Wednesday In SOHO free porn video

Wednesday in SOHO

I felt a little nudge; I was sleeping on my left side while Mark curled upagainst my back. His right arm is draped along my side his hand cupping thecurve of my bottom. He nudged me again. I could feel the hardness against myass so I lifted my right leg a bit and let him slip in between. Mark let outa contented sigh as his little one slides along my pussy. I squeezed my legstogether not wanting to lose him while I opened my eyes and propped myselfup on an elbow.

"It's 9:30" I groaned knowing that on Wednesday nothing broke ourroutine. "All right luv, loosen up a bit and I'll put on the tea whileyou shower." I grudgingly released my grip on Mark and hopped out of bed.The shower was piping hot just the way I like it and in minutes my skin wasbright pink and tingling. I soaped up rinsed off and then did up my hair withan herbal shampoo. It's a bit on the short side so I don't need a conditioner;I just rinsed it clean. There is a tapping on the bathroom door. ReluctantlyI turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. Mark is waiting theresitting on the loo with a cup of tea in his hand.

" So much to do Luv." he smiles as he handed me my tea. He kneltdown and with a fluffy white towel and began to dry me. This always made mefeel a bit awkward. I mean he's not exactly my master we all work togetherhere but in a way he is. He's in charge; He's something more and somethingless than the boss of our little group. Anyway I get a little fidgety whenhe kneels in front of me on Wednesdays, Fridays, and every third Sunday. Ilift one foot for him to dry, then the next. He rubs me briskly as he workshis way up my legs and my breath gets a bit ragged. When he reaches my pussmy trembling hands set my tea down on the sink. I raise my arms grasping theshower curtain rod behind me. The towel briskly brushes along my back , softlycaresses my belly and lingers over my breasts. Then he becomes all businessas he dries each of my arms and he finishes my with my neck and face. He usesa smaller towel to dry my hair then applies a soft red lip stick to my lips.

Mark sets the towel aside and brings out the razor. My legs I wax so that'sno problem but Mark insists that he trim and shave my pussy and shave my underarms.I spread my legs wide as he sets to work. He 's very gentle as he shaves meclean along my outer lips, when he gets to the mound he clears the stubbleaway from the little triangle of hair he allows me. It's almost an inch abovemy hooded clit and seems to me to be an arrow pointing the way. Mark callsit my yield sign. After the shave he wipes the area with witch hazel gel toprevent any irritation. Once my puss is presentable I turn around and onceagain grasp the shower curtain rod and stand with my arms and legs spread wide.Mark quickly cleans away the stubble from my underarms. I shudder as the towelbrushes gently against my underarms. I know what is coming.

By now Mark is quite excited whether from all this intimate touching or thethoughts of what's to come He always uses me at this point. I never mistakethis for lovemaking, though we have our share of that. I'm an actress and Iknow my role. This is pure and simple lust, I am here only for his use. Thethought that I might object or even to consent to my own use is unimaginableI'm simply his warm wet hole waiting anxiously to be filled.. He pulls my hipsback a bit so I'm slightly bent forward and steadily pushes deep into my slickentrance. I whimper out my own need. I know my desire for this has no realconsequence or power. The fact that I want him deep inside me is merely a happycoincidence. My hips rock back and forth as he frantically pumps into me. Allto quickly I feel him squirting his seed inside my pussy. I groan in disappointmentand squeeze with my muscles trying to cling his warmth, and strength; all Isucceed in doing is wringing a final spurt from him as he pulls away.

My poor pussy is left grasping at the cool empty air. His cum starts to trickledown my inner thigh He pulls my hand away when I reach down to staunch theflow from my poor abandoned puss. I really wasn't going to touch my throbbingclit but he prevents it anyway. I sob with frustration.

With his need satisfied, at least for now, he is ready to have me dressed.I put on my leather sandals and then stand with my legs spread wide. A pieceof linen two yards long that isn't much wider than an inch and a half is wrappedtwice around my waist. The end is tucked over in back and drawn between mylegs. My throbbing clit grinds against the cloth as it is pulled up and overin front. Mark gives the loincloth a quick tug to make sure it's snug and thatpulls it up between my pussy lips. I can feel the remnants of Marks cum drippingout moistening the cloth.

By now it's almost 10:30 so Mark sets off to the kitchen for a proper breakfast.The entire troupe is there, waiting. Brian is the best cook and almost alwaysmakes breakfast except on Monday's when he's the star of the afternoon show.Everyone is ignoring me. That's normal for whoever is going on stage, sortof a tradition. They all sit down to a proper English Breakfast of sausage,bacon, eggs, and new potatoes, with a slice of tomato, toast and tea. I sitalone on a stool in the corner with a cup of tea and nibble half heatedly ona ginger biscuit. My left hand descends toward my lap. I just need to adjustmy loincloth a bit but before my fingers can brush against the front…" Stopthat!" Mark snaps and all eyes turn toward me. I snatch my hand away likea guilty child and feel the heat flushing my cheeks.

Mark sits at the head of the table to his right sit Brian, Bruce, and Robert(the three B's we call them though Robert hates to be called Bobby) Brian willbe doing the evening show but he seems to be completely calm right now. Onthe left Alice and Jesse sit with my empty chair between them chatting aboutthe weather and how the streets aren't very crowded for this late in May. It'salmost 11:00 when they finish eating.

I squirm in uncomfortable silence trying to derive faint pleasure by rockingback and forth as I perch on the edge of my stool with my eyes closed and myimagination stuck back in the bathroom. "I said stop it!" a handclamps down on my shoulder. Mark is behind me now and he lifts me up off thestool. I drop to my knees before him but he keeps pushing me forward untilI am on my hands and knees. " Now be a good girl and stay there." Hesays. I am completely humiliated, and fighting back tears of frustration butI stay exactly as he has placed me.

Everyone else pitches in with the dishes. They carefully ignore me, workingaround me as I remain stock still. Once the kitchen is cleaned up they go offto get into costume. I wait on my hands and knees by the stool trying not totremble.

They return one by one in there resplendent little costumes Bruce and Bobbydressed as Roman soldiers with their plumbed helmets, armored chest plates,pleated leather skirts and sandals. The lads at the gay bars always tag alongfor a bit when they see them march by. Alice and Jesse are dressed in demurewhite linen robes and sandals they will follow behind handing out brochuresand explaining our little theater to the curious ones that seem bold enoughto be interested. Mark roughly pulls me to my feet and finishes dressing me.I hope he isn't really mad. He slips a short linen robe over my head. Its raggedhem ends three to four inches above my knees and barely hides my skimpy loincloth.My hands are tied behind my back with a wide strip of black cloth that willlater be used as a blindfold. Finally a soft leather collar goes around myneck. It has two imbedded rings. Two rope leashes each about 6 feet long areclipped to the rings of my collar. Brian is off till six when he has to preparefor the evening show. Everyone else is ready. It's 11:20 on Wednesday and mystomach is twisting in knots

"Good luck Luv" Mark says cheerfully sending me off with a peckon the cheek and a good natured swat on the fanny. He heads off to set up thetheater. Bruce and Bobby grab the rope leads and with a gentle tug they headme toward the door. The Girls each grab a stack of brochures and follow behind.

Despite what they had been saying at breakfast there is a good size crowdon the street. So much so that we need to walk down the middle of the roadThe sidewalks are far too crowded. It seems a bit dreamlike, my belly tightenswith each step. I am shivering though it is a hot sticky morning. We head downMeard Street then up Dean and Across Soho Square. The boys set the pace andit's entirely too slow for my taste.

I'm an actor according to my union card and our license calls this performanceart so the Bobbies don't hassle us anymore. When we were first starting outour daily victim would be carrying a crossbeam but there were complaints fromsome of the locals and tourist, that was too much for the local arts council.This is our compromise.

As I said I'm an Actress but it takes very little acting skill to keep myhead bent down and to blush as onlookers crowd around. We always attract acrowd. The girls hand out the brochures with an eye for the serious customerwho can afford the L 35.00 that the show costs. "See the passion of St.Rachel" (St Raymond on the printing when one of the lad's plays the lead)the leaflet proclaims. There is a brief description that leaves little to theimagination, pictures of the theater set up like a little chapel with pewsenough for 90 paying customers. The final a picture of a life size cross inthe sanctuary, no one hangs on it; no sense giving away the show you know.There are directions to the "Theater of the Church of Saint Marks LondonMartyrs" In bold letters at he bottom of the flyer it says "InteractivePerformance Art".

They follow only a few feet behind me. I can hear most of what is said. " Willthey use a real whip on her?" " yes, of course, it's real and madeof leather" "Will she be naked?" " absolutely" " "dothey use nails?" " Get real, It's theater." The chit chat goeson as if I weren't there. It is loud enough to be heard by all those withina dozen feet. I blush and keep my eyes averted studying the pavement as theprocession plods onward.

After crossing Soho Square we turn west on D'Arblay St. past the "adult" toystores then south on Poland where the pubs are filling with some early lunchcustomers. We head west on Broadwick and down a bit of Marshall to Golden Square.By then we have collected quite a following so we head toward the theater.We're walking faster now; it's nearly twelve. I've done this a hundred times,quite literally, but still I'm a nervous wreck every time.

Once we reach the theater the girls go right inside to make final preparationsand then act as ushers. Mark has been manning the ticket booth in the lobbyand the line stretches out the door. There seem to be about twice as many menas women and most of the women are accompanied by a man. I am guided throughthe lobby to the doorway leading into the theater.

Bobby turns me so I face the wall. He unties my hands and allows me a momentto rub my wrists. After a few moments he pulls my right arm back and strapsa leather cuff on my wrist. He repeats the process on my left wrist. He thenraises both my wrists only to draw them together behind my neck. The collaron my neck is rotated until one ring is in front and one sticks out behindme. The metal clip that attaches the leash is clipped onto the two wrists cuffs.The end of the leash is tucked up over my bound wrists. I am turned once moreto face our customers. With my hands bound behind my neck my elbows stick outto the sides. This causes my breasts to rise and jut out more prominently.The short robe I wear rises even higher on my thighs. I am made to kneel besidethe door. Bruce uses his foot to nudge my knees further apart. I lean backresting my bottom on my heels and take one final look at the line of customerswho have come to see me suffer. The man entering the theater stares at my skimpyloin cloth which is now revealed by the kneeling position I am forced into.Bobby takes the black strip of cloth that was used to bind my wrists and wrapsit twice around my head before knotting it behind. I am blindfolded. I tensewaiting for what will come next. The boys tell me they do it to make sure Ican't see. I think they just enjoy making me flinch. I yelp when the frontleash lashes cruelly across my upper thighs. Sometimes they strike a breastor across my belly, there's no telling where they'll strike. "No I guessshe didn't see that one coming." Bobby chuckles.

I'm the only one who uses a blindfold. I have it left on through the scourgingand then for the first half-hour or so on the cross. Mark says I use it becauseI'm really a shy little girl who wants to hide from her inner slut. Maybe he'son to something there. By the time it comes off I'm sweating and panting likethe proverbial bitch in heat. It helps me get into my role and the patronsseem to like it. It provides a little variety for the regular customers.

Now I'm on my knees while the customers pass by on their way into the theater.I straighten my back pushing out my breasts. I grasp my left wrist with myright hand and try to cradle my bound wrists against the back of my neck. Myelbows extend outward like stubby little wings.

I can only imagine the thoughts passing through their minds as they awaitthe show. I wonder how many of those sixty odd cocks are already stiffeningin anticipation. Someone passing by lifts my chin and tussles my hair. It seemsto be a gentle gesture but for some reason I resent it. "bitch." Ihiss under my breath though I don't really know if it was a man or a woman.The church bell (the real church two blocks away) is ringing noon and it'stime to go in.

When I'm blindfolded my hearing seems to improve and I can hear Mark engagedin an animated conversation at the ticket booth. I pick up bits and piecesof the conversation. Mark saying "have to change" A male voice aYank from the accent saying " L100.00 is almost $200 " and a femalesaying " …only one 10 th anniversary. " Ismiled to myself, whatever they were discussing I know Mark will probably agreebecause he's such a hopeless romantic I just didn't realize it would involvedme so intimately. Mark and the American couple finally reached some sort ofagreement and head into the theater.

Someone behind me grabs me under the shoulders and pulls me to my feet. I'ma little disoriented with the blindfold but the hands turn me in the rightdirection then sweep down the curve of my body and give my bottom a friendlylittle swat.

It's beginning and I take a deep breath. I try to swallow but my mouth hasgone dry. The leash gently tugs me forward. My knees are weak and my legs wobbleas I'm lead slowly down the aisle. I strain to make out the anticipatory whispersthat rise from the audience on either side but I can barely hear them overthe pounding of my heart.

I nearly stumbled on the first step up into the sanctuary but Bruce steadiesme. I'm turned about to face the audience. Bruce is on my left but I can'thear Bobby on my right. It seems that Bruce is working alone now. One by onemy sandals are removed, then the wrists are unclipped from the collar. I wantto stretch my arms but I'm given no time as the robe is pulled over my head.The audience murmurs in admiration as my bare breasts are revealed. I shiver;I' m standing before these strangers in my blindfold and a skimpy loincloth.Bruce's hand closes on the front of my loincloth and with a rough tug it toois pulled free. The last vestige of modesty has been removed. After a pauseof a few seconds the spectators break into applause.

I am made to stand before them a few moments longer. I hear footsteps approachfrom my right. Bobby is back. Two pair of hands turn me around. My back isnow to the crowd. My leather wrist cuffs are attached to the two ropes danglingfrom the ornate columns on either side of the sanctuary entrance. I feel myarms are being pulled up over my head, spread wide between the two high posts.The ropes tighten and I'm straining, nearly up on my tiptoes.

The sanctuary is kept warm year round by two electric heaters. It's almost27 C a little warmer than comfortable even for a girl who's naked. Still I'mshivering even as the sweat begins to form on my brow. My breath is comingin ragged gasps. The scourging is about to begin; we use two nine tailed leathercats with half-inch wide suede lashes.

"Ever done this to a woman before? Bruce asked. " Never, My wifethinks she might want to try but…" It's not Bobby but a slow thickAmerican accent, off to my left... "Right, well we're not trying to drawblood here or rip up her flesh." Bruce says calmly. I'm really startingto get frantic now. What was Mark thinking. "We just want to turn herback and bottom a bright rosy pink. Timings important now, so just follow mylead and strike when I give you the nod." Without further ado a cat slashesacross my upper back. I gasp and twist to my left trying to escape the sting.I begin to count to thirty but it takes almost thirty-five seconds before Ifeel a tentative lash on the right shoulder. "A little harder next time " Bruceadvises. Thirty seconds on the dot and Bruce gives me another smart whack withthe cat. The Yank follows right on time and this time I can feel it. "Harderyet" Bruce orders and he waits his thirty seconds to demonstrate witha swat across my bottom I hop and yip in pain. The Yank delivers his blow ontime and across my ass with enough strength to set me dancing on one foot. "Goodone." Bruce observes.

They lapse into silence working like a well-practiced team. I can count thelashes or I can count the time between them I've never been able to do both.I choose to count the time. What I do doesn't alter a thing for I'll be scourgedfor twenty minutes receiving forty lashes spaced thirty seconds apart. Theywork there way up and down my back as I twist and hop from foot to foot forthe spectators amusement. By the time it is half over I've given up countingand Just screech as the blows fall and sob as I wait for the next one. It isn'tthe most sever whipping you're likely to see but by the time it's over my backand ass are on fire and I'm dripping with sweat.

The cats are set aside. The ropes slacken a bit, and my arms are loweredenough to let me stand with my legs spread apart. I walk my feet backward astep and bend slightly at the waist leaning forward and grabbing hold of theropes letting them take some of my weight. I'm in the same position I was inthis morning when Mark used me, my puss feels exposed and needy. The two "Romanguards" take up their position beside me. I can hear the squeaks and rustlingfrom the pews as the girls usher the assembly up the right hand aisle. As theypass through the archway on the right there is a sign. " Use Gloves! HandsOnly." Set along the altar railing are three boxes of disposable latexgloves (small medium and large). I can hear the snap of latex as the firstperson slips on a pair and then they reach me; hands, dozens of them, one afteranother, sometimes two, three, or four at once. A procession of hands too manyto count. They wander freely over my body. I can't see or do a thing, all Ican do is feel. Some want to feel the heat of my whipped flesh through a thinlayer of latex while others feel a need to give my throbbing ass just one moreswat. I can feel cool breath on my burning back as someone leans over me tofondle my dangling breast and nipple. Other hands trace the strands of thewhip marks across my bottom. Everyone feels the need to brush a lingering handacross my pussy's lips.

I tell myself I'll be strong. I won't let these strangers shame me like thelast time (and the time before, and before that….) I squeeze my eyesshut behind me blindfold, grit my teeth and lock my legs in position determinednot to move. I jump a bit when someone's wants to see how far he or she canjam their finger into my ass. That's allowed as long as they don't try fistingme. (That's been tried before and it's one reason why the "Roman guards" standat my side). I'm determined to stand there stoically accepting my fate.

The people seem quiet as they reach out stroking, poking, and grabbing buttheir hands begin to commune with my poor throbbing body. They tell me of curioustongues, nibbling mouths and throbbing cocks wanting to plunge into my pussyfrom behind. My pussy lips thicken and moister begins to seep from betweenthem . She can't help it. It's all those hands demanding, grasping, and fondlingher, brushing over her, she can't take it. At first it's barely perceptiblethe slight tilt of the hips as my pussy pushes upward gradually opening togreet the next hand. Then my hips are rocking as the hands caress the lengthof her. I shudder and before I know it my ass is wagging obscenely and my clitis throbbing and my gapping pussy is nearly grasping at the fingers that strokeand probe. I'm so close nothing will stop me. Now I can hear snatches of commentsas the line files past "Horny little bitch" says a female voice "brazenslut" says another "voracious slit " says an overly articulateman, and "dripping cunt " from another rumbling male voice. I feelmy face flush and I know it's at least as bright as my bottom but I no longercare. I concentrate on what the hands are telling me as I try to block outthe other sounds. But a new problem is quickly developing. The constant sweepof fingers across my pussy and constant poking have combined with the two fullcups of tea that I had earlier. I have a desperate need to pee. Thoughts ofrelease fade. Now as the line of hands continues to file past me I'm no longerseeking them out. I'm squeezing my legs together and urgently trying to avoidthe probing digits. I vaguely wonder if these last few people in line feelcheated. In any event my bloated bladder keeps me from cumming. At last the90 odd pair of hands have paraded past me and familiarize themselves with mybody. I really don't know how long it took. It seemed to go on forever butI'm not sure it lasted much longer than the flogging. I'm sweating And squeezingmy legs together and the boys must know something is wrong. I whisper to Brucethat I need to Pee NOW! and he grunts. I can imagine the grin that's spreadingacross his face. This hasn't happened to me for a long time. And never so earlyin the show.

The leather cuffs are freed from the ropes and my arms drop to my side. Bruceand the other man each grab me under a shoulder and hustle me into the sanctuaryand up the four steps to where my cross lays waiting. The cross is lying flatsupported off the floor by five wooden blocks Three along the vertical beamand one at each end of the cross beam. It's about eight inches off the groundbut quite stable. I'm clenching my legs together begging them to wait, notto put me on the cross yet. I'm sure the audience thinks it's all part of theact. I fall to my knees in front of my cross. A few drops of pee escape andI squeeze even harder. "Don't you dare piss on the rug." Bobby hissesat me. He has replaced the American, a small comfort but I'm too distractedto think about it now. He pulls me up by my shoulder and rocks me backwarduntil I'm squatting on my heals. Bruce shuffles forward and slides a ceramicbasin between my feet. It bumps against my ankles and I spread my legs widerso he can slide the basin forward. I blindly reach forward to steady myself.My hands find the base of my cross's vertical beam. . I feel a light slap onmy ass. "Ok your over the bowl," Bobby says to me. "Now pee".Far away I hear the muffled sound of a church bell striking one.

I squat naked, blindfolded, balancing over a bowl I can't see. I can feelthe eyes of 90 people boring into my back watching me and waiting for me. Nothinghappens. "We haven't got all day, girl. The show must go on." Brucegrowls. Still we all wait . I need to pee desperately but nothing is happeningno matter how hard I try. I get a sharp swat on the ass "Pee damm it!"

Bruce gives me another brisk smack, he seems to be enjoying it. I'm becomingso frustrated that tears are soaking into my blindfold. While Bruce continuesto yell and slap at my abused bottom Bobby brings my right hand up to his mouthand with his tongue licks in circles around my pinky finger. Bruce lands anotherblow on my bottom and then Bobby pulls my finger into his mouth suckling onit as he coats it with his saliva. Bruce has stopped yelling but I tenselywait for the next slap. Then Bobby is blowing warm air on my moistened finger.The warmth and moisture loosens something in my mind and my body relaxes. Theloud tinkling of my pee falling into the basin seems to echo through the silenttheater. The tinkle becomes a splashing torrent and I sigh contentedly, I hopethe bowl is big enough. Another flush of embarrassment washes over my faceas I think of the staring audience. I lower my head and all I smell is my ownurine as it splashes into the basin. With a few final squirts I'm done. Theboys stand me up and while one takes the bowl away the other uses my discardedloincloth to wipe me up. I've splashed some pee on my thighs and bottom andhe's quite thorough wiping me. My puss grinds against his hand. I've been whippedand thoroughly humiliated. It's now time to begin the main event. I take adeep breath as they stretch my arms wide,. They turn me around again so I'mfacing the audience. I straddle wood of my cross a foot on either side. Theyhold my arms outstretched as they walk me backward.

We each have our own cross and mine is a familiar old friend. It is staineda dark cherry that contrasts well with my pale skin. The vertical beam is afour by six inch piece of clear cedar over nine feet long with a footrest oneither side. The cross piece is a five and a half feet long four by four pieceof cedar. It joins the upright in a smooth mortise joint a foot below the top.Two and a half feet below that my sedile protrudes from the upright. It isa hardwood dowel an inch and a half in diameter and juts out six inches. Itis capped by a hardwood knob two inches in diameter.

My ankles bump against the foot rests and I step over them. The two Romanguards pull me down onto the wood. They each take control of a wrist. Firstthe wrist cuffs are attached to the crossbeam. then rope is bound over themhiding the leather from view. I slip my hands through the metal handles thatare bolted onto the crossbeam. As I curl my fingers around the handle a darksquare tab of Iron protrudes between the third and forth fingers. This givesthe illusion of a nail head driven through the palm as the fist clenches overit. We used to use theatrical blood packets squeezed between the fist and handlebut they are sticky and quite a mess when you're being stroked and fondledby a hundred curious onlookers My arms are firmly attached, I'm the prisonerof my cross.

One of the men swings a wooden mallet striking against the bolts at the topof the right hand handle. It is done strictly for show and makes a satisfyingclang. I scream on cue jerking and twisting my torso as my feet flail helplessly.After four or five blows they turn their attention to my left hand and theprocess is repeated. I imagine the audience squirming in their seats as theylisten to the hammer blows mixing with my screams.

The men move down my body easily capturing my feet. They stretched my legsdown toward the foot of the cross. I feel my body slide down the cross untilmy crotch is firmly pressed against the sedile. Only then do they bend my legspushing my feet up toward the footrests. The footrests of my cross are twowooden blocks bolted to the sides of the upright. They are planed to a 45 degreeslope away from the upright. The front half of an open toed sandal has beennailed to each one. My feet are slipped into these half sandals and bound tothe footrests with rope more rope wraps around my ankles fixing them tightlyagainst the upright. My legs are now fixed in an obscenely open position withmy feet pointed outward. It will still allow me to push up and down with mylegs but it is quite impossible to close my legs. One of the men straddlesmy legs. Grabbing my left calf he gives it a tug checking my bonds then hechecks the right. The mallet rises and falls smacking against the side of theleft footrest. It is followed by a blow to the right side. The hammer blowsfall in rapid succession alternating from left to right. I cry out and squirmseductively on my cross.. After about ten blows to each footrest the hammeris set aside. He moves off to attach the chains to the ring at the top of mycross.

My cross weighs over 300 pounds when I'm attached. It is pulled upright byusing a series of pulleys and a hand cranked winch. The top of the cross slowlyrises off it's supports and the foot dips down to rest on the floor. I'm notexactly sure why but this is the one part of the entire scene that makes mevery nervous. As the cross slowly rises the crossbeam is lifted free of theblocks and begins to wobble from side to side. My body begins to slide downwardand I try to press myself back against the wood. I lick my lips and try toswallow but my mouth is drier than chalk dust. My arms shake and my legs trembleas I try to press my body back into the wood. It is as if I hope to find somesafety in the embrace of my cross.

The winch turns and the cross continues to rise. My weight begins to transferfrom my back to my feet and I cling to the handles trying to keep myself steadyon the shifting wood. Soon I feel the sedile firmly planted between my legsand the cross is completely upright. In fact the cross is swinging free asthe entire weight is held aloft on the ropes and chains attached to the upright.The cross seems to sway forward and backward as the men line it up with it'sslot in the stage. The hand crank reverses and the cross slowly descends intothe aperture that has been built into the stage. It descends a full 18 inchesinto the slot in the floor, half of which is a metal jacketed opening in thecement floor beneath the stage.

My cross is planted, I'm trapped, as ensnared as any ancient prisoner crucifiedand displayed before a lustful crowd. The beginnings of panic flicker in myhead and I nurture them. I begin to test the strength of my bonds. I rise upon my legs pushing forcefully against the footrests. I throw my body's weighttwisting to the left then to the right. The cross vibrates like a straininglover but doesn't sway. I lower myself gingerly onto the sedile allowing itto bear most of my weight. I raise and lower my hips trying to find a lessuncomfortable position but in the end must hold myself up with arms and legs.I slide all the way back on the sedile pressing my back hard against the upright.My breath comes in ragged gasps. I try to close my knees but my feet are splayedand my bound ankles are held tight against the upright so I lack the flexibilityto bring my knees together.

The cross is a male instrument. It holds one open, presses into your flesh,proudly displays it's captive trophy. The erect sedile is of course only toophallic as is it's cousin the cornu. But in it's truest and deadliest formit was about opening and penetrating flesh. The cross is rarely gentle withit's lovers.

With a sigh I slide forward on the sedile slipping my pussy up and over thesmooth knob at it's end. The sedile presses along the crack of my ass as Ilower myself further. My legs fold and most of my weight is supported by myarms. In this position I seem to be kneeling in mid air but still my legs aresplayed wide and I still can not close my knees. The sedile is pressing intothe small of my back. I can only maintain this position for a few moments thenI raise myself back onto the sedile. The spectators murmurs impatiently, theywant to touch.

It is much harder for the men of course. Health regulations require thatthey wear a rubber. The show requires them to remain erect for over three hourswhile being tormented and teased. They all use cockrings and desensitizingcreams. I begin to rub slowly across the sediles knob as I think about my malecompanions. Brian and Bruce each have their crosses equipped with a cornu.These blunted horn shaped pegs allow them to take some weight off their armsand legs but only if they surrender their ass to the relentless cross. Aliceuses a cornu too though she has no interest in anal sex when she is not writhingon her cross.

Bobby has a simple block mounted on his upright to rest his butt on betweenhis struggles. He is also the only one of us that did not really volunteerfor the job. His Mistress had approached Mark about having him crucified inpublic. Mark explained to her that we're all card carrying union actors andwe have a theater license to protect. They eventually worked out a deal, Shesold Bobby to Mark for the right to invite up to 4 guests to the show twicea week for a few months. Mark got Bobby a union card and put him to work. Bobbywas heartbroken at first but did as he was told, after two years he has becomeone with our little troupe and seems much happier about his life. He is paidthe same as any of us and he even stands up to Mark now and then if he thinkshe's being slighted. He is certainly the one crucified male in our group whois most comfortable with the women stroking and teasing him as he struggleson his cross. Sometimes when the show is over we ladies will gather aroundhim and take turns tickling his sack and stroking his pulsing shaft to seewhich one of us will bring him off. When his cross is lowered onto the blockswe will take turns squatting over his crucified form riding his erection untilhe cries out.

"Hump it bitch!"

The crude shout snaps me out of my reverie and back into my own predicament.I am panting and sweating furiously. I feel my arms trembling from the strain.I have bent forward as far as possible and my breasts are swaying from sideto side as I try desperately to work the knob of my sedile into my hungry pussy.Even with my hips bent forward as much as my cross lover will allow I can dolittle more than rub myself over the knob. I groan in frustration. The rigidsedile just juts straight out and I cannot work the shaft inside of me. Witha sigh of resignation I straighten and slide back along my sedile. I wincein pain as my blindfold is yanked away pulling a few hairs off with the knot.

With the blindfold gone I blink into the brightness. Sweat blurs my visionand runs down my nose, a drop forms at the tip of my nose waiting to fall.I need someone to mop my brow because I'm unable to brush the sweat away. Ishake my head sending droplets flying in every direction. I finally raise myhead and try to look out at the audience. My vision begins to adjust and theshadows slowly come into focus. Most are too busy ogling my writhing nakednessto even notice or care that my blindfold has been removed. Their eyes justdon't stray above my breasts. They are oblivious to me as a person I am merelyan object of fascination and yearning. The very air I breath is thick withdesire and lust. As my eyes roam the rows of pews I come across some who willacknowledge me. The American who was allowed to whip me is still wearing hisborrowed robe. His wife of ten years has her head in his lap busily bobbingup and down while his half open eyes lock on mine. There is a hardness anda longing in them that makes me shudder. I look away. Two rows back and tothe right a woman squirms in her seat her hand disappearing into her skirt.Her eyes stare deeply into mine with a desperate desire. I don't know if shewants me or wants to be me but again I am the one forced to look away blushingdeeply. There are others though not that many who will look into my eyes andevery time it is I who must look away.

The girls have started to escort the audience up to the sanctuary again.Row by row the pews empty and begin their journey up the right hand aisle.This time I will not have the anonymity of a blindfold. I will see them andall that they will do to me. I have forgotten to breath and I draw in a sharpbreath. I am terrified. The first person is putting on her fresh pair of gloves.She seems so completely normal. If she wore a camera around her neck and asun hat she would be a screaming caricature of a tourist. As she stands beforeme I notice just how petite she really is. She can't be over five feet shereaches up but can barely brush the tips of her fingers against my pantingbreasts.

The man behind her notices her difficulty and roughly grabs me by the hips.He slides me forward on the sedile until he has pulled me completely free ofit and my body drops a full foot. The woman thanks him politely as her handscaress my now accessible breasts she tweaks my nipples and leans forward asif to kiss my belly. Bobby quickly places a hand on her chest restraining herand she moves on. The man who so unceremoniously dumped me off my sedile isnext in line and he takes advantage of my newly exposed position to strokelovingly at my slit as the sedile pokes into my lower back. I push upward tryingto regain my seat and he seems willing to help lift me back onto the sedile.The next one pulls me forward on the sedile and grasping my hips in both handsopens my ass checks and presses me down as if to impale my bottom. In factthe knob of the sedile is forced half way into my ass and it provides me withenough support while exposing my pussy to the wandering hands. He is satisfiedand spends some time stroking my breasts and puss. The line moves on each onespending a minute or so caressing my exposed body. I respond with gentle moansas my pussy once more moistens and my clit peaks out at the line of hands.

A few still want to inflict pain with a slap at my ass or a pinch of mymore sensitive flesh. At times like this I hate pain! I know that sounds alittle strange coming from a girl that makes her living being whipped and crucifieda couple times a week but it's true. I don't like pain. There is nothing eroticabout it. I just endure it and try to get past it. The slaps and pinches driveme back from the edge while the strokes and gentle probing spur me on. Somewant to stroke my arms or neck or along my inner thigh but most lack such subtletyand concentrate on my breasts and pussy.

It is like a medieval pilgrimage, the faithful traveling from great distancesto our little church for a chance to lay hands upon the holy relic that mybody has become for them. Before the first row has returned to their seatsI am hopelessly enthralled. I twist and turn to expose my panting body to thefaithful. My shameless pussy weeps her desire onto my already slick sedile.I raise myself on trembling legs to thrust my pussy at the audience as theyslowly file past me. One man bends to sniff and I all but plunge myself againsthis face. My guards now must restraining me as well as the overly enthusiasticmembers of the audience. When it becomes clear that I have but one desire thecruel remarks begin again but I pay them no mind. I am now moaning and groaningas I shamelessly plead for release The leering line continues past me. Eachone obliged to run their hands across my body. Some (mostly women) seem determinedto tease and torment me; others (mostly men) wanting to be the one that pushme over the edge. I continue to be pinched, and patted, slapped and stroked.

A petite redhead stands before me smiling wickedly. Her thumb gently scrapesthrough the moisture between my pouting lips then reaches under me and impalesmy bottom. I groan as she brings her right hand up taking my clit between thumband forefinger and slowly coaxing it out.

I screech in agony as fingernails pinch into me. I know she must have drawnblood. Bruce pushes the woman away from me but she shrugs him off simply standingback and allowing the next in line to step forward. My tear filled eyes seea knowing smirk on her face. Tears are rolling down my cheeks as a tall manwith sandy blond hair takes her place. He fixes me with his slate gray eyesand I cannot turn away.

" She will pay for that." He tells me with calm assurance. I glanceat her again and see a look of fear wash the smugness off her face. I am glad.They must be a couple, that is why she is waiting for him. He reaches out withan upturned left hand. Gently his palm cups my mons. a finger stenches outalong the crevice of my pussy lovingly stroking in a gentle forward sweep.All thoughts of pain and terror are swept away and I begin to grind myselfagainst the proffered palm. As My motion becomes more vigorous the finger slipsinto me. I groan and begin to work my hips up and down. He keeps his hand pressedagainst me. All of the frustrations, the desires, desperate need and yes eventhe pain of this long day are building to a sharp point. A second finger slipsinto me pressing outward widening my already distended lips. A low gutturalgroan begins to climb several octaves as my lungs slowly empty. A third fingerslips in and my tears flow. A thumb softly strums across my throbbing clitand I burst. I am emptied of everything as I helplessly pump down on the triadof fingers filling me. My wants, desires, and needs simply flow out of me intohis upturned palm. The world begins to narrow and darken but I can't thinkof anything. My cross vibrates with my release and I am his.

"Breath!" some small corner of my mind screams and for a panickedmoment I am sure I've forgotten how. Finally with a gasp my lungs begin torefill. The fingers have withdrawn I wonder if they have been expelled by thespasm that shook me to the core . I open my eyes and see the tall blond standingbefore me. He is smiling complacently. His left hand still cupped below meholds a small puddle of my secretions. He raises this to my nose and I cando nothing but inhale. I am truly emptied, released, beyond caring nothingcan matters now. With another rasping breath I steady myself on my cross.

My arms and legs are exhausted and I lower myself onto the sedile. The manwho has done this to me still stands before me. The line behind him is gettingrestless. They want their turn with me. He isn't finished though, He dips threefingers of his right hand into the puddle of moisture that he cups in his left.Carefully he draws a moist line across my belly. My belly shudders in response.He then traces circles around my nipples and brushes lines along the undersideof my outstretched arms. My body twitches and jerks with each touch of thosemoistened fingers. I was wrong. I wasn't beyond caring. I am being anointedwith my own essence . He is determined to show me I can still blush. He turnsat last and casually sweeps his left palm across the redheads face. She glaresat me with pure hatred. If looks could drive nails I would never leave thiscross. He grabs her by the arm and they both returned to their seats.

The line continues but I am barely aware. I remain perched upon the end ofmy sedile open and uncaring while the end of the line files by. They seem towant to punish me now as more of them pinch and slap my tender flesh than caressit. It is well after three when the line finally ends and the Audience is thankedfor their participation. Mark reminds them that they can purchase souvenirphotos in the lobby. Those that had paid the extra ten pounds come forwardto have their picture taken with a real live crucified damsel. A couple oneon either side their arms entwined across my naked rump. A young man restinghis head against the side of my chest while he throws an arm around my waist.Lovely photos for the scrape book on the coffee table and no doubt a few willend up on the net.

I am exhausted when they finally lower my cross and release me. I spend afew minutes resting in place catching my breath. Eventually Mark comes andhelps me up. He has brought me a change of clothing While I'm done for theday and can head home and rest he has an evening show to prepare for.