The Competition

[Loxuru]

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.

There he is.... what would The Competition have been without participation of a clergyman from the esteemed House of Wragg?

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!”

That Cardinal shows a bit too much zeal!

 

[Loinclothslave]

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.

That’s the least Hilda can do for Sr Kathleen who should be grateful for her devoted penance!

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.

The best phase coming up!

"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.

Excellent rule!

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.

“Move to your destiny, little one!”

“G’ahck!”

"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.

It turns you on, seeing Kathleen like this? It sits well with me!

"We won't be needing her," answered Hilda, "your fate is in my hands now, dear Barbara!"

Excellent news!

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.

Typical Barb!

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.

4 of our favourite crux-girls face the lash! @messaline , @Thessela , and the crowd favourite, @Eulalia !

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.

Ohhhhh, the promise of greater torment soon to cum!

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.

“It is right to give thanks and praise!”

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,

Ooohhh, possibly my favourite Station of the Cross! Ever since childhood, in fact!

which in my case meant the practiced whip hand of Sister Hilda, assisted by the monks, Ethelbert and Tuck.

Good old, reliable Hilda, you need a practiced hand for this coming ritual! How fortunate Barb is to benefit from this Mistress of the Whip!

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.

I bet his hands are, erm, folded in his lap!

"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.

Fantastic idea, Cardinal @Wragg !

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.

Nice! No possibility of escape, you must simply endure!

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.

@messaline ! Manners, girl!!!

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.

Excellent discipline practice, ladies!

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

Mmmmm, yes! To the posts!!! Let the real torture begin!

Fantastic chapter, all of you!

 

[Loinclothslave]

Great reactions....everyone here should feel free to contribute

In the back of the room, a penitent slave kneels in chains and loincloth to witness the great sacrifice of her star novice from the abbey…

Miss loinclothslave looks up at her controlling Priest, whispers and begs “please Sir?” As she grovels in humble supplication…

He quietly answers: “Yes my child, you may….” and hands her a self-flagellation whip.

Miss loinclothslave proceeded to whip herself stroke for stroke, whispering her Rosary as she witnessed the spectacle. She was offering her suffering as credit against any sins of the Holy Sacrifice Novices, hoping to cleanse their souls so that the Lord would accept their suffering as holy penance against the sins of their souls!

She was supposed to be offering this only for Barb of her Abbey, but couldn’t help begging the Lord to accept her offering for the Scottish novice above all- the one named for the Martyr of Barcelona! Miss loinclothslave thought she was the most worthy of the four to discover paradise after the nails consumed the Scot….

 

[Barbaria1]

In the back of the room, a penitent slave kneels in chains and loincloth to witness the great sacrifice of her star novice from the abbey…

Miss loinclothslave looks up at her controlling Priest, whispers and begs “please Sir?” As she grovels in humble supplication…

He quietly answers: “Yes my child, you may….” and hands her a self-flagellation whip.

Miss loinclothslave proceeded to whip herself stroke for stroke, whispering her Rosary as she witnessed the spectacle. She was offering her suffering as credit against any sins of the Holy Sacrifice Novices, hoping to cleanse their souls so that the Lord would accept their suffering as holy penance against the sins of their souls!

She was supposed to be offering this only for Barb of her Abbey, but couldn’t help begging the Lord to accept her offering for the Scottish novice above all- the one named for the Martyr of Barcelona! Miss loinclothslave thought she was the most worthy of the four to discover paradise after the nails consumed the Scot….

LOVELY ADDITION

 

[Loxuru]

Across the way, Messaline and Eulalia had also been left to hang from one wrist, heads bowed, panting, bodies covered with glistening sweat. One side of the Scot novice’s loincloth had come undone. The small cloth clung precariously to one thigh, just below her exposed sex, causing a Scottish nun to rush forward, falling to her knees and frantically attempting to retie the loose loincloth, presumably because the rules forbade its loss this early in the Competition.

Too late! Penalty points for the Scottish team!

 

[Loxuru]

"Our own team from Cruxton, led by a very strong-armed and determined Sister Hilda, also turned in a strong performance earning a score of 16, which makes a grand total of 28, enough to edge ahead of the Scots and claim second place."

Whatever you think of Sister Hilda, she has put Cruxton back on track!

 

[Loinclothslave]

@Eulalia was robbed!

 

[Loxuru]

To my right, Thessela lay on her side, curled in a fetal position. Her eyes were open. She was staring at me with a scared and pleading look. My first impulse was to ignore her, but as I raised myself up to a kneeling position, I suddenly reached out to her, grasping her arm to help her up. She smiled faintly, gripped my arm, and righted herself on hands and knees.

This may be a competition, I thought to myself, but we are in this together and the horror of our plight … well, yes … I felt for her, the poor thing was so obviously unprepared for this.

This act deserves bonus points for Cruxton, for fair-play!

 

[Loinclothslave]

What Barb has not said ....

We were not all whipped with the knout ; our Abesse had the choice of the whip ; for me, wishing to be the most near of the real roman whipping, she had choosen this famous roman whip, with two leather'lashes into which are inserted lead'balls to do the fleshes exploding !

Ahhhh, you’re trying to switch my allegiance away from @Eulalia , aren’t you? Well this could work! Mmmmm those lead balls are giving you extra weight in my opinion!

"Aaaaaarg !" I squealed when the first stroke was hurting my back

Mmmmmmmm whip her!

, but, chained like an animal to the whipping post, I couldn't escape !

Not an animal, a condemned slave…

"Woooooooooooorrrrggg !" I bellowed when the following strokes were starting to redden my body !

Ooooohhh yessss…

"Aooooooorrrgg!" Suddenly, like I was trying to avoid the lashes in twisting my body around the column, my right breast was

That doesn’t sound like messa to try to avoid it? Ohhh, so the flagrum is so heavily laid on it twists you!

blazing like if a red iron had burned it !

Perhaps the red iron will cum later?

It was only the 10th stoke !

Good, you react so well, we like your show!

But, implacably, the torment continued ! My Abess had entrusted it to a nun of our Abbey named Sister Judith: never,during my training , she had whipped me but I knew her for her deep cruelty !

And now we all live Sister Judith! She is a maestra of the whip!

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Now, splashes of blood were spattering all around me and Sister Judith was even laughing in front of that, though she was herself bespattered !

Bathed in the holy sacrament of the Holy Martyrs

"Waaaaoooo ! Aaaaaaarg ! Aoooooorgg! " I was shrieking, howling, squealing but more I was, more Sister Judith took her pleasure to do !!!

She’s not the only one there enjoying this, admit it!

When the Cardinal was coming to see, he received some blood on his face and was applausing with a great joice !

All of us shared his enthusiasm… and yours!

The last strokes were like a death, for me : I was hanged by my wrists to the column and had even practically no reactions !

La petite mort?

I was in transe , exhausted , overwelcomed by the sufferings ....
But, was it not the target in fact ? To weaken the future crucified for more subjugation ?

"Hin ! Hin ! Hin !" Only an animal'groan could get out of me : I was like annihilated, only wishing that it could be pleasant for the Jury and that my Abbey would be proud of me ..........

Such proper motivation deserves your reward

Just my little contribution .......

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Messa​

Amazing stuff, sweet Gaulette!

 

[Loxuru]

At the conclusion of the first lap I was close to collapse. Waves of weariness swept over me. My muscles ached, my back hurt, and each and every one of Hilda’s cruel strappings added to my agony. I wasn't sure how I would ever make it around twice more without faltering or falling. Each step became more difficult than the one before it, exhaustion was setting in, and my halting, broken pace only made Hilda more angry and agitated.

Based on historical grounds, each participant should be allowed to fall two times, I should guess?

As we completed the circuit, leaving the narrow south aisle and crossing the great Cathedral's west end, the space widened; and seeing a chance to overtake the French and grab the lead, Sister Hilda began to strap me more ferociously than ever. I stumbled forward, nearly lost my balance, righted myself, swerved to the outside and began to edge by Messaline, who responded under Judith's furious whipping with a burst of speed of her own.

Hey, Sister Hilda! This is a solemn Via Cruxis, not Ben-Hur's chariot race!

Moments later we collided, banging our crossbeams together and getting our feet tangled. I lost my balance, tottered crazily and went down, first to my knees, then laid out full on the floor, my cross on top of me. With my wrists bound to the crossbeam across my shoulders, there was no way to break my fall. My face smashed against the floor, and everything went temporarily black.

See now, what happens!

An infuriated and out of control Hilda charged up to Sister Judith, squared off and slugged her, sending the surprised French nun to the floor with blood spurting from her nose. Whereupon Hilda promptly tore open her vest, and shouting at the top of her lungs jumped on top of her rival and began to pummel the dazed woman with her fists.

A nun's catfight! That's unseen!

Bishop Wragg arrived on the scene and waded into the melee, loudly asserting his authority and eventually succeeding in separating the two sides and restoring order. Then he had Hilda, whom he held responsible for the whole disgraceful mess, brought before him. He gave her a long and heated dressing down, before summarily dismissing her from her duties and banishing her to her quarters.

Team Cruxton is happy here, not to get disqualified! For next year's edition, Sister Hilda should urgentlly follow a therapy in anger management!

Anyway, Sister Hilda made this edition - and this episode - unforgetable and outstanding!

 

[Loxuru]

As I twisted my neck as best I could to discover the source of the commotion, the Scottish novice suddenly appeared alongside me. She seemed to come out of nowhere and was moving up fast to pass me and Messaline too.

But, nothing like the ugly brawl that surrounded Sister Hilda's driving of me forward on the previous lap occurred. Why? Because this was a thing of beauty! Here was a young woman in her prime, naked save for the tiniest of loincloths, carrying two massive crossed beams perfectly balanced on her back, arms stretched out along and bound to each upper fork, head held high between, with crown of thorns at a jaunty angle.

Somehow, this is not right! All participants should have the same type of cross, to avoid technical advantages, e.g. concerning weight distribution! The competition rules should specify this!

 

[Loinclothslave]

At the front of the concession, the Cardinal walked. Behind him, his retinue followed; bishops, priests, monks, and nuns. The Cardinal was chanting a prayer quietly, and his slow, methodical walk kept the group's pace to a crawl. Occasionally, he would steal a glance back at the tortured novices, bearing their crosses through the cathedral. The Cardinal could not hide his desire, but he dared not do anything in public. He would have his private time later. The members of the congregation that would not see the crucifixion, though, were a touch more brash. They accompanied the novices on all sides, and only the fear of an accidental whip-strike kept them at any sort of distance.

Hmm, getting “accidentally” whipped might incentivise a couple of them?

The young nun, however, was not nearly this bold. As she broke off quietly from the procession, she clung to the walls on the sides of the cathedral's door, the door to the cloister, content to watch the torturous march from a slight distance, and not reveal her wicked desires.

Yes because a damp crotch on a nuns habit would give you away, sensible!

And perhaps hear the agonized screams of the women as the nails go in?

Oooh yes, that’s likely to be a real highlight!

From where she stood, she could watch all of the victims of this torture procession pass her. The first was Messaline, a picture of beauty; a young woman, wearing only a white blood-stained loincloth,

The Gallic blonde bombshell!

struggling to bear an enormous cross, yet still moving along consistently. Her teeth were gritted. She had golden blonde hair that was capped with a band of rose thorns, letting dark red streaks down her pale face. The nun began to imagine her reaction to nails being driven into her. Her screams...

You only began to imagine this now?

But those thoughts were interrupted by a cheer from the crowd. The nun swiveled her head towards the noise, and saw Eulalia striding with her x-cross hoisted up on her back, supported by a thin leather strap and her tied arms, which were already extended in their final pose. It was a wonderful display. Her head was not bowed. She was proud of the thorny crown she wore, but her face still showed a hidden expression of pained effort even in her moment of small triumph.

The pride of Scotland (and cheered by Aussies with Scot heritage!)

Eulalia took her spot at the front of the procession. She would now be nailed first, ahead of the rest of the novices, too her special x-cross Her legs would be spread out, then nailed. Not very historically accurate to the sufferings of Christ, but certainly very alluring to the Cardinal nonetheless, and that was the ultimate goal, it seemed.

Being alluring is far more important than any of this historical accuracy stuff!

As the two novices in the front passed the door, the young nun scanned for the other two.

Being followed by the remaining crowd, Barbaria and Thessala were stumbling towards the door, knees nearly buckling, bowed down by their cruel crosses, and bleed deeply by their Christly crowns. Barbaria seemed more than dazed, she seemed to be regressing further and further into shock with every step she took.

Oh shit!

She only barely managed to make it into the door of the next, private phase, before the stress and pain overcame her. Barbaria's knees gave way. Her cross tumbled to the side, dragging her down to the floor again. She was whipped. She didn't move. The whipping continued.

Aren’t they supposed to fall twice? You know, for the sake of “ historical accuracy?”

Desperate to not be the last person, and potentially loose points, Thessala continued her march past Barbaria as fast as she could manage.

Because she has no choice!

It was starting to look bad. Barbaria wasn't getting up. She wasn't even responding to the whipping anymore. Had she expired before even arriving to the Gogatha? Had she lost the will to move? The young nun decided that she could just watch as Barbaria was whipped to death. She needed to see that she was crucified, too. And she had a way to ensure that it happened.

The young nun, having stripped off the outer layer of her habit for this sudden duty. picked up the cross that Barbaria was tied to, and slung it over her shoulder, mirroring Barbaria's hold. With an effort, she managed to pull the cross forward, helping Barbaria drag herslef to her feet. Barbaria shot a confused look at the nun.

"Who are you? Why are you helping me? This is my cross the bear."

"This has to be finished, I don't think you can carry this on your own. I'm Emily." the strain of the heavy wood was already weighing itself down on Emily's voice.

Simon Emily finds a way to sneak into the cloister!

Barbaria, eager to finish, as weak as she was, grasped the edges of the wood and helped as much as she could as they both continued with their burden through the doors. With Emily helping her carry her cross, the last novice had entered, and the doors were shut to the crowd.

Okay, Emily, you’re in the cloister yard now, it remains to be seen if this achievement was worth it! I’m sure there will be a delicious reward, best manicure ever, perhaps?

 

[Loxuru]

Beyond her, over near the cloister wall, the young nun, Emily, who had so rashly rushed to my assistance, was hanging arms-over-head from a stout whipping post, the folds of the remains of her habit bunched up on the ground around her ankles. Her screams echoed across the cloister space, as two priests took turns flogging her naked body while the Cardinal looked on, hands on his hips.

Not fair!

Cruxton was penalized 10 for causing the unseemly collision and brawl with the French

Not fair either! It was Messaline whose reckless maneuver of overtaking everybody created a dangerous situation, and even more, she got off the straight line! Cruxton should object this penalty!

and a further 10 because I had faltered and collapsed near the end. That left the Scots in the lead going into the final phase.

Once again not fair! Collapses are part of the event, contribute to the emotion and should not be penalised! Cruxton should submit another appeal against the penalty!

I think, there should be a Chapter of Canons, acting as a jury, so these incidents could be judged impartially!

 

[Loinclothslave]

It's bloody Hilda's fault.

That pathetic dark haired girl folded up like wet tissue paper under her cross. Pathetic. She'd looked fit enough to me to start with, if bloody Hilda hadn't knocked the stuffing out of her maybe she'd have stood a chance.

But it was entertaining? And alluring!

Oh no, just when I thought it couldn't get any worse, some nun's gone and grabbed the Cruxton cross!

How dare she? How bloody dare she? Right. That's it. If she wants a cross she can have a cross.

Well that seems fair and equitable!

And the dark haired girl needn't think she'll get away with it, either. There are plenty to go around. Now they've completely fucked up any chance of a Cruxton victory we might as well have a bit of a spectacle. See what we can rescue from the wreck.

Mind you, now she's nude, and spread out on her cross, I do believe I'm starting to feel a little better about the dark haired girl!

Can we measure Wragg using his own patented Loathometer?

 

[Loxuru]

I turned my head away to look up at Sister Kathleen, who knelt at my side, noticing for the first time that she was wearing a simple novice's shift rather than the full habit of a nun.

"What did they do to you? They busted you down to being a novice again, didn't they?" I croaked.

Strange! Will Sister Kathleen be put forward as a back-up for the Cruxton Team?
Or is she laready appointed candidate for the next years's competition?

 

[Loxuru]

As he knelt over me to poke at one of my bloody wrists, twist my crown of thorns around to cause renewed bleeding, mound and pinch my breasts, and then move around to spread my knees, something deep inside her consciousness snapped. Sister Madeleine did the unthinkable.

Impulsively and angrily, acting as though she had seen enough of his loutish coarse behavior, she slammed the red leather-bound journal shut, threw it on the ground and gave him a kick in the posterior that sent him sprawling on top of me, and then for good measure took the inkwell mounted on the writing board she carried, and flung it at him.

Wow, some guts from Sister Madeleine!

But I guess, she and Emily will soon share the fate of the novices. Hors-competition, I assume?

 

[Loinclothslave]

Apologies to Jedakk for flagrant plagiarism, plangent flagellism, and many other sins

So now the real competition begins. I’m feeling proud of myself, grateful to Cruxslave for her tip on tactics for the cross-carrying course. But now I must focus on a different discipline, Crucifixion itself. A trembling in my loins, I know my pale cheeks are belying my cocky stance.

You can do it! I’ve been barracking for you since the beginning!

The young monks approach, I give them as a convincing a smile as I can summon up, flick back my blood-clotted forelock and tuck it under my crown of thorns. Best to ingratiate them, I know they can always make things worse for me, though a girl has to be canny – if I make myself too sexy, I’ll just get their peckers up and they’ll be all the more sadistic.

Och aye, verra canny!

“Are you ready, Eulalia?”

“Yes, Brother,” I bow my head humbly, a blood-drip trickles over my lowered eyelashes.

The perfect humble slave, this is why you’re my favourite!

“Will you position yourself, or must we do it?”

“Please let me, Brother, I know how.”

And so deliciously submissive as well!

Indeed I know how. I’ve had the honour of being trained by Sister Lucilla, Novice-Mistress at Crosshageul, former Scottish National Champion Crucifixa, she still holds the amazing record, she’s been crucified eleven times!

Good grief! 11 times? That could even be moore than Barb had experienced at the time of writing! Crucifixa obviously had a perfect student, we all know @Barbaria1 would never have the patience to be so studious. Besides, she’s not even correctly motivated - merely dodging being burnt at the stake like a coward!

She makes sure all us young novice-nuns get plenty of experience of hanging on crosses, tall ones, short ones, T, X and Y ones, upside-down ones, we’ve dangled from them all.

There’s a whole potential story here! The training of a crux Linkie!

I turn at look for a moment at my X-cross lying ready to receive me, its limbs stretched like mine

It’s limbs outstretched, ready to embrace you as your ultimate lover…

are destined to be, the valley where the beams meet proclaiming how my young girlhood will soon be remorselessly spread wide. I silence a sob, lift my breasts in pride, this is my country’s cross, my nation’s pride!

Eulalia, forget Barcelona, this one is the Martyr of Scotland!

I straighten my whip-sore back and walk resolutely, not glancing at Messaline and Thessela, who are stuggling and moaning either side of my destined place. There’s a murmur of approval from the congregation, the churchmen look with favour on a virgin martyr who walks calmly to her cross without a struggle.

As do we all. Some of us aspire to be as stoic as your fine example when our turn comes to marry the sacred wood!

I sit myself down on the cross and position my body as Sister Lucilla taught me. Straddling the centre-post, I carefully ease my bare bottom down onto the timber near the place where the beams intersect, taking care to avoid any splinters. I spread my legs - there’s murmur of male approval from the cloister walk, silenced by the Cardinal’s frown. I feel no embarrassment, I’ve prepared myself for this humiliation with rigorous penance and ascetic self-denial.

See, @Barbaria1 , this is how you win the competition! It takes dedication and total commitment. Not just a simple dodge of the flames for the sake of fear and lust…

Next I locate my feet, one at a time, on the beams in the places where they must go when I’m crucified. I lean back, and using my arms I lift my hips and slide my buttocks down a bit further, fitting myself to the X-shape.

What a perfect slave you are!

When I’ve set myself in place as I know I have to, I sit there for a moment with my eyes closed, breathing deeply, offering up a final prayer for strength to face what I know I must endure - or maybe I’m just playing for time, putting off the beginning of my torture a little longer? Who knows what’s really going on in a situation like this, even in her own mind? In any case, I know, once I lie back on the cross and submit to my Executioners, I’ll be helpless, and the slow Torture of the Cross will begin.

Like one more deep breath before the inexorable plunge from the high platform diving competition.

Get your thoughts together and breathe, so you might face what is to now happen with appropriate grace and dignity as befits the sacred gravity of this most holy ceremony…

But I can’t put it off for long. The two monks are poised with their ropes, ready to tie my wrists. Even though they’re professed monks, I know their patience won’t last long.

Canny lass alright!

After a moment, I give up a sigh, lie back, and stretch out my arms along the upper beams of the cross, palms up, curling my fingers into fists. I don’t have to wait at all.

I sigh as the coils of rope draw my wrists down tightly against the timber. The ritual of Crucifixion has begun, and there’s nothing I can do to put it off any longer. I don’t resist, only watch as the monks kneeling either side of me methodically rope my wrists securely in place, making sure I won’t be able to work them, free no matter how desperate my struggles become during the coming hours, even days.

They leave my feet feet loose. I realise I’m going to be hanging by my wrists when they raise my cross – Sister Lucilla told us they sometimes do it that way, it’s especially cruel.

Aye, remember His sacrifice for us all, a mere slave can never hope to match it, but your Holy suffering serves as penance for all your superior’s holy souls! So suffer well!

Now the two monks move to opposite sides of the X, and prepare to lift. The crossbeams that form the X have been mounted on a single post at their intersection. As the monks lift, the old sexton uses a shovel as a brace against the base of the post, so it will pivot and slide into its hole.

Oh raised before the nails? How unusual, this unique style should hopefully garner your abbey bonus points, the nailing while you are lifted vertically will be both challenging and very entertaining!

As I feel the cross beginning to move, I moan, I can’t help it, knowing that the long, drawn-out agony I’ve prepared myself for, so many times over, during my rigorous training, is now about to begin for real...

We all moan with you, albeit for different reasons!

As the cross begins to tilt upward, I pull my feet up, flexing my legs, planting the soles flat against the post.

A hush falls over the crowd, everyone watching knows as well as I do what’s coming. When the cross is angled steeply enough, it will fall into the hole, and I shall fall with it - and when it hits the bottom, even though my hands are only bound with ropes, it’s going to hurt. I know there’s nothing I can do that will really help, yet instinctively I try to brace myself against the wood in readiness for the jolt.

Brilliant anticipation build up…

Everything seems to be happening in slow motion, even though it all happens in a few beats of my pounding heart. I stare down at the socket, as the cross slips into it a little at a time, sliding and stopping repeatedly as it approaches the vertical.

The monk-executioners continue to lift my cross, angling it down into its hole. I press my feet firmer, anticipating the sudden jolt I know is coming, but as the cross nears vertical, it becomes harder and harder to do. At first I manage to support my weight against the small, sudden drops. But as the cross rises higher, my soles begin to lose their purchase on the slippery, splintery wood, I feel my arms straighten and stretch more and more.

Unable to support myself with my legs, each jolt sends my body sliding farther down the wood. Each slip downward draws a whimper of fear, as I anticipate the final drop and the pain of the impact. And now my arms are stretched tight against the ropes that are biting into my wrists.

I ball up my fists and struggle to hold myself up. When the cross reaches its highest point, it suddenly tips forward and plunges the final two feet into the hole. My whimpering turns into a scream of panic as I feel myself falling, then there’s the solid deep thump and rattle of the cross as the heavy timber hits bottom.

Oh my Ghod, I don’t think I recall a more beautiful description of a crux raising before! No surprise that the best comes from your own quill, slave girl poet!

The impact jerks my arms, shoulders and chest taut - like a blow to my stomach, it drives the air ot of my lungs, so that my scream’s interrupted by something like a loud yelp before being cut off completely. My shoulders feel like they’ve being torn out of their sockets. If my wrists had been nailed instead of tied, I’d surely have fainted from the white-hot pain.

Just brilliant

My cross has dropped into its hole, but it continues travelling forward under its own momentum, slowly rocking forward past the vertical, until it slams into the forward edge of the hole and jerks to a stop. But my body, now hanging only by my bound wrists, keeps moving. I’m swinging forward and back, feet flailing in the air, shuddering and groaning in pain.

When my bum hits the still shaking wood at the crossing-point, I squeal - Sister Lucilla said it wouldn't hurt much, but it does.

Sister Lucilla probably lied deliberately, knowing when you learned the truth that it wouldn’t matter, and so she helped you have far less fear than perhaps you should have. Her lie was from kindness, do not condemn her for it…

Perhaps when she experienced it, her hurdies hadn't taken laldie from Abbess Ailsa's tawse!

All the onlookers are watching in silent fascination, I’m so helpless, my naked body so utterly exposed to their eyes, drinking in their pleasure in watching me as I begin to suffer the endless, unrelenting Torture of the Cross.

Behind the robes of his Master, Father Alexander, a curious penitent slave observes you with envy. Wishing he might take your place, knowing such a destiny might be granted to him if he is suitably humble and repentant. If he serves his purpose well- suffering the intense corporal penance for the other sinners- perhaps he might earn his nails as well…

 

[Loxuru]

But through it all Madeleine held her own, not once screaming or crying out, determined not to react. This was just a little too much defiance for the Cardinal, who abruptly turned to an aide and loudly ordered him to procure an additional cross.

That was foreseeable!

“What kind of man is he?” I thought to myself, “Given half a chance, this monster in clerical red would crucify every young nun and novice in England.”

And abroad!
Let that cardinal never be elected pope!

 

[Eulalia]

You can do it! I’ve been barracking for you since the beginning!

Och aye, verra canny!

The perfect humble slave, this is why you’re my favourite!

And so deliciously submissive as well!

Good grief! 11 times? That could even be moore than Barb had experienced at the time of writing! Crucifixa obviously had a perfect student, we all know @Barbaria1 would never have the patience to be so studious. Besides, she’s not even correctly motivated - merely dodging being burnt at the stake like a coward!


There’s a whole potential story here! The training of a crux Linkie!


It’s limbs outstretched, ready to embrace you as your ultimate lover…


Eulalia, forget Barcelona, this one is the Martyr of Scotland!

As do we all. Some of us aspire to be as stoic as your fine example when our turn comes to marry the sacred wood!


See, @Barbaria1 , this is how you win the competition! It takes dedication and total commitment. Not just a simple dodge of the flames for the sake of fear and lust…


What a perfect slave you are!


Like one more deep breath before the inexorable plunge from the high platform diving competition.

Get your thoughts together and breathe, so you might face what is to now happen with appropriate grace and dignity as befits the sacred gravity of this most holy ceremony…


Canny lass alright!





Aye, remember His sacrifice for us all, a mere slave can never hope to match it, but your Holy suffering serves as penance for all your superior’s holy souls! So suffer well!


Oh raised before the nails? How unusual, this unique style should hopefully garner your abbey bonus points, the nailing while you are lifted vertically will be both challenging and very entertaining!


We all moan with you, albeit for different reasons!


Brilliant anticipation build up…


Oh my Ghod, I don’t think I recall a more beautiful description of a crux raising before! No surprise that the best comes from your own quill, slave girl poet!


Just brilliant


Sister Lucilla probably lied deliberately, knowing when you learned the truth that it wouldn’t matter, and so she helped you have far less fear than perhaps you should have. Her lie was from kindness, do not condemn her for it…






Behind the robes of his Master, Father Alexander, a curious penitent slave observes you with envy. Wishing he might take your place, knowing such a destiny might be granted to him if he is suitably humble and repentant. If he serves his purpose well- suffering the intense corporal penance for the other sinners- perhaps he might earn his nails as well…

Bless you, lcs - I'll put in a prayer for you, not sure that a mere mini-martyr's petitions count for much, but it's a slightly unusual request, I don't think the Kingdom of Heaven's Ministry of Martyrdom has a lot of work on its hands these days!

 

[Loxuru]

In an effort to keep my mind off what was happening, I focused on studying my breasts as they jiggled and swayed in rhythm with the erratically jerky motions of my raising.

That's probably the same, the cardinal was focusing on!

To the other side, Sister Kathleen was engaged in heated conversation with the Abbess, who kept shaking her head “no” ... even as Kathleen, who kept pointing at me, became more animated.

Sister Kathleen was still arguing with the Abbess.

I fear this could go wrong for Sister Kathleen. Is there enough crucifixion wood in stock in the cloister?