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Short Stories and Poems by CF-Members
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Crucified Veronika
Governor
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
Tribune
I am in doubt... is this a story or a true experience? I like this story.
Crucified Veronika
Governor
I'll let you guess!!
Crucified Veronika
Governor
Ok... it was true
Crucified Veronika
Governor
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
Tribune
You are lucky with a neighbour like that.
Crucified Veronika
Governor
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
Governor
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
Tribune
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."
Last edited by a moderator:
thecuriousone
Tribune
Ha nice surprising end
Miras
Tribune
Thanks, I would say it would have a lot lesser effect without it...
Last edited:
thecuriousone
Tribune
Exactly
Miras
Tribune
Cane for all ages
"The older we women are, the brattier we grow." This piece of sexist wisdom was shared by my cousin Lucy, whom I walked with on a California beach. The sand warming our feet was hot, but it had nothing on Lucy's body. While She was showing off her emancipated face with dark glasses and hair in a top knot, I was making shorter steps so I could admire her tanned bottom, kissed by the warmth of the Sun and proudly displayed with the assistance of the black thong.
"Does that include your mother?" I asked provocatively. Aunt Roxie was a rough ex-military who liked to be seen as superior over everyone. She and her daughter came to visit me and Dad yesterday.
She stopped and looked at me. I couldn't see her eyes, but She twisted her mouth in something that might be a disappointment.
"What do you think? She was trying to dominantě two husbands, but when you base your idea of dominance on yelling what sort of cretin you are, the result is not a harmonic household but a guy fit for asylum."
I nodded, unsure if I could collaborate on the criticism. My mother didn't even divorce my father. She didn't have anything against him. Their marriage just lacked a spark. Nowadays, she was traveling around the world, and all I could do was imagine she was having a lot of sex with African chieftains or sherpas of Nepal.
"We will buy ourselves ice cream," I suggested. "Then we can go home and ensure aunt-mom doesn't ruin her brother."
It was good that we at least freshened up a bit because when we arrived at our cottage near the beach, Dad and Aunt Roxie were yelling at each other. My progenitor wasn't that big or red in the face, but he was screaming.
"Then I don't know why you say I'm a bad parent! I don't chase Henry all day, but he didn't grow up to be a junkie!"
"My daughter works on herself and is not lazy!" Aunt was choking on her voice. "But I won't forgive her for this. I will give her care which you don't give your child!"
"What's happening?" Lucy asked, but I could see that the color on her face was starting to resemble the lemon ice cream we consumed a moment ago.
"This is happening!" Aunt threw a bag with dried leaves of a certain plant on the table. Dismayed, Lucy put her glasses down. She rolled her eyes. "Living in the same household as you means I often need to relax," Lucy said soullessly.
That did not please Roxie. "A junkie and a cheeky one at that. You know what? You wanted to be calmed down by the plant. So I will do it for you."
She quickly ran upstairs, and we all stood motionless, listening to her footsteps. When she returned, she held a long cane, pointing it in the air.
"Pull that thong down. Now. And bend over the table!"
"I won´t let you thrash me," Lucy said.
Roxie went for her daughter's ear, but Lucy started to defend herself. At one point, the cane fell on the floor as two women fought like a couple of angry kittens. My dad grabbed the shoulders of his sister, and I used the opportunity to pull Lucy and accidentally touched her chest a little bit. The women resisted, but this was for their own good, seeing as they intended to claw each other's eyes.
"I think you both would benefit from the thrashing," Dad said. He reached for a cane with a released hand. He loosened his grip on Roxie's wrist, but it was clear from the way he twirled the rod in the air that he meant what he said.
Aunt pulled away from him. "I was angry with my child. No one can thrash me for that."
Something flashed in Lucy's eyes. "I'll take a spanking," she declared, demonstratively touching the waistline of her thongs. "I'll take it if Mom gets the same number of strokes."
"And what would I get them for?" Roxie's voice was still full of disbelief.
"For acting like an erratic five-year-old ever since you got here," dad explained impatiently.
Auntie thought briefly and looked at Lucy. "Okay. I will go through this if it means she will get what she deserves."
Roxie turned towards the table, unzipped her jeans, and pulled them down to her knees. Just before the final act, she pulled down her black panties and offered up her bottom for punishment. Lucy did the same. I almost couldn't breathe when the thongs ended up on the floor, and my gorgeous cousin arched over the table and arched like an agile cat and gave stuck out a bummie that Miss World wouldn't be ashamed of. s I looked at her and her mother, both in a humiliating position, I realized that I was turned on by the younger and older ass both. Roxie had a large but still firm one. I imagined myself fondling those cheeks.
"Good display, eh," said Dad. "One is smoking pot, and the other is aggressive, but I think they deserve fifteen strokes."
"Yeah," I replied absently. My mind was on something else, though it was about the same parts of a woman's body. I bent down a little to see Lucy's bits, the only ones remaining hidden from me beforehand.
"None of us will forget this," I declared with bliss in my voice and approached the reprimanded women. I wanted to start with Lucy, so I ran the rod over her ass, swung a little, and let it land on the girl's skin. The sound was wonderful, and I thought it must have stung Lucy a lot. However, the girl only flinched a little. I looked at the red streak on her ass and realized that she must be used to being spanked by her mother.
Speaking of her mother…
I moved to the larger ass and gave it a searing touch without waiting as long this time. Roxie didn't react.
"You are spoiling them too much," my dad told me, taking the cane from me. He showed me how to properly engage the shoulder. Roxie gained a new welt, just above the first one. I stepped back and saw on her face that she was biting her lip, her nose breathing heavily.
Enthusiastically, I took the cane back and promised to improve my technique. I chose Lucy as my test subject, whose bottom faced a sharper stroke this time.
"Ouch!" The squeal turned me on in a way I never expected. I gave her a third stroke, and this time I didn't care so much to avoid the previous stripes.
"Aw.. Nooo, no, no!" She kicked her petite feet, and this hilarious performance excited me again. Just wait, you'll still regret agreeing to it. Now, of course, I had to go back to my aunt's belated upbringing and see if I could take her back to the years she started in the military.
The third stroke of the cane already knocked a pained sigh out of Roxie. I loved how the pain began to radiate from the swollen black pudding and how Roxie had to grip the table tightly with her hands. The humiliation in her case was even greater than that of her daughter, and I wanted her to savor it. So I slapped her over the welts and thanked God for the puff.
It turned me on so much that I put all my strength into the fourth blow for Lucy so that she would know to stay away from drugs.
"AAAAEEEEIIII!!" She let out a long scream and even stood up to rub her ass. I wasn't going to tolerate that! I took hold of both her hands and struck the table several times with the cane. When she lay down again, I saw to that the next blow was even stronger. I couldn't allow there to be just one beautifully striped butt like this.
SWIIISHHH! SWISH!!!! Roxie began to pull back her aching ass.
Since then, I have stood behind them and changed blows regularly. In the second period of the penalty, Lucy received odd strokes, while Roxie received even-numbered ones. By the time I had counted to ten, however, Lucy was crying loudly, and I found her mother biting her hand to keep out the scream. Well, that's why I decided all the more for her to feel it when she doesn't want to show the pain anymore.
"Please," Lucy begged. I knew what she asked me to do, but I couldn't comply. I couldn't give up an ounce of power, especially when I had five more strokes to give. I stroked her hair to make it look like I'll be softer on her. Honestly, I had no idea if I ́ll manage that.
"In the end, I guess something special would be worthwhile," Dad said.
"Like using salt?" I asked, shaking the cane in the air.
"Good thought, but it should be more emotional." To my surprise, he made Roxie and Lucy stand up.
"Hug each other," he commanded, and they obeyed, albeit a little reluctantly. They touched their bare legs and hairy laps, making the beast with two striped bottoms.
"Squeeze your asses for a while and sigh a little."
The punished women began to soothe themselves, and I don't think they even had to pretend those lovable sounds after every touch brought them renewed stings instead of relief. It seemed to me that Rixie once even slapped Lucy, and her daughter didn't hesitate to reciprocate.
"Okay, now you can put your arm around your shoulders again.“ He waited until they obeyed him. "You're going to get the last five strokes. Lucy, after each one, say: 'I'm sorry, Mom,' and you, Roxie, say: 'I'm sorry, all of you.' Henry, make sure you care."
I didn't want to do the work unfinished, so I started circling my aunt and cousin.
SWISH!
" I'm sorry, Mom -aaya!"
SWISH!
"I'm sorry, all of you! Oh, God!"
I continued to make sure I hit the sensitive sit spot three times and enjoyed watching the two of them fall, hold on, and walk sideways, almost as if they were dancing.
The last time I touched them with the cane, they huddled together even more. Dad and I escorted them upstairs and helped them settle into bed. I'd like to say that we gave them privacy, but I had to go back to the not-quite-closed door after a while because the sound of their wailing was doing incredible things to my body. In addition, according to later sounds, Lucy found herself over Roxie's knee and her ass experienced another circle of hell.
I thought of my girlfriend Terry and how she would sometimes need to have her behavior adjusted...
"The older we women are, the brattier we grow." This piece of sexist wisdom was shared by my cousin Lucy, whom I walked with on a California beach. The sand warming our feet was hot, but it had nothing on Lucy's body. While She was showing off her emancipated face with dark glasses and hair in a top knot, I was making shorter steps so I could admire her tanned bottom, kissed by the warmth of the Sun and proudly displayed with the assistance of the black thong.
"Does that include your mother?" I asked provocatively. Aunt Roxie was a rough ex-military who liked to be seen as superior over everyone. She and her daughter came to visit me and Dad yesterday.
She stopped and looked at me. I couldn't see her eyes, but She twisted her mouth in something that might be a disappointment.
"What do you think? She was trying to dominantě two husbands, but when you base your idea of dominance on yelling what sort of cretin you are, the result is not a harmonic household but a guy fit for asylum."
I nodded, unsure if I could collaborate on the criticism. My mother didn't even divorce my father. She didn't have anything against him. Their marriage just lacked a spark. Nowadays, she was traveling around the world, and all I could do was imagine she was having a lot of sex with African chieftains or sherpas of Nepal.
"We will buy ourselves ice cream," I suggested. "Then we can go home and ensure aunt-mom doesn't ruin her brother."
It was good that we at least freshened up a bit because when we arrived at our cottage near the beach, Dad and Aunt Roxie were yelling at each other. My progenitor wasn't that big or red in the face, but he was screaming.
"Then I don't know why you say I'm a bad parent! I don't chase Henry all day, but he didn't grow up to be a junkie!"
"My daughter works on herself and is not lazy!" Aunt was choking on her voice. "But I won't forgive her for this. I will give her care which you don't give your child!"
"What's happening?" Lucy asked, but I could see that the color on her face was starting to resemble the lemon ice cream we consumed a moment ago.
"This is happening!" Aunt threw a bag with dried leaves of a certain plant on the table. Dismayed, Lucy put her glasses down. She rolled her eyes. "Living in the same household as you means I often need to relax," Lucy said soullessly.
That did not please Roxie. "A junkie and a cheeky one at that. You know what? You wanted to be calmed down by the plant. So I will do it for you."
She quickly ran upstairs, and we all stood motionless, listening to her footsteps. When she returned, she held a long cane, pointing it in the air.
"Pull that thong down. Now. And bend over the table!"
"I won´t let you thrash me," Lucy said.
Roxie went for her daughter's ear, but Lucy started to defend herself. At one point, the cane fell on the floor as two women fought like a couple of angry kittens. My dad grabbed the shoulders of his sister, and I used the opportunity to pull Lucy and accidentally touched her chest a little bit. The women resisted, but this was for their own good, seeing as they intended to claw each other's eyes.
"I think you both would benefit from the thrashing," Dad said. He reached for a cane with a released hand. He loosened his grip on Roxie's wrist, but it was clear from the way he twirled the rod in the air that he meant what he said.
Aunt pulled away from him. "I was angry with my child. No one can thrash me for that."
Something flashed in Lucy's eyes. "I'll take a spanking," she declared, demonstratively touching the waistline of her thongs. "I'll take it if Mom gets the same number of strokes."
"And what would I get them for?" Roxie's voice was still full of disbelief.
"For acting like an erratic five-year-old ever since you got here," dad explained impatiently.
Auntie thought briefly and looked at Lucy. "Okay. I will go through this if it means she will get what she deserves."
Roxie turned towards the table, unzipped her jeans, and pulled them down to her knees. Just before the final act, she pulled down her black panties and offered up her bottom for punishment. Lucy did the same. I almost couldn't breathe when the thongs ended up on the floor, and my gorgeous cousin arched over the table and arched like an agile cat and gave stuck out a bummie that Miss World wouldn't be ashamed of. s I looked at her and her mother, both in a humiliating position, I realized that I was turned on by the younger and older ass both. Roxie had a large but still firm one. I imagined myself fondling those cheeks.
"Good display, eh," said Dad. "One is smoking pot, and the other is aggressive, but I think they deserve fifteen strokes."
"Yeah," I replied absently. My mind was on something else, though it was about the same parts of a woman's body. I bent down a little to see Lucy's bits, the only ones remaining hidden from me beforehand.
"None of us will forget this," I declared with bliss in my voice and approached the reprimanded women. I wanted to start with Lucy, so I ran the rod over her ass, swung a little, and let it land on the girl's skin. The sound was wonderful, and I thought it must have stung Lucy a lot. However, the girl only flinched a little. I looked at the red streak on her ass and realized that she must be used to being spanked by her mother.
Speaking of her mother…
I moved to the larger ass and gave it a searing touch without waiting as long this time. Roxie didn't react.
"You are spoiling them too much," my dad told me, taking the cane from me. He showed me how to properly engage the shoulder. Roxie gained a new welt, just above the first one. I stepped back and saw on her face that she was biting her lip, her nose breathing heavily.
Enthusiastically, I took the cane back and promised to improve my technique. I chose Lucy as my test subject, whose bottom faced a sharper stroke this time.
"Ouch!" The squeal turned me on in a way I never expected. I gave her a third stroke, and this time I didn't care so much to avoid the previous stripes.
"Aw.. Nooo, no, no!" She kicked her petite feet, and this hilarious performance excited me again. Just wait, you'll still regret agreeing to it. Now, of course, I had to go back to my aunt's belated upbringing and see if I could take her back to the years she started in the military.
The third stroke of the cane already knocked a pained sigh out of Roxie. I loved how the pain began to radiate from the swollen black pudding and how Roxie had to grip the table tightly with her hands. The humiliation in her case was even greater than that of her daughter, and I wanted her to savor it. So I slapped her over the welts and thanked God for the puff.
It turned me on so much that I put all my strength into the fourth blow for Lucy so that she would know to stay away from drugs.
"AAAAEEEEIIII!!" She let out a long scream and even stood up to rub her ass. I wasn't going to tolerate that! I took hold of both her hands and struck the table several times with the cane. When she lay down again, I saw to that the next blow was even stronger. I couldn't allow there to be just one beautifully striped butt like this.
SWIIISHHH! SWISH!!!! Roxie began to pull back her aching ass.
Since then, I have stood behind them and changed blows regularly. In the second period of the penalty, Lucy received odd strokes, while Roxie received even-numbered ones. By the time I had counted to ten, however, Lucy was crying loudly, and I found her mother biting her hand to keep out the scream. Well, that's why I decided all the more for her to feel it when she doesn't want to show the pain anymore.
"Please," Lucy begged. I knew what she asked me to do, but I couldn't comply. I couldn't give up an ounce of power, especially when I had five more strokes to give. I stroked her hair to make it look like I'll be softer on her. Honestly, I had no idea if I ́ll manage that.
"In the end, I guess something special would be worthwhile," Dad said.
"Like using salt?" I asked, shaking the cane in the air.
"Good thought, but it should be more emotional." To my surprise, he made Roxie and Lucy stand up.
"Hug each other," he commanded, and they obeyed, albeit a little reluctantly. They touched their bare legs and hairy laps, making the beast with two striped bottoms.
"Squeeze your asses for a while and sigh a little."
The punished women began to soothe themselves, and I don't think they even had to pretend those lovable sounds after every touch brought them renewed stings instead of relief. It seemed to me that Rixie once even slapped Lucy, and her daughter didn't hesitate to reciprocate.
"Okay, now you can put your arm around your shoulders again.“ He waited until they obeyed him. "You're going to get the last five strokes. Lucy, after each one, say: 'I'm sorry, Mom,' and you, Roxie, say: 'I'm sorry, all of you.' Henry, make sure you care."
I didn't want to do the work unfinished, so I started circling my aunt and cousin.
SWISH!
" I'm sorry, Mom -aaya!"
SWISH!
"I'm sorry, all of you! Oh, God!"
I continued to make sure I hit the sensitive sit spot three times and enjoyed watching the two of them fall, hold on, and walk sideways, almost as if they were dancing.
The last time I touched them with the cane, they huddled together even more. Dad and I escorted them upstairs and helped them settle into bed. I'd like to say that we gave them privacy, but I had to go back to the not-quite-closed door after a while because the sound of their wailing was doing incredible things to my body. In addition, according to later sounds, Lucy found herself over Roxie's knee and her ass experienced another circle of hell.
I thought of my girlfriend Terry and how she would sometimes need to have her behavior adjusted...
Miras
Tribune
You are welcome, glad to hear I can arouse people! Stay tuned for more!