"The Easter Passion Play" by author Iphigenia-at-Aulis (female crucifixion, non-snuff, no-nails)

Zephirantes · 2025-01-06T04:16:58-0800

I stood by, wearing only my skirt, arms folded across my chest, as Will began to pull various whips out of the box. A multi-thong, suede flogger. A riding crop. A thin rattan cane. A long-handled, thin, single-thong horsewhip. A shorter, single-thong whip. I was getting worried. How much was I going to have to take? Had he even gotten to the bottom of the box yet?

“Hey, cool stuff!” said Nick. “Ready to try these out, Jenny?” Then, noticing my anxiety, he quickly added, “Hey, not to worry. This stuff is all designed for people. It’s not supposed to mess you up.”

“Well… maybe. But I’m the one who’s going to feel it.”

“Yes, that’s true,” said Will, sympathetically. “You are the one who will feel it.”

“It’s okay. Let’s just get on with it. I can probably get through okay. I already agreed that I wanted the job.”

“I suggest we start on her ass until we all get the feel for this stuff,” suggested Nick. “So how about if you bend over the desk, and we’ll have a few licks with these – get you warmed up, and us too.”

I bent over the desk and held onto the opposite edge. While Karl set up a couple of cameras and started them running, Will raised my skirt, removed my panties, and gave me a pat of encouragement on the backside.

Nick was on one side, brandishing the suede flogger, and Will on the other with the short whip. “Ready?” asked Nick before he stroked the flogger lightly across my ass, followed by Will with his whip. They alternated strokes, picking up force quickly. It wasn’t long before I was voicing audible gasps with every stroke. “Ooh! …Ah! …Ah! …Oh!”

The three guys rotated in and out, taking turns whipping me over and over with each of the devices. Across my ass, thighs, even my calves, with the flogger, whips, crop, and cane. They each had a different bite, the flogger being the least, and the cane the worst. Gasping, “Ohh! …Ooooh! …Ahhhhh!” Over and over, one after another. They were really laying it on. I was up on tip toe, pushing forward. Tears were forming in my eyes.

Finally, after a series of extraordinarily hard strokes with the cane to the back of the thighs, I finally cried out, “Ooooh! Oh please! Could you let up for a minute? Just for a minute? You’re hurting me so much.”

“Oops… Sorry. Are you okay? We sort of lost track of what we were doing. We were just supposed to be warming up a little,” said Karl.

“I’m sorry, Jenny. We just got carried away with you. What can we do to make it feel better?” asked Will. As I lay across the desk catching my breath, I felt his lips gently kissing my ass cheeks. The kisses gradually moved down my thighs, and then back up. I just lay there, eyes closed, absorbing the caressing touch of his lips. It was exquisite. How one’s reality can change from one moment to the next. “Don’t stop,” I purred. Nick then joined in gently caressing my whipped ass.

“Just relax there for a few minutes, while we figure out some ways we can bind you up for the regular whipping scene,” said Karl, clasping my hand for a moment.

“I kind of like the idea of her facing outward from a pillar, arms up, wrists bound to the pillar back behind her head,” said Will. “That way the tits are like, so… you know, like right there, so vulnerable. …Er, I mean breasts. …Do you mind if we say ‘tits’, Jenny, or should we say ‘breasts’?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” I said, finally rousing my body off the desk, and standing. “I usually think ‘tits’ is sort of crude, but maybe it doesn’t really matter one way or the other. Do guys really like the word ‘tits’ better?”

“You know, you’re a really sweet girl,” said Nick. “You’re a really nice person to work with.”

“And you’ve got really sweet breasts too,” said Will.

I gave him a caustic look, and folded my arms across my bare breasts. Karl also frowned at him.

“Oh. Sorry. Sorry, Jenny. I know better than to make workplace comments like that. It just sort of slipped out. …And you don’t need to cover your breasts. I won’t even look at them. I promise.” As he looked into my eyes, he gave me this disarmingly goofy grin.

Slowly I brought my arms down. Within about three seconds his eyes were riveted to my breasts, but I chose to ignore him.

“Well, Jenny, are you about ready to try these handcuffs on?” As I held my wrists out in front of me, Karl applied some leather handcuffs. “This room has no pillars, so how about if you back up to the wall here, put your hands behind your head, and I’ll fasten the cuffs to the hook here,” indicating a coat hook a little above my head.

“I guess you don’t really need a skirt on at this point, if you have no objections,” said Nick, as he loosened it and let it drop to the floor. There I was, bound, helpless, completely naked, facing three guys bent on whipping me. Nick picked up that awful cane. Was he going to hit me on the breasts with it?

“I think the flogger and whips are probably better for hitting her on the front,” said Karl. “I don’t know about hitting her with that cane. I’m not sure that it’s wise to hit a girl’s breasts with something that hard. The thongs of the whips are softer, more flexible. The sting stays on the surface of the skin.”

“I vote with Karl,” I spoke up. “Please not on the breasts with that cane.”

“Hey, no problem,” said Nick, tossing the cane back in the box, and picking up the short single-thong whip. Swish…thack! He lashed it across my stomach, at the level of the belly button. I gasped. Swish…thack! Across the hips. Swish…thack! The ribs. I gasped with every stroke, but tried not to cry out.

He whipped me over and over, thighs, hips, stomach, ribs. But not too many on the breasts, and none to the nipples, thank heavens.

Then Karl took up the multi-thonged flogger and took his turn. He took hold behind my knee with one hand, lifted my leg to the side, and proceeded to whip the inside of my thigh with it. Then he worked the inside of the other thigh. Finally he lashed my pussy. “Oooooh!” Then another. “Ohhhhhh!” And another. “Ahhhhhh!” Then still more. And more. Couldn’t he realize how that felt? But he kept doing it until finally I had to cry out, “Please, my pussy! No more! Please!”

He immediately relented, releasing my leg. “Just checking your limits. I was being to wonder…”

Now he worked the flogger up my stomach and then to the ribs. Stroke after stroke. And finally, inevitably, he began to lash me across the breasts. “Ohhh!” And another. And another. Over and over. I was gasping, “Ahh! …Ohh! …Oooh! …My nipples!”

Finally Karl left off, and Will started in, this time with the long, thin, single-thong horsewhip. Beginning low across my hips, he worked his way upwards across the midsection, then the ribs, stroke after stroke. It had an awesome sound and a biting sting. Whsssssst …thack! “Ooooh!” …Whsssssst …thack! “Ahhhh!” …Whssssst …thack! “Ohhhh!”

Then it was across the breasts. Over and over. So many of them right on the nipples. Whsssssst …thack! “Ohhhhhhh!” …Whssssssst …thack! “Ooooooh!” …Whssssssst…thack! “Ohh! My nipples!” …Whsssssst …thack! “Ahhhhhhhh!”

After a while I was dimly aware of Karl saying, “You know, the problem with this pose is that she doesn’t have enough freedom of movement. She really needs to be able to twist and jerk in response to the whip, so that her tits will jiggle. If her tits don’t jiggle, we might as well be taking snapshots, not shooting a movie. You know what I mean?”

“Yeah. You’re right. We need to give her more tit jiggle.”

“What do you think, Jenny?”

Whsssssst …thack! “Ooooooh!” …Whssssssst …thack! “Oh! Oh! Ohhhh!” …Whsssssst…thack! “Oh god! My tits.” …Whsssssst …thack! “Ahhhhhhhh!”

I had no opinion on the question. I was not in a thinking mode. Taking a whipping on the breasts is not an intellectual experience.

Whsssssst …thack! “Ooooooh!” …Whsssssst …thack! “Ahhhhhhhh!”

“I think it’s time to stop,” said Karl, interposing himself between me and the whip-wielding Will. He gave each of my burning nipples a little kiss before reaching up to release my wrists from their bonds.

“Yeah. That’s enough,” agreed Nick. “She’s taken one hell of a whipping. …Jenny, you’ll be able to handle anything we want to do in the film. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

Now freed, I sank to my knees, cradling my well-whipped breasts in my hands. “Oh my tits. My tits,” I gasped, rocking back and forth, holding them.

Will disappeared for a while, then returned, saying, “Here, maybe this will help.” Gently moving my hand out of the way, he applied some kind of creamy salve to my breasts. It had a strong smell, like wintergreen. It felt cooling, soothing. He smoothed it all over my breasts, and spent a long time gently rubbing it on my stiff nipples. Around and around, in little circles on one nipple, then the other. I knew he was enjoying this. And I couldn’t help revealing that I was too.

“Here, lie down and relax,” he suggested. I lay back and stretched my arms above my head, arching my back, presenting my well-whipped breasts, ribs, and midriff to him as he continued to caress me. “Does this feel better?” he asked, and began to kiss my nipples, and gradually move his caressing fingers downward, downward.

“Mmmmmmm…” I murmured. I just wanted more. I had to have more.

“Ah-hem…” interrupted Karl. “Do you two kids think that maybe you could maintain a little more professional demeanor here? I know we have a relaxed, informal atmosphere, but…”

“Oh… My clothes…” I quickly got to my feet, retrieved my panties and put them on, followed by my blouse, skirt, sandals, and sweater.

“You can call it a day, Jenny,” said Karl. “You did a fantastic job today. Uh… Let me think. How about if you come back on Saturday afternoon? Does that time work for you?”

“Yeah. That’s fine.” Except for classes, my calendar was pretty empty. “Is there a script or something I should look at in the meantime?”

“No. Nick’s still working on a draft. And it never will be real detailed. A lot of what we do just sort of happens spontaneously while we’re doing it.”

“So we’ll see you then. You were really super today,” said Nick, as Will escorted me to the door.

At the door, aware that Nick and Karl were watching us, Will and I simply looked into each other’s eyes for a moment and touched hands, before I took my exit.

Back down on the street, I made my way toward my co-op rooming house. As I pondered the strangeness of the events of the previous two hours, I became aware that a lot of people were staring at my legs. I glanced down. Although they were starting to fade, the whip marks were still quite visible on my calves and thighs below my short shirt. I realized that the guys were leering at me! I started feeling really uncomfortable.

A guy and a girl, holding hands, were approaching on the other side of the sidewalk. Grinning ecstatically, he was staring at my legs, breathing, “Yes! Yes! Yes!”

All of a sudden the girl hauled off and slapped him hard across the face. “Asshole!” she screeched at him. Then she glared at me with such venomous malice. I winced as I hurried past. I was utterly mortified. …Or was I? Was there some part of me that was secretly thrilled?

I managed to make it back to my room without any more major incidents. It was such a relief to close the door behind me. As I leaned against the door, breathing deeply, I realized how tired I was.

I crawled into bed. As I lay there, I wondered how many lashes I had received this afternoon. On the pussy, a limited number, probably less than ten. But elsewhere, on the ass, the legs, the midsection, ribs, and breasts, there was no telling how many I had received. My nipples. How could they have hit me so many times on those two points?

Tired as I was, I still couldn’t really relax. There was a gnawing feeling in my pussy that was not going to let me go until it got its satisfaction. I began to stimulate myself, one hand at my clit, the other hand at a nipple. The pleasure. It pulled me on relentlessly. Building… Building… Until the orgasmic power came in as big, breaking rollers, crashing onto a beach. As the waves crested, I gasped, “Oooooh. …Ahhhhhh. …Ahhhhhh.” How is it that these utterances should have such kinship with those I voice in response to the whip?

END OF PART 1

Zephirantes · 2025-01-06T04:21:11-0800

PART 2

I showed up at New Perspective Films on Saturday afternoon as we had agreed. Only Will was there. He greeted me with a big smile. “Nick and Karl will meet us out at the farm where we’ve arranged to film this picture. If you can lend me a hand loading the rest of this gear in the car, then we can be on our way.”

Soon we were on the road, in an old Subaru station wagon. Soon after we started off, Will said, “That was a pretty heavy practice session we had last week. How are you feeling about it?”

“I’m okay. …Um. I guess you’re right though, that was a pretty heavy afternoon. Not your everyday experience.”

“Any like… uh… lingering soreness or anything.”

“No. I’m fine now. I’m ready for whatever comes next.” This last statement was not entirely true. Actually, I was somewhat apprehensive about what might come next.

“Your… uh… nipples? They’re okay? Hope you don’t mind my asking. I was worried we might have put you through too much.”

“Well… They were a little sore for a couple days. But they’re fine now. …All my whip marks faded away fairly quickly. The cane marks took more time, but they’re gone too. So I’m fine, really. …But I do appreciate your concern.”

We rode on, taking the opportunity to become acquainted. I found out that he was a few years older than me, had attended the University for three years, had started out in sciences but with interests changing toward more artistic expression, had found the experience unsatisfying and had dropped out. After he started working with Karl and Nick, they were impressed enough with his stuff to promote him to a full partner.

At one point, feeling pretty comfortable with Will, I decided to turn the conversation toward sex, in an unobtrusively abstract and intellectual way. “Having taken some biology, I sometimes look at human behaviors from a Darwinian point of view. You know… like the effect they have on survival or the number of offspring you leave – both the effect they have now and the effect they had thousands of years ago when our bodies and minds were evolving into their present form… you know, when humans were actually evolving because the pressure of natural selection was so much greater. Anyway, from that point of view, you might say that people have a significant sexual orientation because the individuals with insufficient sexual drive left fewer offspring. So we’re more likely to have descended from those with more sexual desire, don’t you think?”
“Yeah. I agree,” replied Will. “Keep going.”

“So I wonder about the biological basis for why guys are turned on by the idea of …uh …like, causing discomfort to a girl they find attractive. In other words, why they get aroused by whipping or spanking a girl. Why would they risk harming a potential mate or their actual mate?”

“Yeah. It’s a good question,” he replied. “It is pretty weird. Even though nature has favored a fair amount of aggressiveness in males, why haven’t they evolved toward complete gentleness with something so valuable as a mate or potential mate? Hmm…”

After several moments of silence, Will continued, “When you consider the primitive hunter-gatherer, or the simple plowman, it’s hard to think of forces favoring rough play with their mate. On the other hand, if you consider the wealthy master with lots of slaves, the one who gets aroused when he disciplines his slave girls is likely to leave more offspring than the one who doesn’t get aroused. Right? …But I don’t know that wealthy masters were numerous enough to explain much, as far as human evolution.”

I pondered that for a minute, then said, “Well, when you think about it, even though the wealthy masters were few in number, they had access to lots of women, and so had potential to leave a lot of offspring. Even though most of us assume that we descended from the salt of the earth, wealthy and promiscuous masters might figure more prominently in our ancestry than we might think.”

“Hmm. Could be,” Will acknowledged.

“But why should it be arousing to women?” I asked. “Like why would a woman allow her breasts to be whipped, when you consider the importance of their intended function?”

“You mean their… um… like mammary function, right? …As distinguished from their erogenous zone function.”

“Um… Yeah,” I answered. “I was thinking in terms of mammary function. You’re viewing the erogenous zone function as a confounding influence on people’s behavior?

“Yeah, maybe… But the question is still why would a girl like you let a guy like me whip your breasts? The only answer I can think of is that it must be because you’re crazy. So wonderfully, irresistibly crazy.” Will had a big grin.

“So I suppose you’re sane?” I laughed. “After what you did to me, you think your sane? Here I am, not as strong as you to begin with, and then you tied me up so I’d be completely helpless, took that cruelly long whip, picked out one of the most sensitive spots on my body, my nipples, and then whipped me on them over and over, completely without mercy, heedless that I was gasping and crying out with every stroke. So you’re sane?”

“Hey, wait a minute. Every time you told us to stop, we stopped… immediately. Right? So it’s not fair to say ‘completely without mercy’. In fact, in the end we finally had to stop even though you never would ask us to.”

“Um… Well… Uh…”

“But even though the ‘without mercy’ part isn’t accurate, your description of what happened really turns me on. So obviously I’m crazy too.”

“I’m glad you liked how I described it. When I was saying it I thought it sounded pretty neat, however it was that I worded it.”

“I don’t think you said anything about why you were whipped.”

“No, I didn’t. You guys made it part of my job. But beyond that, why was I whipped?”

“Because you’re such a pretty girl, so sweet, so gentle, so innocent, so completely undeserving of such treatment. Isn’t that a great reason?”

I giggled a little self-consciously.

“Oops! That was the entrance drive I just passed. Gotta turn around.” Will slowed the car, made a U-turn, and soon we were bumping along a secluded vehicle trail, through woods and meadow, until we arrived at a small cluster of farm structures: an old barn in disrepair, an outhouse, and one of those ugly round-roofed corrugated metal buildings – Will called it a Quonset hut.

Nobody else had arrived yet. We got out of the car and approached the barn. Inside, lying horizontal, but raised about knee-high off the floor on four pairs of concrete blocks, was the wooden cross. A shiver went down my spine. That’s what they were going to hang me on.

I slid my hand along it. It had been sanded very smooth.

“We had to make sure you didn’t get any splinters off it,” said Will. “And it’s got this spring gizmo on the back of it.”

As I bent over to look at the underside of it, partially recessed I could see what looked like some complicated mechanism with what looked like a garage door spring as the most prominent feature. “What’s that?”

“It’s the adjusting mechanism for supporting your body. Your friend Steve, and another engineering student, put it together for us. It’s supposed to allow us to hang you in a realistic looking way, without any risk of dislocating… er, uh, putting too much stress on your shoulders and arms. So it will look like you’re hanging mostly by the arms, but actually a lot of your weight will be supported by a rope you’ll have around your hips and under your crotch. With your knees bent, you’d get really tired trying to support yourself very long with your legs.

“So anyway, you have nothing to worry about. The point of the spring mechanism is that it’s self-adjusting for different sized people. It seems like a lot of trouble for this film, but the guys said that they had somebody who’s offering to buy the thing when we’re done with it. …Or they might offer it on EBay.”

“As outdoor recreational equipment?” I quipped. “…But getting back to this crucifixion, how do you handle the nails through the wrists? …Of course you can understand why I might ask.”

“There’s no nails through anybody’s wrists, simulated or otherwise. We’re not trying to gross people out. You’ll have a big, heavily-padded leather handcuff on each wrist. …They’re around here somewhere. …Here they are,” pulling them out of a duffle bag.

“They’re really stout.”

“The idea is to use them as an exaggerated contrast with the slenderness of your arms. Like, to project the contrast between the tender sleekness of your body, and the crude and massive force with which you’ve been put on the cross.”

“Hmm. I can picture that. …So no nails then.”

“Well, actually we do pound some spikes into those pilot holes there in the cross. The rope pulling on each cuff is supposed to look like it’s held by the spike, but actually it leads back to the spring gizmo.”

“So the idea is that I can be thought of as having been nailed onto there, although not through the flesh.”

“Right. Want to lay down on it and see how it fits you?” He had a mischievous expression on his face.

I sat down straddling the cross, and answered, “I can tell you’re up to no good. But since in your words, I’m ‘so innocent’, I guess I’m supposed to act like I don’t know any better and do it.”

“Who me, up to no good?” He gently stroked my back for a brief moment as I sat there. It might have been an innocent gesture, but I had the feeling that he might have been trying to check out whether I had a bra on under my flannel shirt. In fact I did not. I’ve never considered them a particularly comfortable article of clothing. After entering college I got out of the habit of wearing one. Now I’m not too inclined to put one on, except sometimes briefly for jogging, depending on where I am in my periodic cycle. For a moment I sort of wished I had one on now, but then I realized it wouldn’t help. In the context of this work, he was going to get to my breasts one way or another.

I carefully lay back onto the cross. It was too narrow to be very comfortable. I kept my feet on the ground for stability, but extended my arms out onto the cross piece. “There. Are you satisfied?”

“Not quite.” Taking a rope, he ran it around my right arm and the cross piece a half a dozen times wrist to shoulder, then brought it under and continued binding my left arm to the cross piece. I let him do it. I thought I would wait until he tried to knot the ends before frustrating his attempt by pulling out of the bonds. This job had enough rough stuff without encouraging Will’s extracurricular bondage activities.

But as I tested the strength of my restraints, I realized that he didn’t need to knot the ends. By winding up the entire length of my arms, he had already limited my movement too much to squirm out of my bonds.

“You…! You’ve got me again.”

“Oh dear. You poor girl. You’re going to have to submit again?”

Not wishing to lay there docilely, I continued to squirm as he secured the rope and then as he slowly unbuttoned and opened my shirt.

“I love your belly button,” he said, inserting his finger. It tickled. He then moved his hands firmly up the contours of my midriff and ribs. “I love ribs. …Ah. And your breasts. Your precious breasts. Do you think breasts are the most extraordinary things in the universe, or is that just a fixation of mine?” He fondled them, tweaking my nipples.

“Gee, I don’t know. Sometimes I think guys make too much about them. But whatever.”

He kissed my now very stiff nipples. Then he started sucking on them. What an incredible sensation. I couldn’t help arching my back, so arousing was it.

I murmured, “It’s that feeling that’s the most extraordinary…” I had to have more. …But the sound of a vehicle approaching interrupted my rapture.

“Hmm. Maybe this doesn’t look good,” said Will. “Karl thinks it’s not a good idea for us to get too involved with each other until we’re done shooting the film. …Not that he’s my boss or anything.”

“Just first among equals.”

“Huh? Oh. Maybe so,” he answered. “But it might only be Nick. Anyway, we’ll just say we’re getting you conditioned for the job.” He then reached into the duffle bag and pulled out a pair of clothes pins. I wondered what he had in mind with them.

Nick entered the barn, saying, “Hi guys. I see you’ve been busy.” Surveying me, shirt open, tied down on the cross, he said, “You’re looking good today, Jenny.”

“I thought we’d work on her conditioning,” said Will, holding the clothes pins up. “Have you ever had these on, Jenny?”

“Clothes pins? I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Like this.” He brought the open clothes pin to my nipple, and slowly applied it. The squeeze was gentle at first, but continued to build, as my nipple took on more and more of the force of the spring.

“Oh! That pinches!” He let me absorb more pressure until it clamped on fully. I panted, “Oh! Oh! Oooooh!” The intensity was like an electric current shooting through my nipple.

“If you really can’t get used to it, I can take it off. But we’d like to use them in the film, if that’s okay.”

I guess I was beginning to acclimate to the sensation. I was quietly panting, eyes squinched shut, when I felt a clothes pin being applied to the other nipple. I tried to squirm to avoid it, but too late, my nipple was already caught, and soon accepting the full pressure.

“Ooooooh! My nipples!” I gasped, panting.

“How is that? Okay?”

I didn’t answer. I just lay there on the cross, breathing heavily, absorbing that pinching intensity on my nipples. In the distance, I could hear another vehicle approaching.

In a minute or so, Karl stormed in, waving some paper. “Nick, I can’t live with this script the way it is. What you’ve done…” He stopped short when he noticed me, tied down on the cross, shirt open. Coming over to observe, he smiled, “Jenny, you never cease to amaze.” Then he bobbed the clothes pins back and forth on my nipples. I winced. I didn’t know what to say. Did he think I had asked the guys to do this to me?

“You’re an extraordinary girl.” Then turning, he continued. “Anyway, Nick, I just can’t warm up to what you’ve done with Jenny’s lines. You’ve made her too remote, too wise, too invulnerable.”

“Well, that’s sort of inevitable, isn’t it?” answered Nick, somewhat vexed. “She’s the daughter of god, isn’t she? …I guess I understand what you don’t like. But what are we supposed to do with her? We have to deal with a female character who’s got all this beyond-worldly knowledge and wisdom. I agree, she loses some sex appeal because of it. …If you’ve got a better way, then you write it.”

“Hmm,” replied Karl. “I don’t know. We gotta think about this. What do we want Jenny’s character to be? I’m not trying to say there’s anything wrong with wise women. Wise women manifest really appealing female traits… you know, receptive, gentle, caring, and so on. But… it’s like a wise woman is receptive, gentle, and caring, because she is wise …because she understands.”

“Okay, so what’s your problem?”

“The problem is that the woman I want here is receptive, gentle, and all that, not because she understands, but because that’s inherently the kind of person she is – she has no choice. I don’t want her to display beyond-worldly wisdom. The problem with the really wise person is that whatever comes their way, they’re right there with it, moment to moment. That gives them an air of invulnerability, because they’ve basically risen above the struggle of seeking pleasure and avoiding pain.

“But,” he continued, “having an air of invulnerability greatly weakens the impact of the film’s events on the character. You know, that’s the problem with the way Christ is portrayed in films. He usually ends up being this one-dimensional character because so many Christians will go berserk if he’s portrayed having the mind of a man instead of the mind of a god. …But if he’s got the mind of a god, then he knows he’s inherently invulnerable. And if he knows that, then what he experiences is no worse than what we experience having some kind of heavy-duty dental work done.

“And another thing,” Karl was really on a roll, “all that wisdom, and the resulting air of invulnerability, just doesn’t fit Jenny that well, I don’t think. I want the girl in this film to project a sweet innocence and vulnerability combined with a powerful sexuality.”
ut on my clothes.

Zephirantes · 2025-01-06T04:21:49-0800

The sensation from my pinched nipples having numbed to the point that I could again speak in complete sentences, I said, “But you’re asking me to portray two really contrasting traits, ‘sweet innocence’, and ‘powerful sexuality’. I’m not sure how to project both of those simultaneously. Is it even possible to do that?”

All three guys looked at me incredulously. Had I said something really stupid? Kneeling beside me, Karl laughed, “Jenny, it’s the sweet and youthful innocence of your magnetic sexuality that makes you so incredibly appealing. You don’t have to do anything except be yourself.” He stroked my ribs.

Magnetic sexuality? Me?! That is most certainly not an image I go around trying to project. I glanced down at my bare top, nipples pinched erect by the clothes pins. I felt his fingers pressing on my ribs. Well… Maybe it was understandable if he found me magnetically attractive this way. And maybe I really liked it that he deemed me such.

“Well, Karl, I agree with everything you’re saying,” said Nick. “But we’re still dealing with the daughter of god, aren’t we? In what situation would she seem vulnerable? You’ve talked a lot, but I still haven’t heard a solution.”

“Yeah. That’s the problem – how to make the daughter of god vulnerable,” replied Karl.

“Hmm…” said Will. “How about if we don’t have her think of herself as having been sent on a divine mission? Instead, uh… how about if she feels that her father has kicked her out of heaven in a fit of anger?”

“Yeah,” replied Karl. “Yeah, that could work. As far as she’s concerned, despite her illustrious family background, she’s just an ordinary human with no special privileges. Yeah, I like it.”

At this point I said, “Excuse me for interrupting your train of thought, but this cross is too narrow to lie on very long. I’m so uncomfortable, can’t you let me get up?”

“Oh sure. Sorry,” said Will. He quickly loosened the rope, releasing me.

I got up, immediately bringing my hands to my breasts. “Can’t I take these clothes pins off now? You don’t know how my nipples feel.”

“Hey, they look really good on you,” said Nick. “You ought to consider wearing them all the time.”

I didn’t consider that to be a definite ‘no.’ I quickly released the clothes pin from my right nipple. Sensation surged back in. “Ow. Ow. Oooh!” I gasped. I stood panting, waiting for the pain to gradually subside. “Now I’m really afraid to take the other one off. How do I get it off without it hurting so much?”

“Here. Let me try,” said Karl. Taking a deep breath, he blew a long cooling breeze onto my nipple as he released the clothes pin. Oddly, that trick did lessen the pain a little. Nipples freed at last, I cradled my breasts in my hands.

* * * * *

For the next three hours, we rehearsed many of the scenes for the film, with a lot of ad-lib as we went along. Although not their usual mode of operation, all three guys had decided they would play key parts. Several other people would be assigned minor, mostly non-speaking parts. They intended to bring in a couple free-lance cinematographers to do most of the camera work.

The guys spent quite a bit of time talking and arguing about the scenes. I was surprised how much concern they had about portraying plenty of heavy SM action without conveying callous cruelty. They wanted their characters to maintain caring concern for the girl they were crucifying. I sensed that they were straddling opposing tendencies of their personalities – an ambivalence I also experienced, although differently, being on the receiving end of the action. But I also felt that if they were going to trouble themselves about such concerns, then I need not worry. I could trust that no harm would come to me by their hands.

At one point, despite no one disagreeing with him, Karl launched into this rant about how important their facial expressions and body language were, with regard to not conveying any sense of malicious pleasure in inflecting pain. The facial expression should be either of dispassion – like men simply doing their jobs – or else of simple admiration for me and my sexuality.

Also he didn’t want their body language to convey any sense of trying to whip me really hard, such as by throwing their whole body into the stroke. A simple flick of the wrist, and just let the whip do its work. As the one who would be on the receiving end, I appreciated that. I knew it was going to be plenty to deal with without them trying extra hard to make it hurt.

* * * * *

By the end of the afternoon, even Karl, the most exacting of the three, seemed satisfied with our progress.

“Shall we call it a day? I’ve just about had it,” said Nick.

“Yeah. I think we’re in pretty good shape, even without having done a mock-up of the crucifixion, ” said Karl. “We’ll start shooting on Tuesday. You’re free on Tuesday afternoon, is that right, Jenny?”

“Yes, I’m done at noon on Tuesdays and Thursdays.”

“Okay, so you can meet Will at the studio at say 12:30?”

“Yes, that would be good.” I smiled at Will.

“You know,” said Will, “we still haven’t resolved how we’re going to bind her for the whipping scene. That’s another thing we skipped over today.”

“Oh yeah,” said Karl, with a bit of a smile. “How could we forget that? Are you up for a few strokes, Jenny?”

I should have realized I had gotten off too easily this afternoon. “Okay,” I sighed. But I would not have gone home disappointed if whips had today remained in the realm of all talk, no action.

“But I’m a little concerned about the risk of leaving any whip marks that might linger on until Tuesday, when we start shooting,” said Karl.

“How about if we stick with the riding crop with the soft leather slapper on the end?” suggested Nick. “That shouldn’t leave any lines.”

“Sounds good. You want to slip out of your shirt and pants, and then let me bind your wrists, Jenny? And let’s get the lights on and a couple cameras going. I want to be able to study how this looks.”

I took off my flannel shirt and jeans. He hadn’t said anything about taking off my panties, and I didn’t volunteer them. I held out my wrists in front of me while he fastened the cuffs. I felt a little queasy.

They fastened the cuffs to a rope, which they tossed up over a high rafter. As I glanced up, I thought I saw two heads dodge back out of sight in the hay loft. It seemed that we had some youthful spectators. I wondered how long they had been watching. Well, now they were going to see something that was worth the wait.

They pulled my arms up just high enough that I couldn’t use them to protect my breasts.

“Maybe we ought to warm her up on the butt first,” suggested Nick. “It doesn’t seem fair to light into her more sensitive areas first thing.” Will then pulled the rear of my panties up and in, exposing my cheeks.

Nick swung the crop, whoosh …whap! “Mgh!” Whoosh …whap! Whoosh …whap! Whoosh …whap! I was panting, but I tried to keep silent, as he worked the crop over my ass, and then gradually down the back of my thighs. Whoosh …whap! Whoosh …whap! Over and over. Moving up and down my ass and thighs, even several on the calves.

Finally, Nick left off, and Karl took a turn. Telling me to spread my legs, he worked it on the inside of the thighs for a while. I tried to keep quiet, but could not help voicing my gasps. Working from the back, he brought the crop up on my pussy a few times, through my panties. Sensitive as that area is, he did it lightly enough that I didn’t have too much trouble with it.

Then he came around front. Pulling the crotch of my panties to the side, he exposed my pussy. “Nick, hold open her pussy lips, so I have a clear shot at her clit.” I couldn’t believe he was going to do this to me.

With Nick holding me open, he slapped the crop onto my clit. He didn’t swing it that hard. He didn’t need to. “Oooooh! Do you have to do it there?” Nick meanwhile, had jerked his hand away and was standing in front of the camera putting on this pretended show of how much his fingers hurt from having caught the edge of the crop.

Then again Nick held open my pussy lips, and Karl slapped the crop onto my clit, harder this time. “Ow…ow…owwww!” Then again a third time, still harder. “Ahhhhhhhh! No! No more!” I cried out, pulling away from them.

“No? Okay, okay.” They paused to give me time to compose myself. Will gently dabbed my tears away.

I then noticed Karl fiddling with this smooth tubular chrome object. “Mind if we stick this in you?” he asked.

I hesitated, frowning. After that clit smacking, I wasn’t sure I wanted him going near my pussy. And I really didn’t like the idea of that big, weird, cold thing being stuck inside me.

“How about if we lubricate it real good?” asked Karl, taking a tube of lubricant jelly and slathering it onto the object. Reluctantly, I let him remove my panties. Even more reluctantly, I spread my legs and tried to relax as he inserted it into my pussy. He slid it in slowly. Eyes closed, mouth open, I tried to breathe deeply.

Then Will took his turn with the riding crop. No warm ups on my stomach or ribs, he went straight for my breasts. Whoosh …whap! “Oooh!” To the softness below the nipple. Whoosh …whap! “Ahhh!” Same place on the other breast. Whoosh …whap! Side of the breast. And then again.

Whoosh …whap! “Ahhhhh!” Hard on the nipple. Whoosh …whap! “Oooooh!” The other nipple. And then again. And again. Now he was going for the nipples, hard with every stroke. I could no longer keep still for this.

My wrists, being raised only high enough to keep me from protecting my breasts, left me plenty of freedom to jerk and dance away from the strokes. I began to take full advantage of this freedom. By twisting away, I was usually able to lessen the impact of his stroke. A few times I was able to evade it entirely.

As I danced about at the end of my rope, with Will pursuing my nipples, I knew I was putting on a good show of jiggling breasts. All three guys were having to make adjustments inside their bulging crotches.

This went on for some time. Sometimes I breathed an elated “Hah!” when he missed me entirely. But more often I gasped “Oooooh!” when he caught me right smack on the nipple. Although I was managing to make it more difficult for him, over time he was still succeeding in giving me a good whipping. My nipples were really burning.

At one point, Karl intervened, “Jenny, what you’re doing is absolutely fantastic. I’d love to put a scene like this into the film. But for the whipping scene in this story, as the daughter of god, I feel that you need to… well, undergo your ordeal with more composure and grace. In other words, to accept your whipping.”

Pulling the rope to raise my wrists higher, thereby somewhat reducing my freedom of movement, he continued, “So how about if you keep still as Will is swinging the crop? I’d like to see you bravely accept each stroke, then wrench away as an involuntary reflex action. Can you try that for a little? …And then we quit. …And Will, could you ease up a little on your stroke? I don’t know how her nipples must be feeling at this point, but she’s taken a hell of a whipping.”

“Oh, yeah. Sure, Jenny. I don’t need to do it that hard, ” said Will.

“Yes, please not so hard. My nipples are really on fire. But I’ll try to do it the way you guys want.” My voice was a little shaky as I brushed my tears onto my raised arms.

Whoosh …whap! “Oooh!” I jerked sideways, from the hips, in a dance motion, jiggling my breasts. Whoosh …whap! “Ahhh!” I wrenched to the other side. Whoosh …whap! Again. And again. Will and I got up a good rhythm: he slapped the crop onto my nipples, I wrenched to one side or the other, swaying my hips and voicing a gasp, then letting the motion quiet itself as he took his next stroke.

He was not hitting overly hard, although it could not be called a light stroke either. Perhaps I was not really interpreting the intense sensations as pain, although my nipples were burning. Rather, I felt as if Will was playing a steady dance beat on my body, while I danced, with an abrupt jerk of the hips and torso, and a gentle return sway. How long this went on I have no idea. I was focused entirely on the dance beat. I kept my eyes closed the whole time, better to follow the rhythm. Visual sensation had no role here. The experience was one of feeling, sound, and motion.

Slow dance to the whip. The rhythm of the whip. …The next thing I knew, my state of arousal was teetering on the brink. How had I gotten to this point? Should I let myself go? Would the guys know what I was doing? No matter, too late; I couldn’t stop myself now anyway. The spasms of orgasm launched through me. “Oooh. …Ahhh. …Ahhh.” I’m not sure whether they could tell what I was doing or not, but Will might have adjusted his strokes. As I was wringing out the last of the climax, Will wound down his strokes.

I stood there breathing deeply, eyes still shut. I could feel one of the guys start undoing my handcuffs. Simultaneously, I could feel that chrome thing slowly slipping out of my pussy. I gave a little push, and it dropped to the floor with a clunk.

Wrists now freed, I sank to the floor cradling my breasts in my folded arms. As I finally opened my eyes, Will sat beside me and put his arm around me. Karl and Nick were gazing at me in rapt admiration.

Will said, “You’re totally incredible. You’re beyond all words.” He placed his hand over mine on my breast.

“You bring out the best in me,” I smiled. I knew he’d like that.

I glanced at Karl and Nick. They were still gazing at me, but becoming aware of themselves staring, they turned and began to take down the cameras and lighting equipment, although often pausing to cast their eyes admiringly toward me.

Will and I sat there for a while quietly. But with the sun dipping below the horizon, the air was cool. “I’ve got to get some clothes on.”

“Clothes?” replied Will. “Oh yes. One of those unfortunate necessities.” I imagined that in his ideal world, I would not wear such things.

As I walked across the floor to get my clothes, I stepped in something slimy. “What’s that?” There were big gooey drops of creamy fluid on the floor there. I glanced around. There were two other sets of big gooey drops in other places. I looked at the guys. They were grinning imbecilically at me.

“Oh,” is all I could think of saying. I quickly put on my clothes.

END OF PART 2

Zephirantes · 2025-01-06T04:24:21-0800

PART 3

It was a few months after the end of filming. Tonight I would see the finished product. Will picked me up at my room and we walked a couple of kilometers to the place Nick shared with his longtime girl friend. (Karl, who was married, with children, had no wish to show a film like this in his own house.)

Besides the three guys, a number of other people were there, including several of the minor characters in the cast, the couple who did the camera work, and a few others I had not seen before. We crowded around his television, and they started the video.

It is a strange and rather mixed emotional experience to see yourself exposed so immodestly on film. I have no wish to measure my self worth in terms of physical attractiveness. Nevertheless, I can’t deny that I want people to think well of me. Consequently, if my body must be revealed to all, I can’t help wanting them to like what they see.

I knew of course that Will was enraptured with my body, and that Nick and Karl considered me to be well put together. Nevertheless, from the range of adult web sites that I will admit to have come across, it would seem that there must be nearly as wide a range of body-type preferences as there are body types. No one person can expect to be pleasing to everyone.

Seeing myself undergoing such distressing punishment also yielded ambivalent feelings. The others in the room could only imagine what the heroine was experiencing. I knew what she was experiencing. For much of the showing I unconsciously wrapped my arms across my body and pressed close to Will. But I won’t deny the eroticism of seeing myself in such peril and torment.

* * * * *

To the music of Rimsky-Korsakov’s Easter Overture, the film begins by serenely surveying the hilly countryside of fields, woods, and meadow. Then, far off in the distance one can discern three tiny figures making their way across a broad meadow. As the scene continues one can make out that it is two guys on either side of a girl. All is not well. They seem to be forcing her along as she resists.

After this introduction, the action really begins in that round-roofed sheet metal building, the Quonset hut. I had been seized by what seem to be two paramilitary militiamen and brought to their so called ‘bunker’. Flanked by Will, as ‘Private’, and Nick, as ‘Corporal’, I was brought before the ‘Commander’, played by Karl.

The nature of their paramilitary orientation was not obvious, whether left or right. Or perhaps they would be placed on some non-political axis orthogonal to any conventional political scale. There were no signs of weapons anywhere.

They were wearing dark grey pants and shirts. The Corporal was also wearing a beret. On all their shirt pockets was an insignia of horizontal lines, somewhat like a pair of trigrams of the type seen in the I Ching or Book of Changes.

I was wearing a simple white blouse of Indian cotton, a very short, floral-patterned green cotton skirt, which rode a little below the waist, and Birkenstock sandals. My wrists were bound behind me. I was slightly disheveled from struggling with the militiamen. The top and bottom buttons of my blouse were open, and there were a half a dozen muted whip marks on my legs, left by a short whip that the Corporal continued to brandish.

“Ah. So this is she. Hmm. What a graceful specimen! Most excellent,” said the Commander, rising from his chair, and stepping forward to examine me. He slowly circumambulated me, eyeing my body up and down. While making occasional wary glances at him, mostly I kept my eyes ahead and down, as if trying to ignore his presence, but without complete success.

Arriving in front of me again, he said, “You may address me as the ‘Commander’.” After placing his finger on my breast bone, he slowly ran it down the front of my body. I displayed little acknowledgment of him, but I recoiled slightly when his finger arrived in my belly button.

“I like what I see. I must see more.” He unbuttoned my blouse, but held it only partly opened, not enough to reveal my breasts. “Ah. No bra. You must be a liberated woman. I like liberated women.”

I gave him a quizzical look but said nothing. I looked down at his hands holding my blouse. As he opened my blouse to reveal my breasts, I shut my eyes and inhaled sharply. I scarcely dared to breathe as he slipped it back off my shoulders and part way down my arms, still bound behind me.

“Yes! Yes! Yes! Such pretty breasts. …But please open your eyes, look at your tits. They are so exquisite. How can you pass up such a sight?”

I opened my eyes. All three guys were gazing at my breasts. I glanced down at them quickly. “Well, actually, I’ve seen them before – pretty often in fact,” I said.

“So what,” he answered. “I never get tired of looking at a pretty girl’s tits.”

Then with the other two guys grasping my arms to prevent me from retreating, the commander pressed his hands firmly against my chest, and began kneading my breasts against my ribs.

“Ah. I love the softness. Soft breasts and firm ribs. You know, if I were you… if those were my tits, I’d never take my hands off them. I’d always be feeling myself up.”

I looked slightly mystified by the disarming absurdity of his statement.

Then he prodded and rubbed gently at the nipples, running little circles around them with his finger. “Stiff nipples. How I love stiff nipples.”

Although I tried to keep my eyes straight ahead, it was hard to keep still. It was a strong sensation from my nipples.

Then he took hold of each nipple and started to squeeze with gradually increasing pressure, while looking into my eyes, watching my response. As the pressure increased, I squinched shut my eyes and opened my mouth in a silent cry, holding my breath. This was not acting. This was real.

Finally I gasped, “You’re really hurting me.” Immediately he eased his grip. Sensing my opportunity, I jerked away from him, freeing my nipples, and in the process jiggling my breasts for the camera. I stood panting, eyeing him warily.

“Ah,” he said, “such spirit. Tells us what she’s feeling, but won’t beg.”

“Why are you doing this to me? What is it you want?”

“I am the one who will ask the questions. And you will answer. …But since I like to talk, perhaps all your questions will be answered in the course of our parley, without you even having to ask. …Now let us begin this interrogation. I have heard tell that you are the daughter of god. Is that true? …But wait! Don’t answer that yet. I have a little… shall we say ‘truth serum’ to give you first.”

He pulled a pair of clothes pins out of his pocket. “Do you know what these are?”

“Clothes pins,” I answered innocently.

“Yes. So they are,” he said. “Was that a silly question?”

Apparently this was not a rhetorical question; he was waiting for my answer. “Well,” I replied, “I don’t know. In retrospect, maybe. But I wasn’t trying to give you a silly answer.”

“Hey. You’re a cute girl. I like you.” He reached out and patted my cheek. “Yes, they’re clothes pins. Do you know what they’re for?”

“Yes. They’re for hanging clothes outdoors,” I answered.

He laughed. “You are a dear. …But this is what I will use them for now.” He reached out and quickly clamped one to my left nipple.

“Oh! Oh! Ohhhh!” As I tried to squirm away, he clamped the other one to my right nipple. “Ooooh! My nipples!” I gasped, squirming, as the two militiamen held me by the arms.

“Now, for my first question. Is it true that you are the daughter of god?”

The sensation from my nipples was so intense it was like an electric current running through them. I just stood panting, barely understanding his question, and incapable of forming an answer. The commander grew impatient. “Refuse to cooperate, eh?” He began twisting the clothes pins, ergo my nipples.

“Oh! Oh! My nipples! …Daughter of god? Maybe… Whatever… I’m not trying to be uncooperative. Really.”

The commander bobbed the clothes pins back and forth. But my nipples were beginning to numb to the sensation. “They look so good on you, I hate to take them off. But perhaps that’s enough for now.” He released them. I gasped anew, but the sensation began to subside. It was such a relief to have them off. My breathing gradually calmed.

Stroking my breasts gently, the commander said, “You know, I like your nipples bare, unadorned, just as well, too. …But let’s get down to business. I found your answer less than satisfactory. Corporal, three, on the legs.”

“Affirmative.” The Corporal lashed the whip across my legs three times. I gasped with each stroke, but did not cry out.

“Do you deny being the daughter of god?” asked the Commander.

“No, I don’t deny it. But what does it matter who my father is?”

“Corporal, three more.” And again it was three whip strokes across the legs. “What is the nature of your mission here?”

“What mission? I don’t know anything about a mission here.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know anything about your mission.” He nodded to the Corporal, who gave me another three strokes across the legs.

“Ow…ooh… I mean I don’t know anything about any mission. I don’t have any more of a mission than anyone else. Why do you have to whip me for every question? I’m not hiding anything.”

“Shall I put the clothes pins to the nipples instead?” he said, holding the clothes pins before me.

“Well, it’s just that if you’re going to ask me a lot of questions, then its going to add up to a lot of lashes.”

The Commander took hold of each breast in turn and clipped a clothes pin onto the nipple. I gasped, “I’ll take the whip instead. Please just whip me.”

The Private then raised my skirt and tucked it up in back in order to keep me exposed, and pulled the seat of my panties up and into my crack. Then the Corporal proceeded to give me about twenty lashes across the ass and back of the thighs. They didn’t even bother holding me. I just stood there gasping and panting, taking it all. Finally they stopped whipping me, and the Commander released my nipples from the clothes pins.

After pausing to let me compose myself, he asked, “If you’re not on a mission, then why are you here?”

I answered, “I don’t know. My father kicked me out of heaven. He was angry. I’m not sure why. Unambiguous communication has never been his long suit.”

“Do you expect me to believe that?” He then nodded to the Corporal, who gave me three more strokes across the rear.

“Oh…Ooh… It’s true. He can get really cranky, even though he’s mellowed over the millennia. You should have seen him back when he used to go around ranting ‘An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth’.”

The Corporal said, “It might be true, Chief. As crazy as it sounds, I think I believe her.”

“I have no reason to lie. And even if I did, I’m so unskillful at it that I wouldn’t dare to try.”

“Well, perhaps so,” said the Commander. “But really, it doesn’t matter whether you have a mission or not. Corporal, whip her some more.”

“Shall we bend her over the desk?” asked the Corporal.

“At your discretion,” answered the Commander.

They took me to the desk, over which I bent reluctantly. The Private raised my skirt and pulled down my panties. Taking up a thin rattan cane, the Corporal positioned himself. Looking back, I eyed him warily.

Shwoosh …thack! “Ohhhhh!” Shwoosh …thack! “Ahhhhh!” Pausing in between each, he proceeded to give me one stroke after another, first across the ass, and then gradually working his way down the thighs. I was up on tip toe, straining forward. It was impossible to keep still. To steady me, the Private clasped my body against the desk, but took the opportunity to work his hands underneath my breasts and knead them firmly.

Tears in my eyes, after about a dozen strokes, I cried out, “Ohhhhh! You’re hurting me so much!” At this they relented. As I lay across the desk panting, the Private dabbed the tears from my eyes, and gently caressed my cheek, while the Commander examined the Corporal’s handiwork of cane marks on my rear. Seeing the Commander thus occupied, the Private took the opportunity to give me a couple of quick kisses on the ear and cheek.

After my breathing calmed, they helped me to my feet, and pulled up my panties and adjusted my skirt. The Commander gazed at me in admiration. “You’re a wonderful girl. Every bit worthy of your illustrious family.”

“Then why do you whip me so? What have I done?”

To this the Commander responded by taking hold of my nipples and giving my breasts a jiggly little shaking. “Ah. I love everything about you.” He had me squirming.

Finally, he released my nipples. “You want to know why you must be whipped? Why should you deserve this? …It is simply because you are sweet, graceful, and so pretty. You are everything that I worship. …Look at your breasts.”

I glanced down at them. “Well, really they don’t look any different now than they did a few minutes ago. …And your reason for whipping me doesn’t make any sense at all.”

“Ah! How I love sassy women. I love my women to sass me before I whip them. …After too. …But where was I before you so saucily interrupted. …Oh yes. Your breasts. How I love the smooth softness of the breasts. And the hard stiffness of the nipples. Soft breasts and hard nipples, such a wonderful combination.”

He gently stroked and fondled my breasts. I wriggled slightly from the sensation. He continued, “And how I love the juxtaposition of the tenderness of the breast and the harshness of the whip. Tender breast and harsh whip. They are just made for each other, don’t you think?”

My mouth fell open in an expression of alarm. “Really I don’t know. I think that might really hurt.”

“Ah. You think. But you don’t know. And of course you wish to find out. Right? The real experience might be quite different from the thought. The real experience might have little to do with thought of any kind, don’t you think?”

“Well… I agree that the experience of the senses can be distinct from any thought-generated labeling. I guess ‘pain’ is merely a thought label, distinct from the sensation itself. …Even so, I don’t think I want to be whipped on the breasts.”

“You think too much. Too many preferences. Life is simpler without so many preferences. …Wherever you be, there you are.”

“Well… I suppose that’s true… But what about yourself? You’re the one who’s thinking up these crazy ideas about whipping my breasts.”

“You know, you never use the word ‘tits’. Is that outside your vocabulary? As you might guess, it’s one of my favorite words.”

“But you’re just crude.”

“Yes! Yes! That is so. And that too is why you must suffer. Because I am crude and you are comely. Why, consider the delicacy of your mien. Why, look at your arms. Private, release her wrists.”

Placing his beefy arm alongside mine, now freed, the Commander continued, “Compare yours with mine. Yours are lithe. How I love to admire women’s biceps and deltoids. All those times you’ve worn sleeveless tops, did you know that some men were checking you out and admiring your sleekly sculpted arms and shoulders? …You think I’m a raving madman, don’t you?”

“Well… Um…”

“Your physique is smaller and weaker than mine. That is why you must suffer. The more powerful sex punishing the weaker sex. And the weaker sex, the so-called weaker sex possessing that impossible strength to receive it all. The impossible strength to accept, to endure, and so ultimately to win. Yes, through that impossible strength, you shall be the victor, and I the vanquished. And for that I worship you!”

He continued, “I have seen your destiny. A cult will form to worship you. And why shouldn’t there be one? It’s been more than two millennia since there’s been a really significant religious cult to worship a female heroine for her sacrifice. …Well, the Catholic church venerates their saints, but I don’t consider them to be cults. …No, not since ancient Greece have there really been heroine cults. Now what were some of them called? …The Cult of Iphigenia was one. There were others too …like for the Leo Korai maidens. And their fathers were only men. Yours is a god.”

“I think I remember hearing something about those girls at the time. But my father never got along with the Classical gods and goddesses. I was forbidden to associate with them, and so we had only occasional surreptitious contact. The truth is that there’s still bad blood between our families. I happen to know that to this day Zeus has never forgiven my father for displacing him.”

“No kidding,” interrupted the Corporal with awe. “You actually know them. I guess I forget what it means to have such an illustrious family background. You’re such a regular girl. That’s what’s so wonderful about you.”

Zephirantes · 2025-01-06T04:26:10-0800

“What good is an illustrious family background? Here I am before the three of you, half naked, completely at your mercy, and you threatening to whip me even worse than you’ve already done.”

“Yes, that is true,” answered the Commander. “And you bring up a most important point. Have we not discoursed enough? Now is the time for action. Let us go forth! Take her outside, string up her wrists, and commence her whipping!”

The Private and Corporal took hold of me by the nipples. With my hands free I clasped their hands to prevent them from yanking my breasts as they led me out the door of the bunker.

Outside a waiting crowd of a dozen people, both men and women, and a few teenagers, cheered when I appeared. The two guys lead me to the overhanging bow of a large oak tree.

I held my hands out as they placed cuffs on my wrists, and then tossing a rope over the overhanging bow, they raised my arms high enough to keep me from protecting my breasts. Then they removed my skirt and panties, to the cheers of the crowd.

Then taking up a thin, long-handled, single-thong horsewhip, the Corporal took up a position behind me. Holding a second, identical horsewhip, the Private took a position in front of me. Meanwhile, the Commander seated himself in a strategically placed director’s chair. He regarded me with an enraptured expression for a long minute, as I stood naked, helpless, waiting for the whip. The crowd fell silent in anticipation.

With a subtle nod of his head, the Commander signaled the Corporal to begin. With a long, arcing whsssssst, he brought the whip down with a loud thack across my rear. “Uh!” I let out a cry as I wrenched forward. The crowd let out a raucous cheer. The Commander leaped to his feet, halting everything. Without saying a word, but with an expression of livid ferocity, he glared intensely at each of the spectators in turn. None dared to return his gaze. The silence was absolute. Even the birds and insects had ceased to chirp.

Having made his point, he regally settled himself back in his chair. After again admiring my naked form for a long moment, then glancing once more around the crowd menacingly, he gave the subtle nod of his head. This time the Private took his turn. Whsssssst …thack! Across the stomach. “Ooooh!”

Alternating, the Corporal and Private whipped me over and over. The Corporal, from the rear, on my ass, back, thighs, and calves. The Private, on the front, across my thighs, hips, stomach, ribs, and some to the breasts.

The only sound was that of the whip, followed by my cries and gasps. Whsssssst …thack! “Oooh!” Whsssssst …thack! “Ahhh!” Whsssssst …thack! “Ohh…oh.” Whsssssst …thack! “Ahhhhh!”

The whipping continued, stroke after stroke. After a time the camera began to switch back and forth from me to the other individuals. The Private and Corporal showed no emotion; their expressions were of men focused intensely on a job that required skill and concentration. The Commander had this look of complete rapture. Among the crowd there was a range of emotions. One man was leering. Another, hand inside his pants, throated quiet groans of pleasure as he worked through an orgasm. Another man looked ambivalent, torn. One woman was smirking maliciously. Another was awe-struck at what she was witnessing. One teen-age girl watched in tears, and hands covering most of her face, as if she wished to cover her eyes but could not stop watching. The sound of the whip and my gasps and cries continued all the while.

The strangest of the spectators was one who had shuffled in late: a bearded, baldheaded old man, whose visage seemed a peculiar combination of two pictures I have seen, one of Socrates, the other of sixth century Zen or Ch’an master Bodhidharma. He stood facing me in a powerful stance, feet planted apart, eyes down, his face a mask of intense concentration. Through his penetrating mediation he appeared to be telepathically transmitting to me the mental and emotional strength to endure. The true fact of the matter is that, whether this whole thing was film-acting or not, I really could feel an unfathomable strength coming from him. It was the most extraordinary experience.

Whsssssst …thack! “Ohhh!” Whsssssst …thack! “Ooooooh!” Whsssssst …thack! “Ahhhhh!” The Private was now focusing mostly on my breasts, the Corporal mostly on my ass and thighs. With each stroke I jerked reflexively, jiggling my breasts.

Finally, the Commander signaled a pause. I slumped my head forward, breathing heavily. The Commander approached me saying, “You’re so wonderful. How are you feeling? You look great.”

I roused myself, and looked at him with complete disbelief. “Are you serious? How do you think I feel? Are you expecting me to say ‘thanks for the invigorating massage’?”

Looking a little taken aback, the Commander replied, “Well, I thought you’d have some appreciation for such things. As a matter of fact, I think you ought to thank my men for giving you such a good whipping.”

“Really, we were doing our best,” added the Private.

“Great. Are you expecting me to ask for more?”

“No need to ask. We’re going to give you more anyway,” replied the Commander. Then he carefully examined my whip marks, first on my ass, then on my breasts. “Your nipples look none the worse for wear. How about if we finish with a flourish to your tits and pussy?”

“Oh, no. Do you have to do it there?”

Taking up the multi-thong suede flogger and lifting my knee to the side, the Corporal proceeded to lash me repeatedly on the pussy. “Ooooh! …Ahhhhh! …Ahhhhh! …Ooh! If you could know what that feels like.”

“If you could know how good you are. You’re so good,” he crooned.

I replied only with gasps and cries. After about twenty lashes he stopped.
The Private then took up the short, single-thong whip, and proceeded to whip me on the nipples. Swish…thack! “Ohhhh!” Swish…thack! “Ahhhh!” Swish…thack! “Ooh, my nipples!”

Suddenly that teen-aged girl ran forward, thrusting herself between me and the Private. “Stop! Please stop! You’ve whipped her so much. On the pussy, now on the tits,” she cried, as she shielded my breasts.

The Commander rose from his seat, saying, “Girl, we must complete this whipping. You don’t understand the importance of what we are doing here.” The Corporal then attempted to gently lead her away. She resisted.

“Whip me instead,” she demanded. Then facing the Private and his whip, she lifted her tee-shirt, exposing her breasts. “I’ll take the rest of her lashes.”

“No!” I cried. “Don’t whip her. She doesn’t know what she’s asking.” And to her I said, “Please don’t have them whip you on the breasts. Why should you have to undergo this? They’ve already welted me so, just let them finish on me.”

But the girl would not be moved. The Private and Corporal looked to the Commander. The Commander, seeming somewhat perplexed, finally said, “All right, we’ll let you take some strokes for the daughter of god. Take off your tee-shirt and put your hands behind your head.”

She stripped off her tee-shirt, and hands behind head, presented her breasts to the Private for a whipping.

“No!” I cried. “You mustn’t whip her like that.”

Swish…thack! He hit her right across the nipples. No warm-ups. No restraints. How could she just stand there and take it? …She couldn’t, it turned out. She dropped to her knees, clasping her breasts in her hands, gasping.

Zephirantes · 2025-01-06T04:26:40-0800

The Private then turned to me and lashed the whip across my nipples. Three strokes. But then the girl recovered herself, and getting to her feet, interposed herself between me and the whip, putting her hands behind her head and thrusting her chest out for another one. Swish…thack. “Owww..ow..ow!” she cried, doubling over clasping her breasts again.

“Please don’t whip her anymore,” I cried. “Just whip me and get it over with. Why should her breasts be punished?” Stretching my rope as far as it would go, I placed myself in front of her. The Private managed to get in three more lashes on my breasts before the girl was up and trying to push me out of the way. I pushed back as best I could. The Private continued swinging the whip, not caring whose breasts he caught with it. He was clearly delighted to have two crazy women fighting it out to receive his not-so-tender attention.

But with all the action, it was hard for him to aim properly. Few of his strokes landed on the nipples; many missed the breasts entirely, landing only on the ribs.
At one point the girl, in her zeal to push me out of the way, suddenly leaned her shoulder into my side, head down, and in so doing only narrowly missed catching the whip on the side of her face. The Private let out a startled “Ooh!” and dropped the whip.

The Commander leaped forward. “Hold! Cease! Avast! …This must leave off before someone gets hurt.” Apparently ‘feeling pain’ and ‘getting hurt’ meant something quite different in his mind. But I understood his distinction. …Everything was okay however. The whip stroke had caught my breast, not her face.

They released my wrists from their bonds. I picked up my skirt and since no one said ‘no’, put it on. In the commotion my panties had disappeared. Apparently some fetish-obsessed person had made off with them. I cradled my well-whipped breasts in my hands.

After carefully examining the whip marks on my breasts, they lead me to the barn. Inside, raised on concrete blocks, was a wooden cross. “This is what we’ll hang you on,” said the Commander.

I stared at him aghast. “Crucify me?! You can’t do that. …That’s murder!”

The Commander was taken aback. “Murder? My god, what do you take us for? You don’t actually think we’d put nails through you? Hey, it’s true we’re into whips and stuff, but we’d never really harm you.”

“Oh… Sorry. I guess I have a little paranoid hang-up about being crucified. But you can understand that. You know my family background.”

“Oh, yeah. I guess I can see why you’d overreact. …But really, it’s a great way to spend an afternoon. Are you ready?”

“Well. If it’s my fate to be crucified, then I’ll have to be crucified. …Perhaps it’s for the best. For the last two millennia I guess I’ve really envied my brother. My father has had nothing but praise for him. He feels that it was my brother’s sacrifice that spread my family’s renown through different parts of the world. …But it really hurts when your father so strongly favors your sibling. It always felt like he could do no wrong, and I could do no right. My father has this thing about being worshiped by people on earth. And I wasn’t worshiped by anyone. …You rave about my ‘illustrious family background’. It wasn’t quite the way I think you imagine it. I have no complaint about being kicked out.”

“But fate has decreed that all that will change. That is why we are here today. Your willingly acceptance of pain will not be forgotten. Shall we proceed? …If only we can keep your new friend from interfering.”

“Oh please don’t be hard on her. She’s only trying to help.”

“Well, try picking up that end of the cross. You’re supposed to get this thing to a meadow a couple hundred meters up the hill – by your own power, if possible.”
I slowly lifted one end. “This is really heavy. I can’t move it that far by myself.” I looked at him distraught as I let it back down.

“We’ll provide you with …uh, shall we say, encouragement. Also, we can recruit your young friend to help. Corporal, let’s go get her now.” With that they left the barn.

“Oh, please don’t whip her,” I said to the Private.

“Hey, we don’t need to whip her. We only need to whip you to get her to put forth her best effort. Right? …By the way, her name is Vicki.”

The Private then assisted me in putting a leather harness about my shoulders. Then having me fold my arms behind me, he bound my forearms together. When the teenager Vicki appeared, still topless, the Corporal placed a harness on her, while the Private, after checking that the Commander was nowhere in sight, took the opportunity to lift my skirt and play with my pussy, fingering my clit, prodding and rubbing. I just stood there squirming.

With both of us then harnessed and bound, they fastened each side of the crossbar of the cross to the backs of our harnesses, our folded arms resting on it behind us. After tucking up the back of my skirt to expose my ass, the Corporal then gave me a swat on the rear with the riding crop and said “Let’s move out.”

We pulled forward, dragging the far end (the base end) of the cross on the ground, out of the barn and up a vehicle path through the pines in the direction of the meadow. It was difficult going. The Corporal gave me steady encouragement with swats on the rear with the riding crop. The Private used the short whip on my breasts, often hitting me right across the nipples. I was gasping both with the effort of pulling the cross, and with the pain of the whipping they were giving me.

Vicki was getting progressively more upset at their treatment of me. But instead of channeling her emotions into helping me pull, she channeled them into reviling the militiamen, and demanding that she be whipped in my stead. Growing weary of her protests, the Private took out a red handkerchief and tied it across her mouth as a gag. In response, she stopped entirely, effectively preventing any further forward movement. The Corporal and Private lit into me with renewed energy. I continued to try to pull, crying out with every whip stroke, but could make little progress with her holding back.

“Please, Vicki! Please pull. Before he whips my nipples right off my chest.”

Apparently concerned that he was not making enough impression for me to mention specifically what he was inflicting on my rear, the Corporal switched from the riding crop to the rattan cane. I cried out even louder, begging Vicki to help pull.

With my cries becoming ever more desperate, the Private, apparently realizing that Vicki was more interested in sharing in the pain than sparing me pain, pulled a couple of clothes pins out his pocket, and unceremoniously clamped them onto her nipples. She let out a muffled scream into her gag, stood paralyzed for a moment, and then started to pull forward vigorously.

For the next few minutes the militiamen laid off of me, and we made steady progress up the path, finally reaching the meadow just beyond the crest of the hill. I looked around. Here was the place where I was to be crucified. The immediate area had been freshly mowed. I could see where the narrow post hole had been dug.

They had us bring the cross around so that the base was positioned at the post hole, such that when raised, with me on it, I would be facing out toward the expanse of the meadow, downhill. It was a good spot.

They unfastened the cross from us, and carefully laid it on the ground. The Corporal began to unbind my forearms from behind me. The Private, noting that the Commander had not yet arrived, took the opportunity to play with my breasts, squeezing them, and prodding and pinching my nipples. He was having a good time. I was squirming. Vicki, meanwhile, arms still bound, was trying to force herself on him, thrusting her breasts at him, still with clipped nipples, and incessantly jabbering into her gag.

Finally, my arms now freed from behind, I could protect my breasts. The Private left off of me and turned his attention to vigorously jerking Vicki’s clothes pins back and forth before pushing her on her way. This nevertheless seemed to satisfy her, and she wandered off into the arriving crowd, still harnessed, bound, gagged, and nipple-clipped.

The Commander having now arrived, they settled down to the business of preparing me to be hung on the cross. After removing the harness from my shoulders, and then slipping off my skirt, they tied a rope, two lines together snugly around my hips, and one line under the crotch, effectively providing me with rope panties of a sort. I gasped as they yanked the crotch line into my slit. They looped it around the rope lines in the back, but did not yet secure it. Rather, it would be secured to the cross. Then as I held my hands out before me, they secured to each wrist a massive padded cuff fastened to a short piece of rope.

With the Private and Corporal holding each arm, the Commander then lifted me by the thighs and placed me down on the cross. They spoke little, but handled me forcefully – not roughly, but forcefully impelling my compliant body – in order to convey the far greater combined physical strength of three guys versus one girl.

They stretched my arms out on the cross bar, and pulled tight. I winced as I watched them pound spikes through the rope loops.

The Commander then pulled out this peculiar chrome tubular object, smoothly rounded at each end. Taking a tube of lubricant jelly, with one massive squeeze of his fist, he emptied the gooey stuff onto the chrome object. With the Private and Corporal holding my knees apart, he slipped the dripping thing past my crotch rope and stuffed it all the way up my tunnel. I gasped loudly.

With the Private and Corporal still holding my knees apart, the Commander took up the riding crop and gave me a hard swat on the pussy. Whoosh …whap! “Ohhhhh!” Then another, whoosh …whap! “Oooooh!” And a third, whoosh …whap! “Ahhhhhh! Oh…oh!”

They then secured my feet to the cross with a wide leather band, the ends of which they nailed to the post. Finally they yanked the crotch rope tight and secured it in some manner to the cross.

As I lay there before them helplessly secured to the cross, the three militiamen admired their handiwork. Taking up the crop, the Private said, “She looks so good. Shouldn’t we give her a few more quick ones before we raise her up, Chief?”

The Commander nodded approval, and Private gave me three hard strokes in quick succession on each nipple. Whoosh …whap! …whap! …whap! “Ow! …Ohh! …Ooooooh!” Whoosh …whap! …whap! …whap! “Ooh! …Ahh! …Ohhhhhhh!”

Then with the assistance of several from the assembled crowd, they began to raise the cross. With one person guiding the base into the post hole, and the rest pushing from the back, it looked for all the world like some perverted version of the Iwo Jima Memorial statue – the one of those World War II soldiers struggling to raise that flag. Up I went, to the soundtrack music of Aaron Copland’s Fanfare for the Common Man.

The base of the cross slid into its hole. My body shook as the base hit bottom. I winced. Everyone else joined in a spontaneous, joyous cheer. Before their eyes, the daughter of god was up on the cross.

I hung there, arms taut about twenty degrees below the cross bar, knees somewhat bent, but with hip and crotch rope bearing a significant portion of my weight.

The spectators were crowding about, showering adulation upon me, ecstatically kissing my legs, fingering my pussy. One tall guy was exuberantly reaching up to poke my nipples and jiggle my breasts. It was hard for the militiamen to maintain control of the situation.

Nevertheless, they did finally restore a semblance of order. No more than one or two at a time were permitted to touch or kiss my legs or feet, and none were permitted to touch my more private areas. At first they considered my ass to be off limits, but later relented and allowed the grateful people to feel the welts.

The Commander was cordially mingling with the blissful crowd, while the Corporal and Private stood guard beneath me. While remaining aloof in the background, even that strange and extraordinary old man had an expression of benign satisfaction.

After a while a couple of women returned with food and drink for all, thereby adding to the already festive atmosphere. One teenage guy with bad skin was wandering around wearing a peculiar sort of a hat. Closer examination revealed that it was my panties he had slipped over his head and was now wearing at a rakish angle.
At one point Nick asked, “How are you doing up there? Can we do anything for you?”

“It would feel really good to be down off this thing, but I know fate cannot permit that. …This crotch rope is really biting into my slit. My arms are aching. …I guess it’s not yet so bad as to be termed ‘excruciating’, but now I understand the origin of that word.”

The Private asked, “Can I get you something to drink. It’s been an arduous afternoon for you.”

“Please, anything.”

He then rested a ladder against the crossbar beside me and climbing up, brought me a small bottle of spring water and placed it to my mouth. When that was finished, he brought up a glass of wine. He glanced around. Seeing that the Commander’s attention was occupied in conversation with the old man, the Private pressed his lips into mine. It was a long luscious kiss. He caressed my breasts. I arched outward, receptive.

He alternated giving me sips of wine and long sensuous kisses. As this went on it began to create a stir among the crowd. Many began to press around me, wanting to touch or kiss any part of me they could reach. The Corporal made no attempt to prevent them, but only tried to keep them from upsetting the ladder.

The Commander finally took notice. He watched intrigued for several minutes. Finally he approached and said, “Now that you’ve got her aroused, receptive, it seems the ideal time to move on to the last phase of today’s proceedings.”

Pulling some sort of remote control device out of his pocket, he aimed it at me, and depressed his thumb. That chrome tubular object that he had previously shoved into my pussy now sprang to life, pulsating, vibrating. I voiced a loud gasp. The Private silenced me by pressed his lips firmly into mine.

“We will force her to cum until she swoons,” announced the Commander.

That thing was thrumming, quavering inside my pussy. The crotch rope was pressing onto my clit. I couldn’t help grinding my hips, further rubbing on the rope. The Private was stroking, prodding my nipples, while pressing his moist lips into mine.

Gradually increasing the strength of the limited gyrations that my crucified pose could allow, after a time I burst forth into apparent climax, moaning with pleasure. But they would not let up on me, the stimulation forced me on and on. Gasping, panting, moaning, crying out, the orgasm would not release me.

Beyond the film-acting, it actually was both stimulating physically, with the sensations from my lips, nipples, and pussy, as well as stimulating emotionally, crucified by the militiamen before all these worshipful people. My arousal genuinely was hovering on the brink.

I have no problem with acting the part of cumming off in public. Although it makes no logical sense, and although events have forced it upon me before, I’m still rather uncomfortable emotionally with actually undergoing something so intimate as an orgasm in front of a crowd of people. Nevertheless, my arousal was such that I could no longer hold back. The glow in my womanhood burst into a climactic conflagration across my entire being. As I hung naked on the cross, I felt that I was consuming an entire throbbing universe into my incandescent body.

As the climax swept into ashes, I let my body go limp, as though having fallen unconscious – or dead. The Private descended and removed the ladder. The crowd stood silent, gazing up at me. Nothing moved. Nothing except a breeze lightly touching my hair, head slumped forward. No sound except that of the wind. Long minutes past.

Finally the three militiamen stirred. The Private replaced the ladder next to me, and climbing, cut my bonds, as the other two supported me from below. The three of them slowly and carefully let down my limp body. They carried me to the edge of the meadow, beneath a large tree, and gently placed me on a white cotton blanket. I lay as if dead. No one spoke.

The Commander clasped my hand. The Corporal gently touched my cheek, then caressed my neck and shoulder. There was no sign of life. …The Private gently kissed my lips. …I slowly opened my eyes, gave a little smile, and reached out my other hand. The scene faded to black. The credits rolled to the music of Rachmaninov.

THE END

Zephirantes

Governor

The Easter BDSM Passion Play – Part 1

The Easter Passion Play – Part 2

The Easter Passion Play – Part 3

Zephirantes

Governor

Zephirantes

Governor

Zephirantes

Governor

Zephirantes

Governor

Zephirantes

Governor

Zephirantes

Governor

"The Easter Passion Play" by author Iphigenia-at-Aulis (female crucifixion, non-snuff, no-nails)