elaborately-made costume. She looked like a rich damsel. Her bare feet were in an interesting contrast. I noticed something on: No woman, not one of the girls that was without shoes, was wearing colorued nail polish, they all presented themselves as naturally as possible.
I overheard some shreds of pseudo-medieval ‘market language’, a screwed-up kind of High German that’s supposed to mimic the language of the Middle Ages.
"Mayest thou fare well in thy task, noble warrior," said the girl at the ticket desk to a brave knight.
"My heartfelt thanks, fair maiden," answered the man in chain mail, "Well, it falleth unto me to sing unto yon damsel upon the cross."
Aha, my personal jukebox! That’s not so bad!
A beer-belly, over which billowed yellow and red diamonds, pushed through the people. It was Daniel of course, and he was carrying a lute through the crowd. Among the throng, there seemed to be ringing sounds, yes, quite loud sounds from the middle of the audience - musical bells, the only explanation. Fun! Let’s hear them, loudly!
Daniel pushed his embonpoint through the throng of curious spectators like an icebreaker and stood with his lute under the cross. He was wearing tight-fitting trousers made of light green velvet – a fat frog with a top of red and yellow diamonds and a plumed hat, with eyes that were staring at me greedily and lustfully. What he saw seemed to please Daniel’s appetite. In his already tight pants it was getting tighter, he was pushing up a circus tent in them at the sight of me. But he was not the only one!
Before you pluck the strings noble Musicus, please get a damsel to blow your trumpet, so that peace may return in your badly strained pants, I thought, and had to suppress a laugh with some effort. Oh ha ha haaa! I was hanging on the cross and it really did hurt now, I was embarrassed to death, and I was super-excited at the same time. And still I had nothing better to do, than to make up stupid jokes about my chauffeur, even if kept them to myself. The thoughts you remember are the ones that come without thinking, that enter your imagination without your pausing for thought - as long as you don’t think that others think your thoughts without thinking, because they have to stop to think, while your thoughts are thoughtless. Thank you, dear thoughts.
My mouth twitched treacherously. Daniel plucked the strings and sang forth. When he started singing, my laughter left me abruptly. The guy was fat and no way attractive, he looked like a sick walrus, still poking up the tent in his pants, but he had a voice that pierced me to the core, a baritone of such richness, it began to vibrate deep in my belly. He sang the famous song "Wilekomen Sumerweter Sueze" (‘welcome, sweet summer weather’), a very popular song at medieval feasts, from the Carmina Burana.[1] But Daniel had amended the text, his song wasn’t about a dancing party on the village green in the beautiful summer weather, he was singing about me!
"Oh see the damsel, her white body shining on the cross,
Sweetly her hips hang swaying on the tree .... "
And so it went on, extolling over and over again my natural beauty. He sang that my hair that was like flames, and my eyes were green like ponds in the forest, he sang of the rosy buds on my white breasts. I was blushing, hanging naked in front of him and having to listen to this - even more so when, from all directions, people flocked to listen to him and look at me. But Daniel’s song hit me in the heart. He sang of my naked body, he left nothing out, not even "the sweet delicate furrow", but he never sounded obscene or offensive, quite the contrary, the song was sweet and amazingly beautiful.
Suddenly tears welled up in my eyes, I couldn’t help it, it just came over me. Of course people commented immediately. Anja Haug looked up at me, she looked sympathetic, like she was praying for me with her eyes. Doro had folded her arms across her chest and was grinning up at me. "So?" her flashing eyes seemed to say, "Isn’t this a wonderful serenade our boy’s performing for you?” Yes, it was.
When Daniel finished the song, everyone clapped and cheered, applauding loudly, - the clapping went on, they were vigorously demanding an encore. Daniel agreed to sing a familiar song of Walther von der Vogelweide, but again he sang a completely different text – a song just for me. I would never have dreamed that one day I’d be strapped stark naked up on a cross, while a young man sang about me in front of everyone. I hung quietly, with moist eyes, on the cross and listened to his beautiful velvet voice. My heart was overflowing with joy, it was beautiful - just beautiful.
[1] In fact it was by the Bavarian Minnesinger, Neidhardt von Reuental c1190 – c1246. You can hear it at:
I think, thats right.
I can only suppose it's because of copyright in Germany -
where I suppose it would be more likely to get a few views!
620 views...When I tracked down that Minnesang on YouTube,
although it's been there since September 2014,
there'd only been 2 views, I was no. 3
Primus pilus
Magister Australis
Pp has waited all day to get to Lisette and wondered what he might find as he walked hill after hill looking at the seedlings that will be become prime Australian crux wood in another 25 or 30 years.
Now he can sleep with the gentle music of well-played strings.
Primus pilus
Magister Australis
Not available to Pp either but that might be due to his abysmally slow connection. He will try again when he is home and has wi-fi available.
Primus pilus
Magister Australis
Thanks madiosi. That opened for Pp. As one who lives in a house full of guitars and basses he enjoys strings, especially ones as clean as these are in the intro.
29 Lisette loses, and wins the supreme prize
Daniel finished his musical performance. Walther von der Vogelweide brought loud applause to follow the sound of the strings, and off he went to get some black beer to keep the balloon bursting out of his minstrel’s garb. Making music is exhausting. So is being crucified. He was there, Mr. Pain. Oh, sweet torment. How long had I been the cross? As always, I couldn’t tell. Those down there could crucify me for twelve hours, I’d hardly notice a difference. Or would I? All I knew I was that, after two and a half to three hours I had usually my first breakdown. But this time perhaps the intense training had moved it further on? I didn’t know. On the days when I’d suffered for six hours on the cross, there’d been different breakdowns, but it happened as a matter of course, there was never any exception. I always lost the fight against Mr. Pain.
At some point I started crying loudly. I screamed in agony and begged loudly to be let down. During this time of collapse, I wanted to tell the whole world to just go away. Yes, I’d often heard myself yell out loud that I couldn’t stand it any longer, not a single minute longer could I endure it. But I had to endure it, whether I liked it or not. My will did not count, that was just broken, my will was crucified.
I actually felt deep gratitude for this unbearable suffering. I, Lisette Lange, had to endure it. Although I’d collapsed, I’d endured it. I had to cope with it, it.was pure excitement and joy, coupled with gratitude.
After each collapse came a period of calm, during which I’d endure the pain more or less silent, until I began to force myself, sobbing, up on the timber. How often would I do that in eight hours? How would my arms feel after the ordeal? For sure there’ll be hours of after-effects, after-effects I’ll bear with pride.
I was dancing now on my cross for the curious onlookers. A thin film of sweat enamelled my naked body as I gasped and moaned. In the hall they were tucking into the food and drink. A few people made music, the melody was led by a young piper. Sweet sounds of sweet agony!
There were more people around the cross, lured back to me, probably because I was now offering them more to see. I worked diligently on the beam, only rarely I could rest still for a while and let myself hang there at rest – only briefly, Mr. Pain goaded me on, over and over again. He drew moans out of me and distorted my face. Still, I didn’t howl, it’s childish to fight it, it must happen anyway, I was going to lose the fight and be humiliated deeply before these strangers, but I wanted it to delay it to ther last moment.
My moans were loud witnesses, I couldn’t restrain them any longer. Now they could see how the pain was torturing me significantly. I could see it in the eyes of the spectators, they were looking at me, some interested, others excited and with a good dose of lust in their minds. Some of the people - especially women – were looking at me with a spiteful bite of pleasure in their minds. You’re getting what you deserve, little bitch! It’s only fair, you should be hurting good and proper, it serves you right! It was mainly middle-aged women, long past their best years, they envied me my youth and beauty and were punishing me for the pain in their heart. Each of them was lashing me in her mind with a big leather whip, and taking delight in my cries of pain. Oddly enough, I liked the looks of these wicked women particularly well. It thrilled me to have to suffer helplessly in front of the eyes of these malicious vixens. Despite all the pain I was feeling new excitement arising in me, and not a little. I was still ashamed of my nakedness, but now I was also enjoying being naked and exposed to the eyes of these ordinary women. I wanted to suffer, especially for those beasts – I can do it, you can’t, you cows!
Mr. Pain kept on extorting louder groan from me, and occasionally a little sob slipped out. The spiteful harpies down there registered it with grim satisfaction, it was clear to them. The men didn’t seem to be as sadistic as their good wives.
"She's beautiful in her grief," one said, "The money was well worth it, it’s a fantastic experience! Boy oh boy I’d like to book her for my sixtieth birthday - in our garden, that would be lovely, this great girl on the cross. all the day long!"
Hire me! Hire me? Me? Lisette Lange? A full displayed advert in a 'certain newspaper', Crux- girl Lisette Lange, for hire by the hour. Make your party go, with a naked girl on the cross! Call: 09876-115533. Book our Princess of Pain. Delight yourself and your guests with the youthful body of Lisette Lange! See how she suffers on the cross! Experience first-hand how her resistance is broken, listen to her cries!
My imagination was carrying me away. Clearly. But would it be possible to repeat my public crucifixion? Doro had the contacts. I'm up for it, Doro, I thought, every time!
Daniel finished his musical performance. Walther von der Vogelweide brought loud applause to follow the sound of the strings, and off he went to get some black beer to keep the balloon bursting out of his minstrel’s garb. Making music is exhausting. So is being crucified. He was there, Mr. Pain. Oh, sweet torment. How long had I been the cross? As always, I couldn’t tell. Those down there could crucify me for twelve hours, I’d hardly notice a difference. Or would I? All I knew I was that, after two and a half to three hours I had usually my first breakdown. But this time perhaps the intense training had moved it further on? I didn’t know. On the days when I’d suffered for six hours on the cross, there’d been different breakdowns, but it happened as a matter of course, there was never any exception. I always lost the fight against Mr. Pain.
At some point I started crying loudly. I screamed in agony and begged loudly to be let down. During this time of collapse, I wanted to tell the whole world to just go away. Yes, I’d often heard myself yell out loud that I couldn’t stand it any longer, not a single minute longer could I endure it. But I had to endure it, whether I liked it or not. My will did not count, that was just broken, my will was crucified.
I actually felt deep gratitude for this unbearable suffering. I, Lisette Lange, had to endure it. Although I’d collapsed, I’d endured it. I had to cope with it, it.was pure excitement and joy, coupled with gratitude.
After each collapse came a period of calm, during which I’d endure the pain more or less silent, until I began to force myself, sobbing, up on the timber. How often would I do that in eight hours? How would my arms feel after the ordeal? For sure there’ll be hours of after-effects, after-effects I’ll bear with pride.
I was dancing now on my cross for the curious onlookers. A thin film of sweat enamelled my naked body as I gasped and moaned. In the hall they were tucking into the food and drink. A few people made music, the melody was led by a young piper. Sweet sounds of sweet agony!
There were more people around the cross, lured back to me, probably because I was now offering them more to see. I worked diligently on the beam, only rarely I could rest still for a while and let myself hang there at rest – only briefly, Mr. Pain goaded me on, over and over again. He drew moans out of me and distorted my face. Still, I didn’t howl, it’s childish to fight it, it must happen anyway, I was going to lose the fight and be humiliated deeply before these strangers, but I wanted it to delay it to ther last moment.
My moans were loud witnesses, I couldn’t restrain them any longer. Now they could see how the pain was torturing me significantly. I could see it in the eyes of the spectators, they were looking at me, some interested, others excited and with a good dose of lust in their minds. Some of the people - especially women – were looking at me with a spiteful bite of pleasure in their minds. You’re getting what you deserve, little bitch! It’s only fair, you should be hurting good and proper, it serves you right! It was mainly middle-aged women, long past their best years, they envied me my youth and beauty and were punishing me for the pain in their heart. Each of them was lashing me in her mind with a big leather whip, and taking delight in my cries of pain. Oddly enough, I liked the looks of these wicked women particularly well. It thrilled me to have to suffer helplessly in front of the eyes of these malicious vixens. Despite all the pain I was feeling new excitement arising in me, and not a little. I was still ashamed of my nakedness, but now I was also enjoying being naked and exposed to the eyes of these ordinary women. I wanted to suffer, especially for those beasts – I can do it, you can’t, you cows!
Mr. Pain kept on extorting louder groan from me, and occasionally a little sob slipped out. The spiteful harpies down there registered it with grim satisfaction, it was clear to them. The men didn’t seem to be as sadistic as their good wives.
"She's beautiful in her grief," one said, "The money was well worth it, it’s a fantastic experience! Boy oh boy I’d like to book her for my sixtieth birthday - in our garden, that would be lovely, this great girl on the cross. all the day long!"
Hire me! Hire me? Me? Lisette Lange? A full displayed advert in a 'certain newspaper', Crux- girl Lisette Lange, for hire by the hour. Make your party go, with a naked girl on the cross! Call: 09876-115533. Book our Princess of Pain. Delight yourself and your guests with the youthful body of Lisette Lange! See how she suffers on the cross! Experience first-hand how her resistance is broken, listen to her cries!
My imagination was carrying me away. Clearly. But would it be possible to repeat my public crucifixion? Doro had the contacts. I'm up for it, Doro, I thought, every time!
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