("`-''-/").___..--''"`-._
                     `6_ 6  )   `-.  (     ).`-.__.`)
                     (_Y_.)'  ._   )  `._ `. ``-..-'
                    _..`--'_..-_/ /--'_.' ,'
                   ((('   (((-(((''  ((((
                 K R I S T E N' S    C O L L E C T I O N
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		                WARNING!
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This work is copyrighted to the author © 2005.  Please
don't remove the author information or make any changes
to this story.  You may post freely to non-commercial
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Thank you for your consideration.
--------------------------------------------------------

Crucifixion Play
by Bert Hart (berthart@merr.com)

***

Eight people decide to explore the eroticism of no nail 
crucifixion. It's Mona's turn to be suspended, but 
something goes horribly wrong. (MF, bd, orgy)

***

On Saturday night of week three we gather at my 
apartment. Brad and Anne, having already been through 
it, can be trusted to be fair. Brad puts six poker 
chips in a basket and shakes them up. Anne draws. It's 
Mona.
    
"Oh, I can't do it today." she says. "I'm not feeling 
well. I'll do it next week, I'll come early, we won't 
have to choose."
    
It's always best to ignore such outbursts. Three of us 
draw for tasks. Jeremy gets Positioning, Art Scourging. 
I get Succor.
    
Mona turns her back on us as she undresses.
    
"Where is the loincloth?" she asks.
    
"In the bathroom. Be sure to go before you put it on." 
says Anne.
    
I look at Mona's butt as she leaves the room.
    
In a few minutes she comes out. She has medium sized 
white breasts with small pink nipples. We go into the 
smaller bedroom. The cross is on the floor. She lies on 
the bed, face up, trembling. The bed creaks. Art goes 
into the kitchen and puts on the gloves I have placed 
beside the planter. He strips off two leaves and 
returns to the bedroom. He caresses her left breast. 
For a moment she is calm. Then she cries out as the 
tiny nettle hairs drive acid beneath her skin. He 
smoothes her right breast with the other leaf. Now both 
breasts flame pink. Her nipples are erect.
    
Jeremy has her raise her body so he can slide the cross 
underneath. He ties her wrists to the crossbar with 
smooth rope. We don't use nails. He slides the dowels 
holding the foot platforms into the right position. 
Then we all work to raise the cross. Now she hangs, 
some of her weight on her arms, most on her feet which 
she must stretch to reach the supports. She is already 
crying. We fix the cross into its base. We leave and go 
out into the living room, leaving her door open.
    
The conversation is desultory. We listen to her moans 
in the background. When they stop, we look at each 
other. It's not time to take her down, but we go in.
    
Something has gone horribly wrong. She is hanging at an 
odd angle, apparently unconscious. The dowel under her 
right foot has broken off. Her arch is red. More blood 
stains the cross where her foot has scrabbled. I put my 
hands on her waist and push up, relieving the strain on 
her arms. She opens her eyes and groans.
    
Jeremy slices through the ropes. She falls forward 
against me, her useless arms flopping across my 
shoulders. We carry her into the bathroom and seat her 
on the lid of the commode. Dawn goes to the kitchen and 
returns with a sports drink. She has to feed it to Mona 
slowly since she can't hold a glass. I wash off her 
foot, take a look. It seems to be a shallow abrasion. I 
spread antibiotic salve, bandage it. Mona slowly 
recovers, starts to talk, even smiles, relieved.
    
She has been sweating heavily. I take off my clothes 
and turn on the shower. Mona stands up shakily. I grasp 
the Velcro straps on her loincloth and pull. I can 
smell urine as I take it off. The others leave the room 
as I guide her into the shower.
    
I grasp the soap and lave her, top to bottom, back to 
front. At certain times she gasps and quivers. Her 
breasts are still tender. I rinse off the soap and 
salt. She waits while I wash myself. She doesn't offer 
to help. She was shy last week, too.  I help her out of 
the stall and gently towel her dry. She smiles at one 
point, grasps my arm, directs me in a certain way. I 
dry myself and we go out into the living room.
    
They are happy to see her recovery. We all go into the 
master bedroom. There is no cross here, only four 
single beds. I lay Mona down, face up. Her breasts are 
still too tender to touch. I spread her legs and 
prepare her with my fingers, lips, tongue. The others 
have paired up and are removing their clothes. They 
rustle and murmur.
    
When I enter Mona, she speaks my name softly. Soon four 
couples are calling out joyously. We encourage each 
other. I think about the other women. Who will I have 
next week?
    
Afterwards, we rest in each other's arms until the 
others begin to dress. They thank, they praise. I pull 
on some shorts and stand by the door.
    
"Goodbye, goodbye, see you next week." Next week there 
will be only five chips in the basket. 
    
Mona will stay the night. As we drift off, I ask a 
question.
    
"Why did you sign up?"
    
"Because I wanted to see what He went through for us."
    
"But they used nails. It was much, much harder for 
Him."
    
"Yes, I know." she says, apprehensively.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author
does not condone the described behavior in real life.

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Kristen's collection - Directory 40