mongo
Governor
Execute a barrel roll then jink a bit. Pisses the gunners no endAnd, oh ... what a sight for everyone to keep an eye on
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The Competition
- Thread starter Barbaria1
- Start date
Thessela
Beloved slavegirl
Don't count yourself out yet.....there's still the scourging, the bearing, and the nailing and raising yet to go
Oh, gooood
mongo
Governor
What a shame
Your feathers lightly amuse my beak ... hooded never more.
Am I flying or drifting in the sky?
:::::: Sorry .... Spoilers
"Your feathers lightly amuse my beak ... hooded never more." Mmmmmmmmmmmmm
Quiet Paul
Tribune
I'm sure there will be a few volunteers to take his place. Presumably it doesn't have to be an ordained priest?
that is self-evident on cf
Purrfect submissive slave symmetry ..... no wonder Eul and the Scots won the first round 
It sounds like an oxymoron but the Eulalia is a professional novice...View attachment 303210 Purrfect submissive slave symmetry ..... no wonder Eul and the Scots won the first round
...I hope she doesn't have an orgasm while being whipped!!!
15. The Abbess relented in the face of Sister Hilda's impassioned arguments, and as a consequence I spent the next hour huddled on the cold hard floor of our quarters, gnawing on a dry husk of bread and listening to Sister Kathleen howl as Hilda, back lathered in sweat, gave the young nun 20 lashes.
Meanwhile, in a much larger room; somewhere in the Cathedral precinct, the fat Cardinal and his retinue were undoubtedly gorging themselves on rich food and guzzling fine wine in preparation for the coming "condemnation and scourging" phase of the Competition.
"Hurry, it's time," growled Hilda, pulling up on and straightening her dark tunic.
Slowly I rose to my feet, adjusting my loincloth ... all that I was allowed, but also required to wear according to the rules of the Competition from this time until I was nailed and raised.
Ethelbert came up behind me, looped and tied a rope around my neck, tossing the long loose end to Sister Hilda, who gave it a tug to start me towards the door.
"What about Sister Kathleen?" I cried, looking back over my shoulder at her, standing against the wall, stripped to the waist, shackled wrists outstretched, red crisscrossing stripes covering her bare back.
"We won't be needing her," answered Hilda, "your fate is in my hands now, dear Barbara!"
We left the room, but my heart stayed behind with Kathleen and the memories of our tenderness together on the small bed that night in her Abbey room.
Moments later we entered the great Cathedral and made our way up a side aisle and then up onto to the raised space in front of the choir. There I was made to kneel alongside the other three novices, so close together that our hips and shoulders nearly touched, facing the throng of nuns, monks and priests who packed the long nave.
Thessela knelt to my left; to my right the French novice Messaline and, just beyond, the Scot, Eulalia. We were all naked, except for our loincloths, and we each had a rope noosed around our necks, with its loose end dangling against our backs.
Suspended ominously from each of the four nearest of the great columns supporting the great church's magnificent rib-vaulted ceiling, were four pairs of waiting wrist irons. To our left and slightly behind us were seated the four Abbesses; to our right, the Cardinal and his retinue.
Officiating formally over the proceedings was the Bishop of Cruxton, a robust-looking man, the most recent of a long series of sons of the great house of Wragg to have taken the cloth.
Holding his arms aloft, he led the assembled in prayer and psalm, offered greetings and salutations to His Eminence the Cardinal for once again bringing the solemn and deeply moving pageantry of the Competition to the celebration of the feast of St. Andrew at Cruxton Cathedral; and also to each of the four visiting Abbesses for offering up in sacrifice a young novice from their respective Houses.
Then passing behind us, and placing his open hand in turn on each of our heads he "condemned" the four of us to be crucified in the manner of, and for the glory of, our Savior and Lord. The stage was set for the first station of the cross, our scourging at the hands of our own teams, which in my case meant the practiced whip hand of Sister Hilda, assisted by the monks, Ethelbert and Tuck.
A long moment of silence followed during which I scanned the expectantly enraptured faces of the throng before me, and stole a quick glance at the Cardinal who was leaning forward in his seat, hands folded on his lap, an expression of keen anticipation painted over his jowly countenance.
"Let us begin," intoned Bishop Wragg, "with a light whipping of the novices in place before proceeding to their formal scourging at the columns below. A murmur of voices spread through the assembled.
Hilda leaned over my shoulder to whisper in my ear, "Clasp your hands behind your head my dear and prepare yourself."
Slowly I did so, looking to my left and right to see the other novices doing the same. I felt the noose around my neck tighten as Hilda took up the rope's end in one hand.
I waited, taking in a deep breath and holding it, just as with a loud grunt Hilda laid the supple business ends of a short multi-tailed whip of the kind used to flagellate oneself squarely across the center of my back.
I gasped and arched, throwing my chest out and my head back, as did the others in quick succession to the right and left of me. A moment later, as a second lash drew the tails of Hilda’s whip across my shoulder blades and Thessela's swinging elbow nearly struck me in the face, I cried out in pain. Messaline twisted and fell over against my right hip and thigh, only to be jerked back upright again by the rope around her neck.
And so it went for at least another dozen or so … lash after frenzied lash, falling in quick succession across our backs … the four of us down on our knees, bucking, twisting, breasts shaking and wobbling, hair flying, flopping against one another, pulled back in place each time by the ropes around our necks … trying, through it all, to keep our hands clasped behind our heads.
The scene was electrifying, the onlookers down on the floor of the nave craning their necks, jostling for a better view… the Cardinal jumped to his feet, barely able to contain himself, pointing and gesturing impatiently toward the waiting shackles on the nearby stone columns, and screaming, his face turned as red as his robes, “to the posts, to the posts! Scourge them, scourge them; make them bleed!”
TO BE CONTINUED
Meanwhile, in a much larger room; somewhere in the Cathedral precinct, the fat Cardinal and his retinue were undoubtedly gorging themselves on rich food and guzzling fine wine in preparation for the coming "condemnation and scourging" phase of the Competition.
"Hurry, it's time," growled Hilda, pulling up on and straightening her dark tunic.
Slowly I rose to my feet, adjusting my loincloth ... all that I was allowed, but also required to wear according to the rules of the Competition from this time until I was nailed and raised.
Ethelbert came up behind me, looped and tied a rope around my neck, tossing the long loose end to Sister Hilda, who gave it a tug to start me towards the door.
"What about Sister Kathleen?" I cried, looking back over my shoulder at her, standing against the wall, stripped to the waist, shackled wrists outstretched, red crisscrossing stripes covering her bare back.
"We won't be needing her," answered Hilda, "your fate is in my hands now, dear Barbara!"
We left the room, but my heart stayed behind with Kathleen and the memories of our tenderness together on the small bed that night in her Abbey room.
Moments later we entered the great Cathedral and made our way up a side aisle and then up onto to the raised space in front of the choir. There I was made to kneel alongside the other three novices, so close together that our hips and shoulders nearly touched, facing the throng of nuns, monks and priests who packed the long nave.
Thessela knelt to my left; to my right the French novice Messaline and, just beyond, the Scot, Eulalia. We were all naked, except for our loincloths, and we each had a rope noosed around our necks, with its loose end dangling against our backs.
Suspended ominously from each of the four nearest of the great columns supporting the great church's magnificent rib-vaulted ceiling, were four pairs of waiting wrist irons. To our left and slightly behind us were seated the four Abbesses; to our right, the Cardinal and his retinue.
Officiating formally over the proceedings was the Bishop of Cruxton, a robust-looking man, the most recent of a long series of sons of the great house of Wragg to have taken the cloth.
Holding his arms aloft, he led the assembled in prayer and psalm, offered greetings and salutations to His Eminence the Cardinal for once again bringing the solemn and deeply moving pageantry of the Competition to the celebration of the feast of St. Andrew at Cruxton Cathedral; and also to each of the four visiting Abbesses for offering up in sacrifice a young novice from their respective Houses.
Then passing behind us, and placing his open hand in turn on each of our heads he "condemned" the four of us to be crucified in the manner of, and for the glory of, our Savior and Lord. The stage was set for the first station of the cross, our scourging at the hands of our own teams, which in my case meant the practiced whip hand of Sister Hilda, assisted by the monks, Ethelbert and Tuck.
A long moment of silence followed during which I scanned the expectantly enraptured faces of the throng before me, and stole a quick glance at the Cardinal who was leaning forward in his seat, hands folded on his lap, an expression of keen anticipation painted over his jowly countenance.
"Let us begin," intoned Bishop Wragg, "with a light whipping of the novices in place before proceeding to their formal scourging at the columns below. A murmur of voices spread through the assembled.
Hilda leaned over my shoulder to whisper in my ear, "Clasp your hands behind your head my dear and prepare yourself."
Slowly I did so, looking to my left and right to see the other novices doing the same. I felt the noose around my neck tighten as Hilda took up the rope's end in one hand.
I waited, taking in a deep breath and holding it, just as with a loud grunt Hilda laid the supple business ends of a short multi-tailed whip of the kind used to flagellate oneself squarely across the center of my back.
I gasped and arched, throwing my chest out and my head back, as did the others in quick succession to the right and left of me. A moment later, as a second lash drew the tails of Hilda’s whip across my shoulder blades and Thessela's swinging elbow nearly struck me in the face, I cried out in pain. Messaline twisted and fell over against my right hip and thigh, only to be jerked back upright again by the rope around her neck.
And so it went for at least another dozen or so … lash after frenzied lash, falling in quick succession across our backs … the four of us down on our knees, bucking, twisting, breasts shaking and wobbling, hair flying, flopping against one another, pulled back in place each time by the ropes around our necks … trying, through it all, to keep our hands clasped behind our heads.
The scene was electrifying, the onlookers down on the floor of the nave craning their necks, jostling for a better view… the Cardinal jumped to his feet, barely able to contain himself, pointing and gesturing impatiently toward the waiting shackles on the nearby stone columns, and screaming, his face turned as red as his robes, “to the posts, to the posts! Scourge them, scourge them; make them bleed!”
TO BE CONTINUED
The strangely dressed man watched from the baptismal altar. He thinks that the novices Barb and Thessela are fucked, while Messaline will be a good show and pictures Novice Eulalia 'humping' the column as she is scourged. He takes a drink from his flask...
Tree
mp5stab
Hair and Nails
Well... if we're doing reactions from the crowd...
To their left, behind the plush seats of the Cardinal and the high-status members of his small entourage, a young woman watched the ceremonial torture, spellbound by the cruelty and relentlessness of the proceedings. She was a new servant to the Cardinal, one of the many servants that attended to him, and like the others she was young, thin, and thoroughly submissive to His Eminence, the Cardinal. Right now, fortunately, the Cardinal was occupied with the show in front of him, so she was free for a moment.
She used this moment to watch the whipping of the young nuns. Strangely, she found herself aroused at their predicament, the thought of their naked bodies being ripped by scourges and whips, breaking their unbroken skin, and beginning their slow and torturous ends. Or the thought of crowns of thorns behind forced onto their heads, crowning them queens of suffering and anguish. This would all happen, she hoped, where she could see it. This was her first time watching this utterly brutal, and totally secret event, so she had only the gospels to go by. The most arousing thought to her, however, was the thought of nails being driven through their feet and wrists, as she watched the whipping continue, she knew that she would have to do whatever it took to watch the nails go in. She had to see it for herself.
To their left, behind the plush seats of the Cardinal and the high-status members of his small entourage, a young woman watched the ceremonial torture, spellbound by the cruelty and relentlessness of the proceedings. She was a new servant to the Cardinal, one of the many servants that attended to him, and like the others she was young, thin, and thoroughly submissive to His Eminence, the Cardinal. Right now, fortunately, the Cardinal was occupied with the show in front of him, so she was free for a moment.
She used this moment to watch the whipping of the young nuns. Strangely, she found herself aroused at their predicament, the thought of their naked bodies being ripped by scourges and whips, breaking their unbroken skin, and beginning their slow and torturous ends. Or the thought of crowns of thorns behind forced onto their heads, crowning them queens of suffering and anguish. This would all happen, she hoped, where she could see it. This was her first time watching this utterly brutal, and totally secret event, so she had only the gospels to go by. The most arousing thought to her, however, was the thought of nails being driven through their feet and wrists, as she watched the whipping continue, she knew that she would have to do whatever it took to watch the nails go in. She had to see it for herself.
It sounds like an oxymoron but the Eulalia is a professional novice...
...I hope she doesn't have an orgasm while being whipped!!!
she only needs to think of being whipped to start pumping -
as for reading Barb's and mp5stab's descriptions - ooops, must go....
she only needs to think of being whipped to start pumping -
as for reading Barb's and mp5stab's descriptions - ooops, must go....
Hurry back, more to come
M
montycrusto
Guest
hotter than ever barb
Attachments
Yes, as Thessela already suggested, and now Messa too.... sharing may overcome our differences ... we will have to just wait and see.
We were so close
There was no room
we bled
inside each other's wounds
-lay down
Melanie