("`-''-/").___..--''"`-._ `6_ 6 ) `-. ( ).`-.__.`) (_Y_.)' ._ ) `._ `. ``-..-' _..`--'_..-_/ /--'_.' ,' (((' (((-((('' (((( K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N _________________________________________ WARNING! This text file contains sexually explicit material. If you do not wish to read this type of literature, or you are under age, PLEASE DELETE THIS FILE NOW!!!! _________________________________________ Scroll down to view text -------------------------------------------------------- This work is copyrighted to the author © 2006. Please don't remove the author information or make any changes to this story. You may post freely to non-commercial "free" sites, or in the "free" area of commercial sites. Thank you for your consideration. -------------------------------------------------------- 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 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author does not condone the described behavior in real life. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Kristen's collection - Directory 47