crucified; deep in the forest, a sad girl accepts her cross
Under duress, she was stripped of the remaining safeguard to her modesty, those brief, white panties that continued to be worn, thwarting the willing acquiescence needed before her crucifixion could commence. All other attire removed a while ago, there was reluctance to reveal the precious and intimate femininity between her legs, so the shard of cloth remained to preserve modesty. Naked now and to mollify further resistance, she is roped to a tree and left alone in the cold forest, to contemplate further the need to resign herself unto the fate that awaits her. There is none so naked and vulnerable as a woman with a shaved mons pubis . . .
Realising the inevitability of what must come to pass, she is released and permitted to wander, still naked, to look at the tree on which she will hang. At first she will not look, but she does, before turning with some resentment, head drooping until arms are raised and subsequently extended horizontally in full cruciform, chest and groin exhibited openly, as if to say ~
“Yes, I do submit; crucify me. Hang me high, look at all of my stark naked body. Crucify me.”
Kneeling, bowed over so face and body are hidden by long tresses, the cross bar is tied tightly with soft white rope to the outspread arms. Rising slowly, with an air of deep sadness, hair falls forward, obscuring a despondent face and the small but firm breasts with their dark areolae and hard nipples adorning her slender form. Walking slowly and of her own free will to the tree, there she awaited the beam to be fixed and her feet to be tied. That part of the crucifixion swiftly completed, she hangs forlornly, locks of golden hair occluding head and breasts.
In her agony, her body swings back and forth, from one side to another, the strain on back, shoulders and arms becoming ever more intense. Long hair waves about in response to body motions, the downcast head helping it hide the sad but very attractive face and the delicate breasts.
On and on, she struggles to alleviate the incessant pain, sobbing pitifully and crying out from time to time, always turning away from the few faces that approach closely to watch her enduring the torture of crucifixion, seemingly ashamed of the vulgar exhibitionism of it all and the insult to self-respect, shyness and reserve that complete nakedness imposes for one fixed on high. It’s small consolation that so few can see how she suffers mentally and physically as legs open and close frequently, the result of pain that compels those same weird and ineffective gyrations. Her pussy is shaved for personal benefit and pleasure, not that of a few leering spectators; her conviction is solid.
At long last her head lifts and looks out to confront the privileged few ogling a constantly writhing, delightful, desirable and very appealing body. Shame is rapidly diminishing and pride in her own body is taking hold of her emotions. Increasingly, the gorgeous nude hanging from a forest tree is casting the tresses from her chest, displaying it engagingly and giving the appearance of actually flaunting the slit between her thighs. Could it be that evidence of sexual arousal is starting to show; a glint of shiny wetness, a deeper, darker line behind the delectable, high-fused labia on her smooth, soft mons?
Still no smile on her mouth, but what tempting lips are there, inviting passionate kisses, before one would progress to the nipples and that equally inviting quim of hers. Yes; she’s quite some woman.
Realising the inevitability of what must come to pass, she is released and permitted to wander, still naked, to look at the tree on which she will hang. At first she will not look, but she does, before turning with some resentment, head drooping until arms are raised and subsequently extended horizontally in full cruciform, chest and groin exhibited openly, as if to say ~
“Yes, I do submit; crucify me. Hang me high, look at all of my stark naked body. Crucify me.”
Kneeling, bowed over so face and body are hidden by long tresses, the cross bar is tied tightly with soft white rope to the outspread arms. Rising slowly, with an air of deep sadness, hair falls forward, obscuring a despondent face and the small but firm breasts with their dark areolae and hard nipples adorning her slender form. Walking slowly and of her own free will to the tree, there she awaited the beam to be fixed and her feet to be tied. That part of the crucifixion swiftly completed, she hangs forlornly, locks of golden hair occluding head and breasts.
In her agony, her body swings back and forth, from one side to another, the strain on back, shoulders and arms becoming ever more intense. Long hair waves about in response to body motions, the downcast head helping it hide the sad but very attractive face and the delicate breasts.
On and on, she struggles to alleviate the incessant pain, sobbing pitifully and crying out from time to time, always turning away from the few faces that approach closely to watch her enduring the torture of crucifixion, seemingly ashamed of the vulgar exhibitionism of it all and the insult to self-respect, shyness and reserve that complete nakedness imposes for one fixed on high. It’s small consolation that so few can see how she suffers mentally and physically as legs open and close frequently, the result of pain that compels those same weird and ineffective gyrations. Her pussy is shaved for personal benefit and pleasure, not that of a few leering spectators; her conviction is solid.
At long last her head lifts and looks out to confront the privileged few ogling a constantly writhing, delightful, desirable and very appealing body. Shame is rapidly diminishing and pride in her own body is taking hold of her emotions. Increasingly, the gorgeous nude hanging from a forest tree is casting the tresses from her chest, displaying it engagingly and giving the appearance of actually flaunting the slit between her thighs. Could it be that evidence of sexual arousal is starting to show; a glint of shiny wetness, a deeper, darker line behind the delectable, high-fused labia on her smooth, soft mons?
Still no smile on her mouth, but what tempting lips are there, inviting passionate kisses, before one would progress to the nipples and that equally inviting quim of hers. Yes; she’s quite some woman.