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The Whole Weekend
by Wendy Hard (hrnd.ndww@yahoo.com)

***

When Felicity fell for Michael, she realized that her 
passion for bondage would have to be placed on hold. 
Then, to her surprise Michael agreed to her going to a 
bondage meeting, where she ended up being crucified. 
(M+/F, exh, tor, bd)

***

Falling in love with a man who wasn't interested in 
bondage ruined everything, as far as I was concerned.

Several of the male members of the bondage group I 
belonged to for years showed their overt interest in me 
but, although I loved being tied up by them, I had no 
interest in marrying them. In fact, I had no interest 
in marrying at all - until I met Michael.

Now Michael came to the house one day to see my father. 
A tall, slender, but powerfully built young man, 
dressed correctly in a suit with light shirt and 
discretely striped tie. In fact, he epitomized the very 
opposite of the activities I eagerly engaged in some 
evenings and most weekends. In fact, whenever the 
opportunity presented itself.

He asked me out. Why wouldn't he? It was the done thing 
to politely ask out the daughter of the senior partner. 
And, as a lawyer specializing in international 
copyright law, he knew all the correct moves.

I behaved formally too, something which came naturally 
to me, and the first outing passed off well enough. We 
both maintained our correct distance. It was all very 
proper.

However, that night, I awoke from a strangely involved 
dream, feeling that something had happened deep within 
me. Now, this wasn't the first time this had happened. 
It had happened the first time some boys tied me up at 
school, which I hated, only to decide during the night 
that I liked being tied up. And then followed a 
rewarding life which was heavily punctuated with 
bondage and BDSM.

I was in danger of falling in love with Michael! If 
he'd been one of the members of our group, I wouldn't 
have had any worries. But Michael wasn't. He was an 
extremely uptight lawyer who, I knew instinctively, 
would go off the deep end if I as much a breathed a 
word about bondage or BDSM.

He asked me out frequently after that, and I accepted 
his invitations willingly. I loved being with him. We 
seemed just made for each other.

Except for this one thing. And that threatened the 
whole relationship.

Some evenings and weekends I pleaded a prior engagement 
and was so unable to see Michael. And I hated the way I 
had to be vague about where I went. I know this hurt 
him as he was always particularly open with me.

In the end, I stopped going to the meetings altogether, 
telling myself that they belonged to a former part of 
my life, now over. But I couldn't help feeling that 
something essential had been torn from my very soul. 
Part of me suffered from a painful emptiness.

I devoted myself to Michael and, to cut a long story 
short, we got married.

I think he sensed that there was something I was 
keeping from him, but he never asked me directly. That, 
of course, was the way of him. He let people tell him 
things in their own time, whereupon they invariably 
said more than they intended to. It was a particularly 
clever form of questioning which some lawyers 
specialized in.

Several members of the group asked me about Michael's 
attitude to bondage, and I was forced to admit to them 
that I'd never told him. They asked me why not, and I 
was forced to admit that I was scared of his reaction.

As I say, Michael never pressed me. Until one night, 
when we were making love, a time when I fondly held 
memories of my bondage experiences in my mind. In fact, 
I had developed a rich fantasy life this way.

Michael thrust into me and I was fantasizing as usual, 
when he suddenly remained still. He stayed inside me, 
but quietly said, "This would be a good time to tell me 
about it, Felicity."

He normally called me Fel, only reserving my full name 
for special occasions.

I did my best to remain silent, but the closeness of 
him, and his urgent presence within me, and what had 
just been going through my mind, caused me to blurt out 
what I had been hiding from him all this time.

By saying only a few words, he got me to tell me all 
about it, the group, my love of being tied up, what I'd 
had done to me sometimes - all of it. And, all the 
time, he gently moved within me, preserving my emotions 
at fever pitch.

When I'd finished, and my very soul was laid bare 
before him, not having interrupted me once, he finished 
making love to me as though nothing had happened. But, 
instead of rolling off me, he stayed where he was, with 
me trapped under him, and his penis still lurking 
inside me.

"I think you ought to resume attending these meetings," 
he murmured softly in my ear. But his voice held that 
note of resolve that I knew so well.

"But..." I stammered.

"I know you want to," he persisted, "so I want you to."

But it was a lopsided sort of logic wasn't it, I 
reasoned. "I couldn't," I demurred. 

"I would like you to," he persisted. "In fact, I insist 
you do. For if your life is complete again, as it was 
when I first met you, you will again be the relaxed 
young girl I married. And I want her back again, you 
know."

***

After some ineffective objections on my part, I finally 
gave in, and I found myself at one of the group's 
meetings, and I had, without giving myself time to 
consider what I was doing, volunteered to be crucified.

Suddenly, I felt very alone. Although I was surrounded 
by all the members of the group, who were considering 
the events closely, and the air was thick with 
unresolved tension, and all attention was fastened upon 
me like a totally enveloping mantle, I felt the 
solitariness as I never had before.

If Michael had agreed to come with me, I would have 
been different but, even though he'd insisted on coming 
this evening, he insisted this was my activity, not 
his, as he put it.

This was a new feeling for me. I had never felt 
anything even remotely like this before. Normally, I 
felt apprehensive, nervous and, sometimes, lightly 
fearful, and accepted that as part of the normal parcel 
of events, but now I felt frightened, but something 
more, something I couldn't begin to understand.

The evening had started normally enough, with several 
volunteers trussed in restrictive positions, and one 
girl had been tied up, then buried up to her chin in 
the sand pit. But we had now come to the main event. 
This was something special, the high point of the 
evening. And this was completely new territory for me. 
Nor had I prepared myself mentally for this paricularly 
cruel ordeal.

I stood there as naked as the day I was born as the 
group hushed as though someone had given the command to 
do so. But no one had. Perhaps I was picking up their 
feelings, or they were picking up mine? 

I looked fearfully down on the wooden cross that lay 
flat on the grass before me, its upright extending away 
from me like a narrow pathway yet untraveled, its 
crossbar mutely beckoning to my surrender, to my 
relinquishing myself to what was possibly one of the 
worst tortures ever dreamt up by mankind.

I fought to calm the frantic hammering of my heart. I 
forced myself to remain calm - outwardly, at least - 
for I had volunteered for this. It hadn't really been 
my turn, but I'd wanted to prove myself, to stretch my 
boundaries, to give this offering of myself to the 
members of the group who had been my friends for so 
long now. And, in a way, to punish my new husband for 
still maintaining his sense of remoteness towards my 
favorite activity.

The people who surrounded me waited patiently. This was 
all part of the careful unfolding of the drama. Nothing 
was ever hurried. That was the way of them. There had 
to be some sort of ceremony - even though it was just 
implied. Other than the stirring of the leaves in the 
trees above me, there was no sound.

I swallowed hard. Suddenly I wanted to get it over and 
done with. But another part of me desperately wanted to 
run away, to escape the very ordeal I had volunteered 
for. But I wouldn't back out now. I had to do this.

I glanced round, just as a small group of men 
approached me carrying ropes. My nakedness suddenly 
provided me with no protection at all.

My heart stopped for a moment in time. My vision seemed 
to go totally inwards. There was only me - and them.

One of them asked me if I was all right, if I was 
ready.

I nodded, silently confirming that I was. I glanced 
down at the widely spreadeagled naked figure of my best 
friend, Monica, who was pegged out on the ground before 
me. For someone, who the group decided was suitable, 
was always secured in some way at the foot of the 
cross. It was some sort of symbolism which the group 
considered important. Monica would have a worm's eye 
view of me when I was hoisted up on that cross. I 
suppressed an involuntary shudder at the thought.

We exchanged glances. Monica's was one of sympathy, 
mine was suffused with abject terror. I had to forcibly 
remind myself that I had volunteered for this. It 
wasn't even my turn.

I was motioned forward. It was a silent gesture that 
was full of finality.

I walked forward, dreading every step I took, until I 
was close to the cross, my bare foot almost touching 
its smooth wooden surface. Somehow - I don't know how 
as I was absolutely petrified now - I got myself on my 
back on the upright and meekly spread my arms along 
that sun-warmed crossbar.

But nothing happened for what seemed a long while. I 
felt my body pressing against the smooth wood of that 
cross, knowing that it would be virtually part of me 
until this was finally over. What was happening, I 
wondered. Had they decided not to crucify me after all?

And then I realized that they were merely doing what 
they always did. They liked to take everything slowly, 
deliberately slowly, so that everyone could savor the 
event to the full.

But being made to wait like this made me desperately 
want to scramble away from the timber of this cross 
which, even now was chafing against the tender flesh of 
my buttocks and back. I wanted to tell them that I had 
changed my mind, but I wouldn't allow myself to do 
this. I had seen others refuse tasks at the last 
moment, and they were accepted back into the arms of 
the group without question, with compassion, with total 
understanding, but the disappointment had always hung 
heavy over the gathering for the rest of that day. I 
never wanted that to happen to me. I didn't think I 
could live with the sense of failure I would suffer.

Then without warning, two men firmly lashed my wrists 
to the cross bar, rendering me helpless. Long ago, the 
members of the group had decided that to use nails, as 
the Romans did, would be impracticable, so soft rope 
was always used instead.

Fate took hold of me at that moment and I became 
utterly resigned to whatever distress I would suffer. 
This was this point, when the first tie was made, that 
you realized that you would be utterly helpless and at 
the group's mercy until they decided to release you. 
You had no say in what happened to you, or how long it 
would be before you were able to move about normally 
again. All reality was immediately suspended. It was a 
fearful moment, one of no return. It was like plunging 
headfirst into a deep hole, not having any idea where 
the bottom was.

And I'd heard other girls who had been crucified by the 
group say afterwards that the experience had been 
utterly mind-blowing, deliberately choosing to recall 
only the good part of the experience, not the bad.

I glanced up at the sky, and at the tree branches 
waving heedlessly overhead. It was a moment of total 
surrender.

I felt them adjusting a tapered block under my feet 
which would hold part of my weight. I was surprised to 
find that it was higher up that I had thought it would 
be. I had expected it to be positioned so that I get my 
legs straight to support my weight, but I now 
understood it wouldn't be like that at all. They tied 
my ankles together and lashed them to the upright of 
the cross so that my feet wouldn't slip off the block 
and allow me to hang suspended by my wrists alone.

I had seen it done to other girls, who always appeared 
to accept what was happening to them with equanimity, 
so knew the routine. I had no idea if I appeared 
accepting of the situation, as most of them had done, 
for I felt numb with terror.

"All right?" one of them asked me.

I nodded again. I couldn't still my breathing 
sufficiently to stammer anything just then.

I felt the cross being lifted up, being carried a short 
distance to prepared slot in the ground, lifted up, 
then lowered gently into it, and firmly fixed, upright.

Even though it had been lowered carefully, I still felt 
the jolt in my arms and shoulders, which suddenly felt 
they were being slowly torn apart.

I tried to press down with my feet in order to take the 
strain off my arms, but couldn't as my knees were 
slightly bent. I couldn't get my legs straight at all. 
I now understood the careful positioning of the block. 
It was designed to make my suffering worse. All I could 
do was to let myself swing forward slightly, making me 
feel that I was hanging in space.

I opened my eyes. I didn't realize until then that I'd 
had them firmly clasped shut until that moment. I 
glanced down at Monica, and she smiled a silent message 
of support to me. I tried to respond in like manner, 
but found myself gritting my teeth in response to the 
raging discomfort that now suffused my whole body.

I wondered if Monica's husband had given his permission 
for her to be pack raped again this time. It had been 
an incredible thing to watch last time, with the girls 
encouraging their menfolk to plunder the helplessly 
spreadeagled young woman's body.

Although I wasn't really very far off the ground, it 
suddenly seemed very high up - amongst the lower 
branches of the surrounding trees, in fact. I was again 
painfully aware of my nakedness. Normally, this didn't 
bother me, for we were nearly always naked when tied 
up, this being part of the notion of total surrender, 
but I was so unnaturally exposed. I moved my knees from 
one side to the other, and then opened them wide apart, 
in something which, it seemed, was called the dance of 
death, but no position had any affect on the strain on 
my shoulders. And when I opened my knees, I only 
exposed my nakedness to the watchers beneath me even 
more.

However much I moved, I couldn't find release from the 
pain. Pain had become my total world. There was nothing 
else. And each agonized movement on my part brought 
forth an echoing intake of the group beneath me.

I hung there. There simply wasn't anything else I could 
do.

Murmuring from the group drifted up to me. I could 
imagine them discussing how long I would suffer this. 
Although I had been tied up for lengthy periods in the 
past, and enjoyed it, this, I quickly realized, was a 
totally different ball game. Three hours in a tight hog 
tie was par for the course as far as I was concerned, 
for a certain sort of comfort level was quickly reached 
once the limbs had fallen asleep, I had frequently 
slept all night, tied up, and I loved spending several 
hours wrapped up tight, as a mummy, utterly motionless. 

I even put up with being crammed into a padded wooden 
box for a while. I don't like it, or wearing a 
straightjacket. I prefer being trussed up so tight I 
cannot move. I find the utter helplessness a great 
turn-on. But being able to move a bit, whilst feeling 
trapped I hate, finding it unpleasantly claustrophobic. 
But I endured these things because it gave others 
pleasure. That was important to all of us 'victims'.

But this, I immediately sensed, would never attain any 
comfort level. This, was torture to end all tortures.

I had imagined that this would be rather like being 
pegged out widely spreadeagled, totally naked on the 
grass, as Monica was now, something I loved, 
particularly when left alone for long periods so that I 
could let my thoughts wander at will, but this was 
nothing even remotely like that, for I couldn't relax. 
I couldn't find any comfortable position. I couldn't 
let my mind drift contentedly, as I always did when 
restrained for lengthy periods. This was an ever-
constant present, which had no possible way out.

At first, I thought the moaning I could hear was from 
the trees that surrounded the clearing, but then I 
realized I was making the noise, quite involuntarily. 
To my horror, I also realized I was crying silent 
tears.

"Are you all right?" called up to me.

I replied that I was, having to gasp for breath with 
the effort of having to shape words.

I continued to move slowly, endlessly endeavoring to 
relieve the strain on my muscles, even if for a moment, 
but nothing lessened the all-over agony. I began to let 
myself slump forward, letting my head hang down, as I'd 
seen other crucified girls do, and began to surrender 
myself to the inevitability of endlessly worsening 
agony. 

And being high up among the trees gave me a feeling of 
incredible isolation. I felt so alone, uncared-for, 
rejected. Normally, when you simply tied up, or even 
when you were deliberately tortured in some ingenious 
way, you were closely surrounded by the members of the 
group, and you felt them feeling for you. You received 
immediate loving feedback. For whatever they did to 
you, it was always done thoughtfully, lovingly. There 
was never any deliberate cruelty. The group wouldn't 
stand for that for a moment.

But now, I felt absolutely alone. Alone with my misery. 
Devoid of any pleasant thoughts.

This wasn't anything like the pain of the normal 
tortures the group practiced. When suffering those, it 
was relatively easy to accept the pain, live with it 
whilst it endured, and let it wash over you like the 
relentless waves of a mighty sea. And, after a while, 
it became a clamorous background to meditative 
thoughts, eventually receding until it was nothing more 
than a backcloth against which random thoughts were 
impressed. For, in some strange way, even though you 
were suffering physically, your mind rejoiced in the 
pleasure your sufferings were giving others.

I had, in that way, suffered quite lengthy periods of 
having my arms pulled up behind my back, and being 
suspended and stretched in various painful ways. And I 
always came back for more, volunteering another day for 
it to be done to me yet again. There was a small group 
of us girls who where always ready to be the group's 
victim. And, for some reason, the group always used 
that somewhat graphic language in their own particular 
way.

I felt proud of the fact that I had survived being 
extremely tightly hogtied and lashed down to a table so 
that any movement was impossible, then having 
particularly cruel clips fastened to my sensitive 
nipples, and a huge bum plug and an equally massive 
dildo forced into me. And I had stayed like that all 
one long day, to the approbation of the group, and the 
envy of the other girls, who were yet unable to emulate 
this feat. I hoped to have it done to me again soon as 
I'd felt so utterly controlled. It was wonderful!

I had even begun to enjoy being spanked. Here, the 
victim was stripped naked and securely lashed face-down 
on a wooden bench so that her bare buttocks could be 
mercilessly punished. One of the other girls simply 
loved this right from the beginning for some reason. I 
hated it to start with but, after a while, my body 
began to translate the slashes of pain into barbs of 
intense sexual desire, and I learnt also to relax and 
enjoy a good cry. I also realized that a couple of the 
men really needed this form of release and decided to 
quickly accede to their request when asked. I never 
once regretted my decision, even though I had usually 
had to sit on a cushion for a few days afterwards!

It was all because I had learnt to accept the pain and 
make it part of me, then thrusting in into the 
background of my consciousness and letting my mind 
wander deep into voluntary meditation, that I was able 
to suffer lengthy periods of being totally restrained. 
When left alone, so that there was no immediate 
emotional feedback from the members of the group, I 
sometimes had unpleasant thoughts fill my mind but, 
mostly, I enjoyed happy, and sometimes incredibly 
bizarre, ones. Either way, the experience, I found, was 
inevitably emotionally satisfying.

I knew that no such acceptance was going to be possible 
today, and I dearly wanted to survive for a reasonable 
time before begging to be taken down, so decided to 
think actively about something, knowing that the group 
would be enjoying every moment of my suffering, as they 
always did. So I mad up my mind to survive for them.

And what better time than to go over in my mind how I 
had become involved with bondage and this group in the 
first place.

It had all started one day after school. 

Several of my friends had told me how a group of older 
boys had grabbed them, one at a time, after school and 
had tied them up for a while. Some hated it, whilst 
some enjoyed it, looking upon it as a harmless bit of 
fun, and rejoicing in being selected to be noticed in 
this rather special way by a group of senior boys.

It had never happened to me, and I made sure to leave 
the school directly the afternoon session was over, to 
avoid it ever happening to me.

But, one fateful day, I wasn't quick enough. They 
grabbed me as I walked round the side of the science 
block, and half carried me, protesting loudly, to a 
concealed corner of the school grounds were all sorts 
of elicit activities were alleged to take place.

I knew what was going to happen to me, of course, and 
resisted with every atom of my strength, something the 
boys seemed to enjoy, and scoffed about openly, for I 
was easily overcome by their sheer force of numbers.

I was ignominiously thrust to the ground, my arms 
pulled behind my back and, within moments, I was 
securely hogtied by the clearly experienced group. I 
desperately wanted to be let go, but my pride refused 
to let me beg them. I remained silent and still. And 
when they flicked my short skirt up, revealing part of 
my panties to their enraptured gaze, as the other girls 
said they always did, I decided not to take their 
advice and wriggle my helpless body so that it fell 
back in place again, and simply let them drink their 
fill of my partial nakedness. I knew that such 
obstinacy could get my into trouble on occasion, but 
couldn't care less about that at that moment.

They stood around, clearly admiring their handiwork, 
and when they finally released me, I fled the scene, 
resolving never to be caught like that again. I was 
furious with them, and myself for being caught like 
that. I had hated every moment of it.

That night, I went to my room early, pleading a 
headache. My parents offered their sympathy, realizing 
I was upset about something but, wisely, leaving it to 
their daughter to sort out in her own way.

During the night, I awoke suddenly, my mind befuddled 
by a confused dream. And, as I thought about it, I 
began to be aware that, in a way, I hadn't really 
minded being tied up like that. In fact, my body now 
actually warmed to the idea. It was simply that they 
hadn't asked me first. I hadn't been given the 
opportunity to agree to their request. And, with the 
realization, the active admission, I realized I would 
actually like it to happen to me again. I'd liked the 
feeling of helplessness. Part of me felt shocked by 
that decision, but my mind and body were clearly making 
that decision for me, and I had no say in the matter. 
The word 'inevitability' came into my mind out of 
nowhere.

I determined that if they decided to grab me again - 
and part of me hoped they would - I wouldn't resist 
them, nor would I spoil it for myself next time by 
hating it. I would, in fact, give myself permission to 
enjoy it, as they clearly were. It was, I realized, a 
sort of emotional two-way street.

And, I found myself promising myself that I would never 
resist them in any way in future, I would never utter 
the word 'no' and would meekly accept whatever they 
decided to do to me - and would give myself permission 
to enjoy it.

Other girls took this path, so why shouldn't I?

I fell asleep, perfectly relaxed now, and was bright 
and early for school the following morning.

"Your headache gone, dear?" my mother asked me.

I agreed that it was - in more ways than one!

After school, I deliberately loitered. And was grabbed 
again. This time, I didn't resist, I didn't beg them to 
let me go, but went along with them meekly, willingly.

Of course, they immediately sensed my change of mood, 
and openly showed their pleasure. They quickly had me 
hogtied again, but making the knots much more secure 
this time. I was completely at their mercy! 

It was, in a strangely disturbing way, a really lovely 
feeling. I quickly found myself becoming as sexually 
inflamed as the boys were. The glimmer of fear at being 
helpless was incredibly stimulating, whilst the 
inability to move was utterly mind-blowing. It was a 
wonderful experience. I loved it immediately!

The corner of my skirt was flicked up again, seemingly 
by accident and, realizing I wasn't going to object, 
they lifted my whole skirt up, revealing me from the 
waist down. I was pleased that I had worn my sexiest 
panties - the ones which my mother warned me not to let 
me father see. The breeze against my bare skin set all 
of my nerve endings thrilling. I knew that I would 
always remember the first time I was tied up by the 
motion of the breeze against my skin and the rustling 
of the trees high above me.

After a while, they untied me, and let me go. But not 
before establishing that I really had enjoyed what they 
did to me, and asking if I would come to them again, 
willingly.

I agreed, and they invited me to a party that was given 
regularly at the home of one of them. They explained 
that their parents were frequently away and allowed 
them to have friends round, providing there was no 
riotous behavior.

"You can be tied up for the whole evening, if you 
like," one of them suggested.

"I would like that," I heard herself say - and with 
total honesty too.

And so bondage become an essential part of my life. And 
now I was hanging on a cross. I was actually being 
crucified! And, again, there was the rustle of leaves 
on the trees that surrounded me.

I sensed the enjoyment of the group beneath me as if 
from a great distance, for I was no longer part of 
them. The air was thick with their pleasure. But I knew 
I mustn't let myself think about the present at the 
moment, or I would quickly succumb to the suffering in 
my body and would beg to be taken down. No, I would 
return to the past. My memories would help me out here.

After that first party, which my parents had let me go 
to without question, my mother noticed rope burns on my 
wrists. I immediately tensed myself for questioning and 
raging criticism. To my surprise, it didn't come. 

My mother simply smiled. "You've been letting them tie 
you up," she said quietly. It wasn't a question, but a 
simple statement of fact.

I hung my head and silently agreed.

"Do you enjoy it?" my mother persisted.

I was forced to admit in a tiny, strangled voice that I 
did.

"So long as you keep it strictly within your comfort 
level," my mother said softly. "I'll go and get some 
cream to help take those marks from your wrists."

I could scarcely credit her mother's ready acceptance. 
I'd anticipated the most unholy row, but it had simply 
never eventuated.

"What do you wear when they tie you up," my mother 
asked conversationally, as she carefully smoothed cream 
into my wrists.

After much hesitation, I hesitantly admitted that 
they'd asked me to wear a bikini next week, fully 
expecting an explosion of objections.

They didn't come. "Then we'll go an buy you a nice new 
one after school tomorrow afternoon," she announced 
brightly.

And that's exactly what happened. My mother drove me 
downtown and bought the sexiest model we could find, 
excitement shining from her eyes, as though she was the 
one going to that party, not me.

When we arrived back home, my mother got me to model 
the new bikini for her. It was deliciously tight, 
figure-hugging, and incredibly daring. The look on her 
face told me that she approved. I simply couldn't 
believe my luck!

"But I think something ought to be done about your 
bikini line, dear," my mother remarked, narrowing her 
eyes closely. "Would you like to use my razor on it?" 
she asked. "Or would you prefer me to do it for you?"

I sensed that she really wanted to do this as part of 
the mother-and-daughter act, so I agreed, and slipped 
out of the bikini bottom.

"Take off the top too, dear," my mother instructed, 
then I can clean up your under arms too."

So I stood completely naked before my mother, and 
submitted to her wielding her razor on me. It was a 
sensuous moment for us both, I'm sure. Perhaps I grew 
up in that moment. I don't know.

My mother hesitated, the razor poised. "Or would you 
prefer the totally nude look?" she asked.

I hesitated. The girls had been discussing that very 
thing at the last party. Half of them decided they 
would prefer the natural look, whilst the other half 
went for the shaved, naked, look. And when they asked 
the boys, they were fifty-fifty too.

"Just a trim," I decided. And my mother went to work, 
ably demonstrating how good she must be as a nurse, 
chatting about inconsequential things as she did so.

At the next party, the bikini was a great success, and 
I felt incredibly sexy as they made me absolutely 
helpless, tying me up in so much rope that I knew I 
would never get free - not in a million years! And they 
left me helpless for a really long time too. The 
surrender, surrounded by friendly youngsters, was 
beautiful.

Afterwards, my mother asked me the inevitable question, 
uncritically observing the rope burns on my wrists and 
ankles. "How was the bikini, dear?"

I told her what a great success it was, but neglected 
to mention that two of us had agreed to be tied up 
naked next week, under a I-will-if-you-will sort of 
dare. They were some things it was best for mothers not 
to know. I was apprehensive about this. Some girls, I 
knew, were extroverts and enjoyed showing themselves 
off but, to me, showing myself off in this way was not 
exhibitionist behavior, but genuine, total surrender.

In the course of time, we all moved up the school and 
into the workplace, but the group always managed to 
meet together somehow. And its ideals were gradually 
strengthened to stamp out abuse before it even reared 
its ugly head.

Several of the men introduced their girl friends to the 
group. Some hated it. Some didn't mind, and just came 
along for the social side of things. Some, like Monica, 
loved it, and immediately volunteered for everything, 
to her husband's obvious delight. Some new people 
joined, whilst others drifted away, but discipline 
remained intact - and strict. No one was ever forced to 
do anything. Everyone was kept within his or her 
comfort zone. Discussion, which was lengthy and free-
ranging, was never allowed to become vindictive.

And then one of the men purchased a country property 
that was extremely private, being surrounded by dense 
forest. We now had somewhere to meet regularly at last 
- monthly, it was agreed. And the natural clearing 
behind the house where we are now became a perfect 
place for meetings in the summer, whilst a large 
basement provided us with a meeting place in the cooler 
weather.

Some splinter groups - always very small - had been 
formed. 

Some of the women met occasionally for enema games and 
other toilet-based activities. There were no 
inhibitions at these events! I'd been invited to their 
meetings a couple of times and, provided I suspended 
traditional thinking for a while, I learnt to enjoy 
them.

Another group specialized in female nude wrestling. 
This, again, was strictly orchestrated. No kicking, 
hitting, pinching were allowed. But there was a twist. 
At the end of each contest, the looser was punished by 
the victor in any way she chose. This invariably 
introduced some interesting wrinkles to the game. I 
invariably lost as I am far from being a fitness freak, 
and so suffered the double indignity of also being 
punished afterwards - usually by being tied up for the 
rest of the evening, which I ssecretly enjoyed, of 
course.

But the essential cohesion of the group remained sound. 
No one ever rocked the boat. I felt safe in the hands 
of the group, whatever they decided to do to me.

Someone spoke to me, the voice coming up to me as if 
from a very great distance.

I murmured that I was all right, knowing I was hanging 
in a most dejected manner on that cross. I was, I knew, 
providing the perfect picture of the crucified naked 
young woman to the photographers who were busily 
snapping away, recording the event for the group's 
extensive files. 

However, despite suffering the worst distress I had 
ever experienced, I still felt the same excitement, the 
same exquisite terror of being utterly helpless, and 
under someone else's control. The heightening of 
awareness. The incredible augmentation of sexual 
yearning. The inability to move, the restriction, the 
hurt, all took me out of myself, thrusting me deep into 
an inner world that could not be reached in any other 
way.

I also knew that when this was over, I would only 
remember the glorious feelings of utter helplessness, 
the exquisite feeling of total surrender. I would gloss 
over the pain and suffering, for they were a necessary 
part of it. And I knew with inner certainty that I 
would volunteer to be crucified again as soon as I 
possibly could.

I heard myself cry out in distress, but I would hang on 
as long as I could. As long as I could...

***

The next thing I knew was that I was being carried 
indoors, whilst everyone clapped and called out 
congratulations.

I was tended to carefully, lovingly. At least two of 
the people who helped massage my cramped limbs back 
into life were nurses, so I knew I was in good hands.

Within minutes, I was tucked up nice and warm in bed 
and left to sleep for a while. I was still naked, of 
course, and I could still feel in my imagination where 
that cross has supported me for so long. I felt a great 
sense of achievement, and knew that I would love to go 
through it again. And as soon as possible.

You see, because I had stepped in at the last moment, I 
had missed the preparation stage. I would undergo this 
next time. It would make the whole thing complete. The 
crucifixion was intended to be the final event, not the 
actual event in itself. In the preparation stage the 
person to be crucified was first tied up for a few 
hours on the ground, symbolizing the full extent of the 
submission. Sometimes, she was tied to a tree and 
lashed across the bare bottom. It all depended on the 
feelings of the group, and how the victim behaved. By 
the time this waiting period was over, and the person 
was finally affixed to the cross, she was always highly 
sexually aroused, but totally exhausted, making what 
came next feel inevitable. I had missed all that 
preparation by going in cold. I was going to ask for a 
lengthy preparation next time. All day, would be nice.

The door of the room opened and someone stepped inside. 
It was Michael. And I scarcely recognized him dressed 
in shorts and singlet top. I didn't even know that he 
possessed such clothes.

He stood and looked down at me, a tender look on his 
face.

"I didn't know you were here," I said. "I thought you 
wouldn't be able to come. I thought you didn't want to 
come, that you weren't interested." I had the nasty 
feeling he was going to take me straight home and never 
let me attend the group's meetings again.

His smile broadened. "I didn't want to embarrass you by 
letting you know I was here, Felicity. I planned things 
so that I arrived shortly after you did, but stayed in 
the background so that you wouldn't catch sight of me."

"And you are in disguise," I murmured.

He flicked the hem of his shorts. "That too. But I was 
standing only a couple of paces behind you when they 
crammed that young girl into that padded wooden box. 
That, for me, was a truly magical moment. She stood 
there, in her total nakedness and humility, looking 
absolutely scared to bits at having to be shut in that 
box, absolute dread written all over her face, yet she 
meekly submitted to being forced into it, and having 
the lid fastened down above her."

I well knew what that felt like, of course. The box was 
so small that they actually had to move you about, as 
far as the restrictive confines would allow, so that 
you could be forced into it. It was horrible really, 
and your invariably nude state meant that everywhere 
they touched you, and everywhere the padding in that 
box was forced against you, it contacted your bare 
flesh. It usually took a while before this could be 
accomplished to their satisfaction. And then, when the 
lid was finally closed, and you heard it locked, the 
darkness was complete, the padding muffling all sound 
that you were really isolated with your own thoughts.

The constriction was utterly mind-numbing. The sheer 
discomfort was frightful. And the knowledge that there 
could be no possible escape was terrifying. I shuddered 
involuntarily at the thought. I'd had it done to me 
once, and then not for all that long, and didn't 
particularly want it done to me again. They had 
actually gagged one poor girl before they closed the 
lid on her so that she had no means of calling out for 
release, should she become distressed. I fervently 
hoped that no one every thought of doing that to me!

Michael paused thoughtfully. "She stayed there for 
nearly an hour, you know. And when they released her 
she actually came up smiling... and then allowed 
herself to be taken off by another group for goodness 
knows what punishment. Remarkable!" 

I swallowed hard. I'd no idea she'd suffered that 
restriction for so long, for I'd gone off to see one of 
the other girls being given a strict military hogtie. 
"You weren't shocked?" I asked hesitantly.

Michael shook his head. "No in the least. I loved it! 
You see, I'd taken the trouble to talk to as many of 
the people here as possible, and got their viewpoints 
first-hand. I quickly began to understand what this is 
all about. I was a bit shocked later, however, when you 
volunteered on the spur of the moment to be crucified 
like that because the girl whose turn it was felt 
unwell. Still, I thought you did marvelously... as did 
all of the others... and, realizing that you were 
enjoying it, I was able to relax and enjoy it too. I 
was able to feel for you in a way, and was able to soak 
up the atmosphere of the whole group. It was an 
incredible experience. I really enjoyed it."

I reached out my hand to him. "Make love to me," I 
murmured softly. this was something I needed to finish 
off the day.

It only took him seconds to divest himself of his 
clothes and thrust urgently into my incredibly 
receptive body. I lay and wallowed in the blissful 
feeling.

But he remained still for a moment. "That girl at the 
foot of the cross is still there," he remarked 
thoughtfully. "And she has agreed to be... er..."

"Pack raped," I supplied for him.

"I didn't think this was a required part of the 
proceedings," he said in a worried voice.

"It isn't," I confirmed. This is just something rather 
special that Monica and her husband have worked out 
between them."

"I see. That is something else I see I'll have to get 
my mind around. You see, I have arranged for you to 
attend the whole of the meeting next month," he said. 
"Not just one evening," he added looking at me 
pointedly, for I had deceived him there by telling him 
that the meeting was Sunday evening only. More, I 
thought, would have put him off completely. "I shall 
deliver you here late on the Friday afternoon, then 
return to work. I shall spend Saturday and Sunday here, 
taking you home with me on the Sunday evening."

"Thank you," I murmured, knowing that those two simple 
words could never express the gratitude and relief I 
felt at that moment.

"And I have already given you to the group for the 
whole weekend."

"Oh!" I swallowed hard. "Thank you," I murmured again. 
"That's wonderful." the feeling of excited dread began 
to take hold of me immediately

"And there's something else," he said. "I trust you 
have nothing planned for next weekend."

I shook my head. "I have nothing planned," I confirmed, 
"except to spend a lovely weekend with my understanding 
husband."

He smiled. "That's good, Felicity, because I'm 
borrowing that padded wooden box and you are going to 
spend a large part of Saturday afternoon in it!"

I gasped with a mixture of dread and delight. Part of 
me wanted to say that I couldn't do it, that I hated 
it, but if that was what he wanted, I was prepared to 
let him do it to me, for I knew he needed to do this 
first time. He would learn to ask me first later. And 
never in my wildest dreams has I even dared to hope 
that Michael would become supportive of my passion for 
bondage - let alone become active. It had been a 
wonderful day, all round, I decided.

"And the following weekend... but I haven't formalized 
my plans for that yet." And he started to make love to 
me. Forcefully. Desperately.

end 

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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 47