Category: BDSM Stories

Caroline on the Cross

by AubreyWylde©

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.

Category: BDSM Stories