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Woman crucified by women
- Thread starter St-Pierre
- Start date
KvK
Tribune
Story Time! I'll call this one "Reality Gets Real."
Clare was a 42 year-old housewife with two teenage children and a dopey, disappointing husband. To keep up with the mortgage and car payments, impending college tuition--and to just plain get away from the bedlam of two noisy eternally quarrelsome teenagers and her disgust at a husband who was not the man he used to be--she had taken back her old job as a sales representative at an international accounting firm. But that was not her only diversion from her tedious reality.
Clare, still fit, still perky and with short, dirty blonde hair, also had a deeply rooted crux fetish. She also had secret but passionate lesbian fantasies, since the thought being with another woman was everything that being with her husband and her bratty teenagers was not--novel, thrilling, highly arousing. Clare combined these passions in an online forum for crux lovers. She designed crux manips and wrote many crux fantasy stories wherein she was crucified. Yet, in her escapism, Clare still retained a connection to reality, which was why all her crux stories were modern day scenarios, involving her being an innocent tourist jailed in some redneck or third world place where they did not respect constitutional guarantees and her receiving crucifixion as an alternate punishment.
Clare was so good as a sales rep that her company decided to send her abroad to explore new opportunities in the remote Eastern European country of Nastarovia. It was summer. Her husband agreed to take the two bratty teenagers to the his family's chalet on the beach for two weeks. Clare thus had two weeks to work up the company's profile in Nastarovia.
Clare had all her papers and passport stamps. So she was surprised when the Nastarovian Border Agents took a seemingly long time looking through her documents. She was even more surprised when they asked her to open her baggage...and her laptop. So excited was she at the prospect of discovering a new country away from her boring family life that she had hardly noticed that there were only a couple of other people on the flight to Nastarovia.
But Clare was most shocked when two muscular but hot female brunette Border Agents motioned her to a room and then told her to undress.
"But...but...my passport is order...I have a letter from your Minister of Economic Development..."
"The Minister has just been arrested for embezzling the treasury."
"But...what evidence do you have tying me to..."
"Oh...sweetie...this is not your precious America with your precious law and order show. We do not need evidence. Now, take off your clothes...or we will do it for you. If we do it, however, we will be even less patient for what comes next..."
Trembling--but not entirely out of shame or fear--Clare slowly removed her jacket, her blouse, her skirt, her shoes...then looked up at the guards.
"OH...I guess in America, bra and panties are not considered clothes..."
The agent's eyes and smile were so menacing that an awed Clare removed what was left.
"There!"
One agent put all Clare's clothing in a box, something Clare would have been frightened at had she had the time to react. But she did not, for as soon as that agent started picking up her clothes, the other agent whisked Clare around, handcuffed her wrists behind her back and put her face and chest against a cold table.
"We appreciate your cooperating, Clare...so we will go easy."
Clare gasped loudly as she felt gloved fingers go where only her husband went, and where it was meant to be exit only.
"There, there!" reassured one of the agents, stroking Clare's bare back. "Clare good girl. Now stand up."
Clare did as instructed...only to be blindfolded.
"Wha--"
"Shhshshshsh now! All will be explained. Now we--how is it you Americans say, take you downtown."
Clare felt the cold linoleum floor give way to rough asphalt and then to the cold steel floor of a van in which she was strapped in, the cold of all these surfaces sending chills up her spine that excited her as much as they terrified her.
After hours of driving around, handcuffed, blindfolded and stark naked, Clare felt the van suddenly stop. The jolt she felt at the sudden noise of the doors popping open was not entirely unpleasant. Hands unfastened her straps, then led her out of the van. She felt rough gravel below the soles of her bare feet. This rough gravel soon gave way to more linoleum, wooden stairs, more linoleum, even more linoleum, before finally coming to rest on a cold, merciless stone floor. Here, the blindfold was removed.
Clare saw before her a heavy wooden desk. On the other side of a desk sat a buxom, muscular raven-haired, olive-skinned beauty of about twenty-nine, dressed in a tight leather outfit with a badge, a rack of fruit salad medals, and the Nasatarovian national insignia...as well as one thigh-high leather boot with a stiletto heel that was propped up on the desk next to an open file and Clare's laptop.
"So..." began the raven-haired beauty, "You are Clare, aka the famous I<3Crux!"
"What? How did you..."
"It does not matter how. It only matters what now."
The raven haired beauty let that sink in, then introduced herself.
"My name is Subcommandante Sandra. You have been found guilty of bringing obscence materials to Nastarovia, in violation of our Law For the Protection of Family Decency."
"What? But I didn't even know..."
"Silence! Ignorance is no excuse. And, since you like to talk, we will proceed to the sentenced immediately!"
Sandra winked at the two brunette agents who grabbed the still handcuffed Clare by the arms and manipulated her away.
They brought Clare to another room, where Clare saw something she recognised well from her manips and stories, two pillories, a lower one for ankles and a higher one for her neck and wrists. The brunette agents swiftly undid the cuffs, put Clare into the pillories and then secured the pillories shut.
Clare then felt something wet, viscous and cool glide on her anus. She tried to turn her head.
"You say you are anal virgin, yes?"
"No, Sandra, NO!"
"Oh, but how do you know until you have tried it?"
Without waiting for a response, Sandra thrust her strapon into Clare's lubricated anus repeatedly. Clare shrieked loudly. Then the shrieks turned to moans...and Clare's eyes closed as she was about to...
"Enough!"
Clare almost wailed as Sandra withdrew the strapon. The brunette agents undid the pillories, cuffed Clare again and turned her, wobbly, to the door. They then half-marched. half-dragged a semi-deliroious Clare to another room where Clare again saw something she recognised--a steel cage suspended from the floor.
Without ceremony, the guards blindfolded Clare, undid her cuffs, lifted her up in the cage, then shut the cage.
"Sleep well, beautiful!" declared Sandra's voice.
Clare had just begun to fall asleep when the door opened.
"Wakey-wakey, sleeping beauty!" Sandra's voice was harsh on the sleep-deprived Clare.
Clare heard the cage being unlocked. Hands manipulated her out of the cage and down. But she was not cuffed this time. Instead, two strong arms manuvered her forward to another room, where the blindfold was removed and Clare once again saw something she recognized, a Saint Andrew's Cross lying on the floor. Clare's sudden intake of breath came off as a hiss of hesitation.
"What?" asked Sandra, "Isn't this what you are always fantasizing about?"
"Yes, but..."
"Ah, I already took care of your butt yesterday. Today, we work on the front part."
Without ceremony, the brunette agents bound Clare wrist and ankle to the Saint Andrew's Cross and raised it.
The agony in her crotch was far more intense than Clare imagined it would be. And it was just agony. It never turned to pleasure like she had always fantasized.
Sandra saw this. A soft look came across her face.
"Oh, Clare..."
Sandra started to gently stroke Clare's naked ribcage. Then she stroked Clare's cheeks and ran her fingers through Clare's hair.
Claire sobbed out a "Thank you."
Sandra leaned in and gave the crucified Clare a deep french kiss, which elicited an enthusiastic "Errruumpffff!" from Clare. Rightly sensing the Clare was now aroused, Sandra proceeded to lick Clare's face...then her neck...then her arms and forearms...then her tummy...then her thighs...then her calves.
Clare began to moan. Sandra dove in and furiously sucked and licked Clare's nipples, eliciting louder moans from Clare, who gave out even louder moans when Sandra moved down to her clitoris and labia. In fact, Clare was just about to cum when...Sandra's fiendish fingers went to work on her ribcage...then her earlobes.
Clare, despite her agony, burst out into hysterical shrieks of laughter. She managed to force out a "You bitch!", immediately regretting this when Sandra stopped tickling her.
"Now, now, Clare...nice girls don't say words like that...."
Before Clare knew it, Sandra's tongue was devilishly working her anus, the admixture of agony and pleasure so high that Clare's screams were both of pleasure and despair.
Then Sandra went back to licking Clare's nipples and clitoris. Then Sandra went back to fiendishly tickling Clare. This cycle of arousal and tickling went on for what seemed to Clare to be forever.
Then, Clare had the most powerful orgasm she ever experienced, an orgasm so powerful, Clare was left hanging unconscious on the Saint Andrew's Cross afterwards, an orgasm so powerful that it had caused a sympathetic orgasm in Sandra, her panties now soaking.
Eventually, Clare came to. She slowly realised she was lying on comfortable sheets...still stark naked...bound by wrist and ankle to the bedposts. She also realised that she was not alone, neither on the bed or in her nakedness....
"How did you sleep my dear?"
Clare turned towards Sandra's voice. The sight of Sandra's large, well-shaped, olive-skinned bare breasts aroused her.
"Slept..well..."
"Good! I have some news for you. While we were...having fun...my Ministry approved your company's tender. All you have to do is sign the paperwork and, as you Americans say, we are good to go!"
OKAY...good...where are the papers?"
"Ahhh...Clare...the papers are on my desk. Signing them will only take a couple of minutes..."
Clare stared blankly at Sandra.
"Your visa is good for twelve more days...do you really want to rush home so quickly?"
Clare smiled. "No, I guess not."
Clare spent those twelve remaining days exploring for herself, with Sandra's skilled assistance, every manip she had made, every permutation of every story she had posted. When she returned home, Sandra's Minister had composed for her boss such a glowing letter of recommendation and a request that Clare be THE sales representative responsible for the company's Nastarovia contract. The company was so thrilled with the new account that they agreed. They even agreed to pay Clare extra for teenager care on the two weekends out of every month Clare would have to be in Nastarovia, "tending," as it was written on her permanently renewable visa, "to the company's affairs in Nasatrovia at Subcommandante Sandra's facilities."
Clare was a 42 year-old housewife with two teenage children and a dopey, disappointing husband. To keep up with the mortgage and car payments, impending college tuition--and to just plain get away from the bedlam of two noisy eternally quarrelsome teenagers and her disgust at a husband who was not the man he used to be--she had taken back her old job as a sales representative at an international accounting firm. But that was not her only diversion from her tedious reality.
Clare, still fit, still perky and with short, dirty blonde hair, also had a deeply rooted crux fetish. She also had secret but passionate lesbian fantasies, since the thought being with another woman was everything that being with her husband and her bratty teenagers was not--novel, thrilling, highly arousing. Clare combined these passions in an online forum for crux lovers. She designed crux manips and wrote many crux fantasy stories wherein she was crucified. Yet, in her escapism, Clare still retained a connection to reality, which was why all her crux stories were modern day scenarios, involving her being an innocent tourist jailed in some redneck or third world place where they did not respect constitutional guarantees and her receiving crucifixion as an alternate punishment.
Clare was so good as a sales rep that her company decided to send her abroad to explore new opportunities in the remote Eastern European country of Nastarovia. It was summer. Her husband agreed to take the two bratty teenagers to the his family's chalet on the beach for two weeks. Clare thus had two weeks to work up the company's profile in Nastarovia.
Clare had all her papers and passport stamps. So she was surprised when the Nastarovian Border Agents took a seemingly long time looking through her documents. She was even more surprised when they asked her to open her baggage...and her laptop. So excited was she at the prospect of discovering a new country away from her boring family life that she had hardly noticed that there were only a couple of other people on the flight to Nastarovia.
But Clare was most shocked when two muscular but hot female brunette Border Agents motioned her to a room and then told her to undress.
"But...but...my passport is order...I have a letter from your Minister of Economic Development..."
"The Minister has just been arrested for embezzling the treasury."
"But...what evidence do you have tying me to..."
"Oh...sweetie...this is not your precious America with your precious law and order show. We do not need evidence. Now, take off your clothes...or we will do it for you. If we do it, however, we will be even less patient for what comes next..."
Trembling--but not entirely out of shame or fear--Clare slowly removed her jacket, her blouse, her skirt, her shoes...then looked up at the guards.
"OH...I guess in America, bra and panties are not considered clothes..."
The agent's eyes and smile were so menacing that an awed Clare removed what was left.
"There!"
One agent put all Clare's clothing in a box, something Clare would have been frightened at had she had the time to react. But she did not, for as soon as that agent started picking up her clothes, the other agent whisked Clare around, handcuffed her wrists behind her back and put her face and chest against a cold table.
"We appreciate your cooperating, Clare...so we will go easy."
Clare gasped loudly as she felt gloved fingers go where only her husband went, and where it was meant to be exit only.
"There, there!" reassured one of the agents, stroking Clare's bare back. "Clare good girl. Now stand up."
Clare did as instructed...only to be blindfolded.
"Wha--"
"Shhshshshsh now! All will be explained. Now we--how is it you Americans say, take you downtown."
Clare felt the cold linoleum floor give way to rough asphalt and then to the cold steel floor of a van in which she was strapped in, the cold of all these surfaces sending chills up her spine that excited her as much as they terrified her.
After hours of driving around, handcuffed, blindfolded and stark naked, Clare felt the van suddenly stop. The jolt she felt at the sudden noise of the doors popping open was not entirely unpleasant. Hands unfastened her straps, then led her out of the van. She felt rough gravel below the soles of her bare feet. This rough gravel soon gave way to more linoleum, wooden stairs, more linoleum, even more linoleum, before finally coming to rest on a cold, merciless stone floor. Here, the blindfold was removed.
Clare saw before her a heavy wooden desk. On the other side of a desk sat a buxom, muscular raven-haired, olive-skinned beauty of about twenty-nine, dressed in a tight leather outfit with a badge, a rack of fruit salad medals, and the Nasatarovian national insignia...as well as one thigh-high leather boot with a stiletto heel that was propped up on the desk next to an open file and Clare's laptop.
"So..." began the raven-haired beauty, "You are Clare, aka the famous I<3Crux!"
"What? How did you..."
"It does not matter how. It only matters what now."
The raven haired beauty let that sink in, then introduced herself.
"My name is Subcommandante Sandra. You have been found guilty of bringing obscence materials to Nastarovia, in violation of our Law For the Protection of Family Decency."
"What? But I didn't even know..."
"Silence! Ignorance is no excuse. And, since you like to talk, we will proceed to the sentenced immediately!"
Sandra winked at the two brunette agents who grabbed the still handcuffed Clare by the arms and manipulated her away.
They brought Clare to another room, where Clare saw something she recognised well from her manips and stories, two pillories, a lower one for ankles and a higher one for her neck and wrists. The brunette agents swiftly undid the cuffs, put Clare into the pillories and then secured the pillories shut.
Clare then felt something wet, viscous and cool glide on her anus. She tried to turn her head.
"You say you are anal virgin, yes?"
"No, Sandra, NO!"
"Oh, but how do you know until you have tried it?"
Without waiting for a response, Sandra thrust her strapon into Clare's lubricated anus repeatedly. Clare shrieked loudly. Then the shrieks turned to moans...and Clare's eyes closed as she was about to...
"Enough!"
Clare almost wailed as Sandra withdrew the strapon. The brunette agents undid the pillories, cuffed Clare again and turned her, wobbly, to the door. They then half-marched. half-dragged a semi-deliroious Clare to another room where Clare again saw something she recognised--a steel cage suspended from the floor.
Without ceremony, the guards blindfolded Clare, undid her cuffs, lifted her up in the cage, then shut the cage.
"Sleep well, beautiful!" declared Sandra's voice.
Clare had just begun to fall asleep when the door opened.
"Wakey-wakey, sleeping beauty!" Sandra's voice was harsh on the sleep-deprived Clare.
Clare heard the cage being unlocked. Hands manipulated her out of the cage and down. But she was not cuffed this time. Instead, two strong arms manuvered her forward to another room, where the blindfold was removed and Clare once again saw something she recognized, a Saint Andrew's Cross lying on the floor. Clare's sudden intake of breath came off as a hiss of hesitation.
"What?" asked Sandra, "Isn't this what you are always fantasizing about?"
"Yes, but..."
"Ah, I already took care of your butt yesterday. Today, we work on the front part."
Without ceremony, the brunette agents bound Clare wrist and ankle to the Saint Andrew's Cross and raised it.
The agony in her crotch was far more intense than Clare imagined it would be. And it was just agony. It never turned to pleasure like she had always fantasized.
Sandra saw this. A soft look came across her face.
"Oh, Clare..."
Sandra started to gently stroke Clare's naked ribcage. Then she stroked Clare's cheeks and ran her fingers through Clare's hair.
Claire sobbed out a "Thank you."
Sandra leaned in and gave the crucified Clare a deep french kiss, which elicited an enthusiastic "Errruumpffff!" from Clare. Rightly sensing the Clare was now aroused, Sandra proceeded to lick Clare's face...then her neck...then her arms and forearms...then her tummy...then her thighs...then her calves.
Clare began to moan. Sandra dove in and furiously sucked and licked Clare's nipples, eliciting louder moans from Clare, who gave out even louder moans when Sandra moved down to her clitoris and labia. In fact, Clare was just about to cum when...Sandra's fiendish fingers went to work on her ribcage...then her earlobes.
Clare, despite her agony, burst out into hysterical shrieks of laughter. She managed to force out a "You bitch!", immediately regretting this when Sandra stopped tickling her.
"Now, now, Clare...nice girls don't say words like that...."
Before Clare knew it, Sandra's tongue was devilishly working her anus, the admixture of agony and pleasure so high that Clare's screams were both of pleasure and despair.
Then Sandra went back to licking Clare's nipples and clitoris. Then Sandra went back to fiendishly tickling Clare. This cycle of arousal and tickling went on for what seemed to Clare to be forever.
Then, Clare had the most powerful orgasm she ever experienced, an orgasm so powerful, Clare was left hanging unconscious on the Saint Andrew's Cross afterwards, an orgasm so powerful that it had caused a sympathetic orgasm in Sandra, her panties now soaking.
Eventually, Clare came to. She slowly realised she was lying on comfortable sheets...still stark naked...bound by wrist and ankle to the bedposts. She also realised that she was not alone, neither on the bed or in her nakedness....
"How did you sleep my dear?"
Clare turned towards Sandra's voice. The sight of Sandra's large, well-shaped, olive-skinned bare breasts aroused her.
"Slept..well..."
"Good! I have some news for you. While we were...having fun...my Ministry approved your company's tender. All you have to do is sign the paperwork and, as you Americans say, we are good to go!"
OKAY...good...where are the papers?"
"Ahhh...Clare...the papers are on my desk. Signing them will only take a couple of minutes..."
Clare stared blankly at Sandra.
"Your visa is good for twelve more days...do you really want to rush home so quickly?"
Clare smiled. "No, I guess not."
Clare spent those twelve remaining days exploring for herself, with Sandra's skilled assistance, every manip she had made, every permutation of every story she had posted. When she returned home, Sandra's Minister had composed for her boss such a glowing letter of recommendation and a request that Clare be THE sales representative responsible for the company's Nastarovia contract. The company was so thrilled with the new account that they agreed. They even agreed to pay Clare extra for teenager care on the two weekends out of every month Clare would have to be in Nastarovia, "tending," as it was written on her permanently renewable visa, "to the company's affairs in Nasatrovia at Subcommandante Sandra's facilities."
sambaman
Executioner
nailing from behind is a neat idea
bakerboy
Senator
sambaman
Executioner
Eulalia like...What a nice girl
