2 comments/ 84067 views/ 9 favorites Caroline on the Cross By: AubreyWylde Author's Note: This story is one of a series I've been working on. The premise is that there exists a private club, known as the "Villa di Dolore", dedicated to assisting its members in playing out their kinky fantasies. Each of the stories follows a member or members through a scene. A number of the stories have been posted elsewhere under my other pen name of "von Hentzau". And, now that I have your attention, may I mention that my first novel length work, "The Club on Dorado Cay", is available as an e-book from www.bdsmbooks.com. -----Aubrey Wylde * On the morning of the day she had scheduled Caroline presented herself before the Master of Punishments. It was a formality, but for this particular scene that Caroline had arranged, as the Planners had agreed, following a procedure, an appropriate ritual, was important, necessary really if one wanted to achieve the desired effect. So Caroline took her place before the tall judge's bench, the chamber darkened but for the lights that shown down on her and the man who would condemn her. The Master of Punishments, in his black robes, powdered wig and mask, glowered down at her from the ornate judge's bench and pronounced her doom in a booming, bass voice. "You are sentenced to public crucifixion," he bellowed. There was a brief pause before he continued, ominously, "with additional torments to be inflicted at the discretion of the assigned Tormentor. Bailiff, take her into custody and see that the sentence is duly executed." The Bailiff approached, seized Caroline's wrists and cuffed them behind her back. Then the Handler approached, who's job it was in such choreographed scenes to see that the subject was delivered to the appropriate venues. He placed a collar around Caroline's neck, then snapped a leash to it. "So, Caroline," he whispered, "it begins. You remember your safe word? Though I'm sure you won't need it." She nodded in the affirmative. She hoped she wouldn't have to scream or whimper her safe word and thus terminate the scene. She was so self-assured and certain a week ago when she'd sat sipping tea in the Planners' office, discussing the scene she had in mind. She'd become quite turned on as she discussed her fantasies and the Planners had made suggestions for playing them out. But now the time to begin the scene had arrived and she found she was nervous, much more nervous than she had expected to be. The Handler brought Caroline down to the preparation room. There the Preparers took charge of her. She was bathed and, despite the fact that she had shaved earlier that morning, her pussy given another shave so that it was absolutely hairless. Then she was led into a small, darkened room containing only a narrow, bed. She was placed on her back, arms at sides. Straps fastened her wrists and ankles to the frame, feet apart so that her pussy was exposed. One of the Preparers adjusted a volume knob. Music, classical tunes that Caroline had selected, began to play softly. Before they left her one of the Preparers took out a small vibrator and spent a few minutes working it over her breasts and pussy. Then they left her to ponder the ordeal that awaited her. The anticipation was a vital part of the scene. Caroline waited in the dark, trying not to think too hard about the afternoon. Every so often one of the Preparers came in with the vibrator and again applied it to her sensitive areas. But carefully, just enough that Caroline became aroused but not enough to put her over the edge. It was important, the Chief Preparer had told her, that she was in the proper physical state for the ordeal. Lying in the dark she began to think again of those old stories of martyrs she'd heard in Catholic school and of the horrible things done to them by Roman emperors and centurions and various other assorted villains. She dwelt on those stories when she was sexually excited. Or did the stories themselves excite her? She was never quite sure which came first. And did the good Sisters have any notion of the ideas they were putting in her head? Then it was nearly time. In the distance she heard a clock striking 12 noon. The Preparers came in again. She was led to a lavatory and allowed to relieve herself. But her wrists remained bound behind her back and two Preparers carefully made sure that nothing was allowed to release the pent up feelings that made her nipples and clit so sensitive. Done with the necessary tasks Caroline was dressed in a flimsy lace G-string. A sort of shift made of extremely fine, nearly translucent material was slipped over her. It was sleeveless. Beneath her arms it was slit down to the waist. Front and back slits came nearly to her crotch. A thin, white rope secured it around her waist. The garment clung to her form enticingly and when she walked would give quick, tantalizing glimpses of her pale, near naked form. A collar was strapped around her neck, cuffs around her wrists, which were then fastened together behind her back. A leash was snapped to the collar and she was presented to the Handler. The Handler then led her through the lower level corridors of the Villa and out through the slave entrance. The tumbril was waiting there. It was a two wheeled horse cart. But there was no horse. In it place four ponies-for-a-day stood, two male and two female. Each was naked save for leather harness and bridle. Each sported a suitable ponytail mounted on a butt plug. Caroline noticed one of the "stallions" was fully and she suspected a bit painfully erect. She wished she could see what it would look like if he were put into a trot. Well, maybe another time, she thought. She would have to look out for him on future visits to the Villa as a spectator. The sides of the cart had been removed and replaced by two tall poles, one on either side just behind the axle. The Handler and the driver helped Caroline up onto the tumbril. They turned her around, so that she was facing the rear. The cuffs around her wrists were unhooked from each other and, the Handler taking one and the driver the other, her arms were raised and the cuffs hooked high up the poles. Then her legs were spread and the ankle cuffs likewise fastened at the bottoms of the poles. The Handler whispered a warning to her to grasp the chains between cuff and pole to save her wrists. The handler signaled the driver, who whistled and snapped his signal whip against the four bare bottoms, each in turn.. The ponies tightened their grips on the center pole and began to walk slowly, pulling the tumbril over the uneven cobblestones. One of the reasons the Villa employed the antique vehicle for showier events was the rough ride. With each jerk and bounce Caroline's body was jostled, her sensitive breasts joggling in a most appealing manner behind the thin fabric that barely concealed them. But the bobbling was also most uncomfortable. A small crowd of members and guests quickly gathered and followed the tumbril's progress as it turned onto the gravel path to the Villa's Renaissance village, the first stop on her progress to the picnic grounds where Caroline's crucifixion would be enacted. It was not a long ride to the village, along a winding gravel cart track. But the gravel made a rough ride on the unsprung cart. Caroline was glad for the sake of her breasts when they turned in through the gate and came to a stop before the public punishment platform in the center of the village square. But relief, temporarily, for one part of her body only meant other parts were about to be abused. The Master of Punishments had ordered a preliminary torment before the main event. On a fine weekend mid-day such as this the village was quite busy. Weekends always brought out a good showing of members, both those with planned activities and those playing out ad hoc personal scenes, and those who just wanted to spend the day watching the goings on and having a pleasant lunch and a beverage or two and generally marveling at the sexual creativity of their fellows. The village was a good place for this, since it not only had several food and drink facilities but the variety of implements and props found around the village square ensured that there was seldom a lack of entertainment, between arranged scenes, such as Caroline's and couples or small groups taking advantage of the amenities to play out their private scenes in a public venue. A streak of exhibitionism was found among many of the members of the Villa. The driver turned the cart so that Caroline was facing the platform. He'd also positioned it far enough away that Caroline would have to walk through the crowd to get to it. And the crowd was already crowding in around the cart, the driver having to loudly order them to leave a clear avenue between cart and platform repeatedly. The Handler and the driver unfastened Caroline's wrists and ankles and helped her from the cart. Again the wrist cuffs were snapped together behind her back, the leash snapped to her collar. The Handler led her up the steps of the punishment platform, the way lined by a still growing crowd of onlookers. Caroline's ears caught comments from the onlookers. "What a perfect ass." "Absolutely whippable." "Wouldn't you love to take a few strokes at those cheeks." "Such delightful breasts. What's she scheduled for? I hope they won't ignore those lovely boobies." The selected Tormentors now stood waiting before the whipping post that occupied one corner of the punishment platform. Leading Caroline up to them the Handler turned the leash over to the Chief Tormentor. He also produced a small parchment from his belt pouch and handed it to the Chief Tormentor. His duty complete he stepped back to join the crowd and enjoy the show. He had nearly 45 minutes before his next scheduled duty. The Chief Tormentor, identifiable by the small, coiled silver whip hung at his belt, a symbol of office rather than actual tool, she guessed was a member of the Villa staff. His Assistant, a woman dressed in tight leather pants that left little to the imagination and a black jog bra, was probably a member of the Villa, recruited to assist in Caroline's torment. There was never a lack of volunteers to play out a scene such as this. If she'd been a member of the staff she would undoubtedly have a matching leather bra, or perhaps spiked pasties or some similarly exotic attire. The Chief Tormentor handed Caroline's leash to his assistant. He unfolded the parchment and scanned it quickly. Then he turned to the crowd and assumed a suitably magisterial posture, such as the Pontius Pilate or the Sheriff of Nottingham might have assumed when addressing a crowd. "The miscreant you see before you," he said in a booming voice, "one Caroline by name, has been duly sentenced to be taken to the execution grounds, also known to you newcomers as the picnic grounds, there to be crucified. Moreover, the Master of Punishments has decreed, so that she might more fully suffer the pain and humiliation of her fate, that before being taken forth for crucifixion she shall be given a good and proper scourging." There was a cheer from the crowd. There would be a good spectacle today. The assistant undid the rope belt around Caroline's waist. Standing behind her she grasped the cloth at the shoulders of the shift and pulled it up and over Caroline's head in a fluid motion. There were appreciative murmurs from the crowd as Caroline stood before them in only the filmy G-string. The Chief Tormentor and his assistant walked Caroline to the whipping post. He had Caroline stand facing the post, then nudged her forward until her belly was against the polished wood. He unsnapped the leash while his assistant unfastened her wrists, brought her arms around to her front, raised them and hooked the cuffs to a rope dangling from the top of the post. Then the assistant knelt and fastened Caroline's ankle cuffs to a rings set in the base of the post. She stood and began turning a small winch fastened to the opposite side of the post. Caroline felt the slack come out of the rope attached to her wrists. Slowly her arms were stretched upwards until she was standing on the balls of her feet, belly pressed against the post. Just when she thought they intended to take her all the way off the ground the Chief Tormentor signaled enough. Caroline felt his hand stroking her buttocks. Then a mild slap to each followed by alternating, increasingly hard slaps. Then the first real blow from the whip landed. The onlookers cheered as Caroline was driven harder against the post. Another followed, then another, and another in slow succession. The post had thoughtfully been fitted with a polished wooden knob at an appropriate height. With each blow Caroline was driven against the knob, the hard protrusion caressing her mons through the thin fabric of the G-string. In spite of the pain being inflicted on her ass Caroline felt herself becoming more and more aroused. To add to the feeling the assistant had captured her nipples between her fingers and held tightly to them as she jerked from each impact. The Assistant had another duty besides adding torment to Caroline's nipples. She kept a careful watch on Caroline's state. It wouldn't do if Caroline came before she went to the cross. When she sensed that Caroline's arousal had advanced far enough she signaled the Chief Tormentor. The whipping stopped. Caroline's wrists and ankles were freed. With the Tormentor holding one arm and the assistant the other Caroline was led to the center of the platform. She was forced down on one knee. She heard cries of "Make way!" sounding in the crowd and looked up to see two men carrying a rough wooden plank, nearly six feet long. They mounted the platform, ceremoniously carrying the plank around Caroline. She felt them place the bar against her shoulders. She would have to carry it to the crucifixion place. While the two men held the bar in place the Chief Tormentor and his assistant snapped Caroline's wrist cuffs to eye bolts set in the wood. Then they took short leather straps and tied her arms to the bar at each elbow. Finished with these preparations they helped Caroline back to her feet. They left her to stand for a few minutes facing the crowd, head bowed and arms outstretched in a preview of her coming torment. Then, leash again snapped to her collar, she was led down the steps of the punishment platform. The Chief Tormentor led the way, his assistant following with the leash. The two men followed closely behind, helping support the bar lest she slip on the steps. It wouldn't do for her to hurt herself before her crucifixion. Again the crowd parted to form an avenue for them as they crossed from the punishment platform to the village gate. At the gate a dozen people, evenly split between men and women, waited for them in a double line. Each had a short length of quarter inch rope with a sizeable knot tied in the end. Several of the volunteers were twirling their ropes in anticipation. As she passed between the line each person took a swing with their rope. Most aimed a blow at her butt cheeks. A few aimed for her breasts. One managed a low, sweeping stroke that caught Caroline on the mons and made her stagger backwards for a step or two. Passing through the gate of the village the little procession turned right and continued down the gravel path. The Chief Tormentor led the way, followed by Caroline. The assistant walked to one side of and slightly behind Caroline. She had equipped herself with a riding crop which she used periodically to urge Caroline along with light slaps to her butt. The two men who had brought the plank followed along behind, and behind them most of the crowd from the village straggled along. They hadn't gone far before they encountered someone waiting on the side of the path. It was an older man, dressed in leather, someone Caroline recognized as a regular at the villa. In fact, Caroline realized, he was one of the volunteer instructors for a class she had taken. A class in flogging and being flogged. He was holding a signal whip. The little group stopped in front of the man. The two men following Caroline, who now seemed to have taken on official roles in her torment, stepped forward. Each grabbed an end of the crossbar. They turned Caroline until her back was to the man with the whip. Then they raised the crossbar until Caroline was up on tiptoe. She new it was coming but it still surprised her. The first stroke, sharp and stinging, landed on the back of her right thigh. She braced herself for the next. It came quickly, on her left thigh. A third caught her across the shoulder blades. She saw the pattern and wasn't surprised, though she still gave a little yelp, when the fourth stroke cut from right to left across her buttocks. The crossbar was lowered and Caroline was turned back to the direction of travel. The main players took their places and the procession continued. But not for long. They'd only gone a hundred yards or so before they met someone else waiting with a whip. Or rather, a cat o'nine tails. Caroline expected a repeat of the previous handling but instead, after her escorts had grabbed the ends of the crossbar, they forced her down to her knees and then forced her to bend over forwards so that her butt was sticking up. She heard the whirring sound of the cat being swung through the air. The knotted ends raked across her buttocks from to right to left. She heard the whip winding up again. Again the tips raked across her bottom cheeks, this time from left to right. She heard the scuffling of her assailant's feet on the gravel as the woman changed her position. And then the cat was winding up a third time. This time it was brought upwards with an underhanded stroke from directly behind. Caroline jerked and cried out as the tails landed square against her butt, several of them going between her thighs to impact on the thin cloth that covered her pussy. And then, this station completed, Caroline was raised to her feet and once more started down the path to the picnic grounds. They were within sight of the picnic grounds when Caroline saw a third flagellator waiting by the side of the path. She had occasionally seen her at the Villa, though she didn't know the woman's name. She was one you wouldn't forget. Of medium build, with short blond hair, she always wore a mask and not much else. Her costume consisted of a sort of mail loincloth. Her breasts were contained by a bra formed of two brightly polished brass cups, like pieces of antique armor, each with a small, sharp point in the appropriate location for a nipple. The cups were suspended by thin, chrome plated chains. The first time Caroline had seen the "Woman Warrior", as she had named her privately, her first thought was "gosh, that's not something you'd want to put on first thing on a cold winter's morning." The woman warrior was holding a leather strap, about two feet long. She was slapping it lightly against her thigh as she waited for Caroline. This time her escorts stopped her and turned her slightly so that she was facing the woman. They took a firm hold of the crossbar, then each hooked a leg inside Caroline's legs. They spread her legs wide. I see where this is going, Caroline thought, and she braced herself. With a smooth, feline motion the woman warrior brought the strap up with a wide sweeping motion to the side, and then down diagonally, just the tip striking Caroline's left breast, battering it out of the way. The Woman Warrior continued the motion, swinging the strap around and up and then coming down in with a backhanded stroke against Caroline's right breast. She repeated the motion twice more, each a little harder than the previous. Then she paused, a wicked smile showing below the mask. With her arm lowered to her side and just out slightly she began swinging the strap with a circular motion, gaining speed. The circle grew wider as the strap moved faster. Caroline was impressed with the ease and economy of motion with which the Woman Warrior handled the implement even though she feared what was about to happen. Caroline on the Cross With an easy motion the strap swung out low, to the side. It swung away from Caroline then arced around, coming up fast between her legs. The vicious, hard slap on her pussy caused Caroline to throw her butt back and shriek. The crowd found it amusing and laughed and cheered accordingly. The men holding the crossbar waited, helping support Caroline while she recovered. Then they turned her again towards the picnic grounds and released the crossbar. The assistant Tormentor resumed her position behind and to Caroline's left. She gave Caroline's left buttock a light flick with her switch. "Move on, scum," she said, trying to put menace in her voice, but not quite succeeding. Caroline trudged on down the gravel path. She wondered how many more stops there would be before she arrived. Someone had done their homework, or else had had a Catholic upbringing like Caroline's. She tried to remember how many "Stations of the Cross" there had been. Fourteen or fifteen she thought. So it was with a certain relief that as they rounded a small grove of trees she saw the picnic grounds and no more floggers waiting for her. But it was a relief tinged with a certain dread, because she knew the main event was about to start. As she approached the center of the picnic grounds, she saw the cross waiting for her. It was a pretty standard cross, just like the ones that had adorned the classrooms of her Catholic school girlhood. Except of course there was no figure on it. Caroline was about to assume that role. The cross bar was already fastened to it. Caroline had thought the bar that she carried would be used, but now realized it was really just a token. She could see from relative size that to have carried the actual crossbar would have exhausted her. And it lay on the ground. At its foot there was visible the metal lined cement socket that the base would drop into when it was raised. There were a few details she hadn't expected, or even thought about. At an appropriate distance from the crossbar a wooden peg jutted out from the center. It would form a rude seat that she would straddle. There was a Latin name for such a thing, but she couldn't remember what it was at the moment. She had expected a foot rest of some sort, but there was none. Instead there were two eye bolts, one on either side of the upright. The two Tormentors stopped Caroline a few feet from the foot of the cross. The leather straps were removed, then the cuffs unsnapped and the bar removed from her shoulders. Her wrist cuffs were then removed. They walked Caroline up to the cross, then turned her around. They helped her step across the upright and then had her lay down, arms spread. She felt the wooden peg intrude between her thighs, just below her crotch. She felt the surface of the wooden upright against her red and bruised butt cheeks and back. It had been sanded down to remove splinters, but it might as well have been as rough as bark. Again in well practiced unison the Tormentors raised and spread Caroline's arms to the ends of the cross. They guided her hands into a pair a wooden grips. Not authentic, of course, but they would help her survive her ordeal without damage to her wrists. Ropes were then used to lash her wrists to the crossbeam. The Tormentors were careful not to cut off circulation. They stood up and took the few steps towards Caroline's feet. She felt their hands grasp her ankles. The ankle cuffs were removed. On either side of the upright a peg jutted outwards. Another departure from authenticity, but an adaptation for practicality. Caroline's feet were guided to these pegs, then her ankles lashed to the upright. And they were ready for the moment Caroline had been awaiting with a strange, complex mixture of excitement and dread. Ropes were tied to the ends of the crossbar. A dozen of the bystanders were recruited to help. Some grasped the ropes. Six strong men positioned themselves along the crossbar. The Chief Tormentor and his assistant took up positions near the foot of the cross, to guide it into the socket. "Ready?" the Chief Tormentor asked softly. Caroline nodded and braced herself. "On three," the Chief Tormentor called out. "One. Two. Three." Caroline felt the cross start to rise, first with a series of jerky heaves, then in a more fluid motion as the top end came up to a more comfortable lifting level. Slack was taken up in the ropes as the cross came closer to vertical and the men pulling the ropes took more of the load from the men on the crossbar, some of whom were now at the end of their reach. Caroline started to slide down the crossbar. She suddenly realized what was going to happen when the cross dropped into the socket. She tried to push herself up away from the peg, using the ankle cuffs and pressing her insteps against the wood. It did little good. The cross dropped into the socket. It was a good eighteen inches deep. Caroline came down hard on the wooden peg. She responded to the sudden impact of her pussy against the solid wood by arching her back and letting loose a scream that surprise even her. The onlookers responded with scattered laughter and a round of applause. Caroline hung helplessly before the crowd. The way her ankles had been pulled back to the sides of the upright made the peg act as a sort of fulcrum, forcing her torso to lean out away from the cross. Caroline was uncomfortably aware of how the position presented her breasts to the crowd. And the upright holding her legs apart. The dozens of eyes on her nakedness made her desperately want to cross her arms to shield her pendulous breasts, to close her legs and draw her knees up, to shield her pussy, barely hidden by the thin fabric of her G-string and being lasciviously split by the wooden peg, which was of such a length and set at such an angle that it intruded most uncomfortably against her sex. Never had Caroline felt as naked, exposed and vulnerable, even in the number of private scenes she'd previously participated in. The crowd had grown silent while the cross was being raised. A ripple of applause went through the crowd. "They're applauding, they're cheering for my suffering," Caroline thought. "Is this what it was like for a martyr? Looking out over a crowd. A crowd knowing you were in pain and enjoying it, hoping it would last a good long time." Caroline quickly noticed something, the real torment of a crucifixion. Her arms were pulled back and upwards. This made it hard to get a full breath. She shifted this way and that, trying to get in a more comfortable position. There was none. She pushed up with her legs to take the strain off her arms and chest, so she could breath. But she could only do that so long before her legs gave out and needed rest. But her tormentors had more in mind than just passive discomfort. They'd positioned their toy box conveniently close to hand. After Caroline had been hanging on the cross for about ten minutes the Chief Tormentor went to the toy box and returned with a device similar to the picker-uppers sold in hardware stores for reaching cans on the top shelf or picking things up off the ground without bending over. Like those, this one had grabbing jaws on one end of a shaft and a squeeze grip at the other. But this one was modified, with sturdier jaws and a grip designed for a better mechanical advantage. The Chief Tormentor demonstrated the capabilities of the grabber by reaching up and seizing Caroline's right breast. He gave the grip a hard squeeze and the jaws bit down fiercely, squeezing the tender flesh mercilessly. If anyone in the crowd doubted the device's effectiveness Caroline's scream changed their mind. The Chief Tormentor released the offended member. He worked the grip to narrow the gap between the jaws. Then he reached for the nipple of Caroline's left breast. She tried to dodge the threatening jaws but was too restricted to escape. The rubber coated metal closed down on the sensitive brown nub and slowly squeezed it flat. Caroline grimaced and whimpered, the look on her face cause a ripple of laughter to roll through the crowd. Again the Chief Tormentor released his grip. He proffered the device to one of the crowd, a middle aged woman in a skimpy leather outfit. She took it and demonstrated her own ability at inflicting pain on Caroline's vulnerable breasts. Then she passed it to another member of the crowd who took a turn. Half a dozen people assaulted Caroline's bosom before the Chief Tormentor called a halt and she was left again to the passive torments of the cross for a while. But the respite was not to last. The Chief Tormentor and his assistant went to their toy box again and returned with a polished wooden shaft five feet long, like a spear shaft. But instead of a sharp point this spear had a bracket at the end that held what Caroline recognized as a violet wand. The Chief Tormentor turned the device on, then pointed the tip menacingly at Caroline. She watched it approach with trepidation. She'd seen it used, but never had it used on her. The Chief Tormentor approached her, holding the pole like a spear. She could see that the tip of the violet wand was aimed directly at her crotch. She braced herself. But instead of torturing her pussy the Chief Tormentor at the last moment pulled away slightly. The tip of the wand moved slowly up her body, not quite close enough for the spark to jump to her skin, towards her breasts. He menaced first one, then the other. Back and forth he went, twice, three times. She watched the clear plastic tip hovering a bare inch above her skin and wondered how close it would have to come. He traced a path downwards now, back towards her mound. He hovered threateningly for a few long moments. Then He moved back up towards her navel and gave her a light tap with the tip of the wand. She screamed, only partly in surprise, and the muscles of her belly went into a quick involuntary spasm. She felt as if a dozen fire ants had chosen that one particular spot to simultaneously bite and sting her. The Chief Tormentor, a wicked grin on his face at the response he'd elicited, began moving the wand again. "Bastard!" Caroline thought. "He did that so I'd know how nasty that thing is, so I'll be even more afraid when he goes for my tits. Or my pussy." Sure enough, the Chief Tormentor was now threatening her breasts, moving back and forth from one to the other. Caroline watched the translucent plastic tip go from nipple to nipple and braced herself. But even having braced herself she screamed and jerked away when the tip touched her left nipple. Those damned fire ants were at it again, only it seemed like even more of them had joined the party. Again the Chief Tormentor began his sadistic tease. Back and forth from nipple to nipple. Twice, three times. Then he suddenly dropped the tip. Caroline twisted as best she could to try and shield her pussy. The thin fabric of the G-string, sodden as it was, she knew would be no protection. The Chief Tormentor laughed at her efforts to evade the device. He made as if to go for her right breast, but suddenly changed direction and slipped the tip of the wand between her thighs. Caroline straightened her legs and arched her body and strained at her bindings with all the strength she had. She was surprised she didn't break free and fall off the cross. Then she slumped back, heart pounding and so pumped with adrenalin that the fact that her weight was resting almost entirely and most uncomfortably on the wooden peg barely registered. She watched the Chief Tormentor in fearful anticipation of his continuing with the violet wand. She was relieved when she saw him start to disassemble it and stow it in his toy box. Having done so he and his assistant took up position to either side, letting the cross work its own passive torment on her for a while. After an eternity Caroline saw two men from the crowd bringing a 2x6 forward. The center section had been reinforced and two long bolts protruded form it. The stopped in front of the cross and fitted the 2x6 to it at about her foot level. The bolts slid through two matching holes in the upright. Once the new crossbar had been solidly fastened the Chief Tormentor and his assistant unfastened Caroline's ankles from the cross. They brought her legs around and spread them as far as they would go, placing her feet on the cross bar and hooking her ankle cuffs in place. With Caroline's weight off the wooden peg they were able to pull it out, granting her some relief from it's constant pressure against her sensitive crotch. Then they undid the ties at either side and removed her sodden G-string. Even though the spread position was uncomfortable at least Caroline no longer suffered from as much strain on her arms and shoulders. She breathed comfortably for the first time in what seemed like hours. But then she felt something going on at the small of her back. Her Tormentors were fitting a sort of bolster to the cross, a thick pad that forced her belly forward. They made some minor adjustment, sliding it downwards so that it was positioned lower, between the small of her back and her buttocks. The significance was not lost on Caroline. Where her previous position had presented her breasts to the crowd her new position thrust her hips forward. With legs spread her naked, vulnerable sex was fully exposed to the crowd, exposed and defenseless against what her tormentors might want to do to it. And it wasn't long before they let her know what she was in for. The Chief Tormentor took up a position in front and slightly to the right of Caroline. In his hand was a signal whip. Wide eyed she watched him draw back. Then the leather snapper was coming for her. Her senses heightened by fear and adrenalin the vicious leather tip seemed to travel almost in slow motion. The tip came at her, like a snake striking. With a sharp sting it landed against her mons, just above her crack. The Chief Tormentor allowed the wave of pain to subside. Then her began working the whip again, back and forth. It struck out again, this time catching her left breast, just below the nipple. More prepared this time she managed to strangle the cry that wanted to escape. Helpless on the cross, unable to escape the lash, the only form of resistance she had was to deny her tormentors the pleasure of hearing her scream. Again the Chief Tormentor waited before setting the whip in motion again. Then the whip was again flying back and forth in the air before her, preparing to strike again. This time the tip slashed against her right breast, dead on this time, punishing the already sore nipple even more. Twice more the Chief Tormentor demonstrated his skill, again punishing her mound. Caroline was no longer trying to remain stoically silent now. She screamed as each stroke hit home. The Chief Tormentor coiled the whip. He turned to his assistant. "How would you like to do the honors?" he asked. "With pleasure," she replied. Caroline wondered what the assistant's pleasure would be. The woman stepped quickly over to where the tormentors had stashed their supplies and returned with a step stool. Then she went to the small equipment case they'd brought with them and returned with a pair of clover clamps. Caroline had seen them before, seen them used, but had never had them used on her before. The assistant returned and stood before Caroline. She reached up and place one of the clamps on each of Caroline's lower lips. She gave each a tug to insure they were secure. Caroline winced at each. Then the woman reached into the pouch at her belt and produced a small lead fishing weight. She hooked it on one of the clamp and let it hang freely. Caroline was surprised at how much difference such a small weight could make on the level of discomfort the clamp inflicted on her pussy lip. The weight made the jaws of the clamp bite down even harder. The Assistant played with the weight for a minute or so, making it swing back and forth with her finger, tugging on it. Pleased with the reaction she was getting she produced a second weight and applied it to the other lip. She made it swing too. Then she tried making them swing in unison. The effect of both lips being pulled back and forth together was quite unusual, painful but also stimulating in a strange sort of way, not the least of which was the thought of all the strangers staring at her crotch, observing how her lower lips were being distended, stretched, being made into lewd playthings. In a minute or two the assistant stepped down and left the weights and clamps to apply their own steady torment. And presently Caroline became accustomed to the discomfort. But then the assistant returned, to add even heavier weights. Again she spent a few minutes playing with them before she left Caroline A third round of weights followed, but this time after they'd been left on for a few minutes the Chief Tormentor signaled to his assistant. She removed the weights and then the clamps. Instantly, at the places where the metal jaws had compressed her labia, Caroline felt the sensation of pins and needles being driven into her flesh, the result of blood rushing back in. The assistant immediately began massaging Caroline's labia, though Caroline suspected it was less from kindness than taking advantage of her helplessness. The woman strayed from her labia to fondle Caroline's clit and work fingers into her vagina. When she was done she made a show of wiping her fingers on Caroline's thighs, to the amusement of the crowd. A new phase of Caroline's torment now began. The Chief Tormentor brought out a large, ornate wood framed hourglass, though the amount of sand in it was clearly less than needed for an hour. His assistant brought out a wide tipped riding crop. The Chief Tormentor selected a member of the crowd, a youngish woman dressed more like a tourist than a fetishist. He handed her the riding crop. "When I give the signal, you get three strokes at her," he said. "No more. Then pass the crop on to someone else. Clear?" The woman nodded and took up a position in front of Caroline, swatting the crop likely against the palm of her free hand. The Chief Tormentor Turned the hourglass over. He, and Caroline, watched the sand pour through. It emptied in three or four minutes. "Now," said the Chief Tormentor. The young woman may have been dressed like a tourist but she swung like a leather clad domme. Three strokes in quick succession, hard strokes, one to each breast and a final swing at Caroline's mons. Then she turned around and handed the crop to an older man. He took position and was about to swing when the Chief Tormentor stopped him. "Wait for the hourglass, please," the Chief Tormentor said firmly. The man stepped back, embarrassed at misunderstanding the procedure. When the sand ran out and it was time he stepped up again. He first lightly caressed Caroline's left nipple, then gave it a light slap. Then a slightly harder slap. And then seriously harder slap that brought tears to Caroline's eyes. And they weren't to be the last tears of the afternoon. Each time the sand ran out of the hourglass a new assailant stepped forward. Some gave playful blows, others hard, full arm strokes. Many went for the obvious targets, which soon became red, but others aimed for the less obvious or less accessible, inner thighs and buttocks. It soon all began to blur into an unending stream of torment. Then Caroline, gazing over the crowd to take her mind off the torment noticed something that distracted her. A face in the crowd that seemed somehow familiar. Caroline looked again. It was an older woman, probably in her mid-fifties. It was a strong featured face, lined now but when younger might have been described as handsome rather than beautiful. Attractive, possibly, in a Katherine Hepburnish sort of way. The hair was cropped short, barely an inch, mixed gray and brown. The crowd shifted slightly, allowing Caroline to see the rest of the woman. She wore only flip-flops and a strip of plain white cotton cloth wrapped around her mid-section South Sea islander style. It covered her from low on her hips to above mid-thigh, exposing most of her slender, pale-white figure. Where the ends of the cloth overlapped on her left hip a strip of skin flashed as she walked. The white skin contrasted sharply with a number of fresh red welts on thigh, belly and breast. Caroline on the Cross Caroline noticed the breasts particularly. They were of moderate size, a comfortable B cup and riding lower than they once would have, but not by that much and they were still shapely. What caught Caroline's eye were the ornaments. From each ringed nipple depended a crucifix, perhaps an inch across by two inches long and obviously rather heavy for their size. They jerked and bobbled noticeably when the woman moved. Caroline wondered where she might have seen her before. She lowered her head and closed her eyes, intent on enduring her torment. A few moments later she felt someone paying attention to her breasts. A light, sensual stroke on each, followed by a harder slap. She opened her eyes and looked at the face that was now only a few feet away from her. It was the woman with the crucifixes dangling from her nipples. She was alternately stroking and then lightly slapping Caroline's breasts with the crop. Suddenly Caroline recognized who she was. "Sister Emma!" she managed to croak out in her surprise. The woman gave her a particularly stinging blow to her right nipple, then shushed her. "Remember, um, Caroline," she said softly but sternly, "no real names here. Here I'm Saint Catherine. Or Saint Catherine of the Lash if you prefer it in full. Oh, don't look so surprised! They do let us out of the convent now and then, you know. To visit our families and take care of other, ah, shall we say personal affairs." She gave Caroline's breasts a few more light strokes. Then she used the tip of the crop to trace the lines of her body, always ending up at Caroline's crotch. "My, but you've become a fine young woman. I always thought you would. I used to guess how my sixth-graders would develop you know. Which ugly ducklings would become swans, which young swans would turn into old ducks. And which young innocents would grow to be not so innocent. You surprised me there. I hadn't noticed you taking so much interest in those delightful virgin martyr stories. "Well, I'd like to stay and watch you some more, but I'm due for some chastisement. Getting now, giving later this afternoon. By the way, don't be surprised if you see another familiar face from your school days. Here she's known as Saint Agatha. If you remember your martyr stories you can guess her specialty." Saint Catherine gave one of her own breasts a hard squeeze and a twist. Then she turned to leave, handing the crop to another bystander. She turned and winked at Caroline. "We must get together some time, dear. Oh, and I'll be sure to bring my ruler." Caroline watched her walk away, still so surprised that she barely noticed that someone else had claimed the crop and was delivering a stinging blow to her left breast. And so it continued. For a time Caroline tried to work out how much longer she had to endure her torture, guessing at how much time had passed. It gave her mind something to do while members of the crowd periodically tormented her body. In a real crucifixion, she knew from her studies, a healthy victim might last three days or more. The Planners had set hers at a mere three hours. But the three hours were beginning to seem interminable. What could it have been like to spend a day, two days, three days on a real cross? "OK, it's time," Caroline heard the Chief Tormentor say to his assistant. "That's three hours. Let's finish her." A strange mix of emotions ran through Caroline. There was relief. It would be over soon, There was a certain sense of triumph. She had survived. She had held out. She had taken all the torments they gave her and not broken. She wanted to cry out in elation and pride. And something else. Now that the end was in sight she no longer had to repress the sexual tension that had been growing in her since that morning in the darkened room. The mix of her fantasy with the scene, her exposure and the torments, mostly to her sexual regions, had left her more aroused than she'd ever been before. Somehow the pain had been replaced by growing, explosive need for release. The Chief Tormentor armed himself with a pole. A thick dildo was mounted on the end of it. He flicked a small switch on the shaft. Caroline heard, faintly, the hum of a vibrator. He approached her, the dildo spear held like a weapon across his body. "Finish me," she whispered. "Finish me!" He raised it towards her, at an angle that left no doubt where he planned to go with it. As the pink intruder approached she stretched her body towards it, thrust her belly as far forward as her bounds would allow as if to engulf it. But he denied it to her. Just a light touch with the very tip at the spot where her slit began and then he withdrew it. He did it again, and then once more, teasing her with the sensation. She stretched even further against her bonds, wiggling and thrusting her hips lasciviously, trying to impale herself on the pink phallic spear point. Distantly she heard the sound of the crowd, but in her concentration it came through as a distant murmuring. "Pretty lively for three hours on the cross" she heard someone say. Finally the Chief Tormentor relented. He thrust his vibrator spear home and began working it gently up and down. Caroline was less gentle in her motions. Within moments she experienced a climax like she'd never had before. And she vocalized like she never had before. "I bet they heard that all the way out to the country road," an onlooker observed. The first orgasm was followed by another of slightly lesser intensity, and then still another and another until finally Caroline hung limp, totally spent, in her bonds. She may or may not have heard the applause of the crowd as the Chief Tormentor recruited a half dozen helpers to lower the cross to the ground. Caroline was released and wrapped in a fluffy white bath robe. Several women from the crowd volunteered to cradle her while they waited for the electric cart that would take her back to the Villa, a warm bath, a massage and reality. The End (for now)