Beyond the Horizon

Part 1

One of the lessons you learn after years of driving is that at some point or another, you’re going to experience the pain of repetition and predictability. Even when I first started off on the journey, I never had a destination in mind. It’s like as soon as I sat down and closed the door, it was getting hazy. It’s apparent to me now that from the moment I turned that old key and fired her up I was totally unsure of to exactly where I thought I was going. Driving is one of my greatest pleasures. There’s a sincere innocence in the act of driving. I lost sight of much of that, and from time to time I wasn’t sure if I was even in control. From a certain perspective the relationship between the machine and it’s controller breaks down, and it can become objectively difficult to distinguish which is driven by which.

To be fair, the warning signs were all over the place. It felt like I couldn’t go more than ten seconds without some sign, a precaution, a rule, a rule of thumb, a word of advice whispered in confidence. I always did my best to be a responsible driver. For the longest time I did my best to obey all the rules of the road, back before I knew better, or perhaps until I thought I knew better. Experience is the greatest teacher, not to mention the harshest. It’s common knowledge that to learn from experience makes even the worst decisions worthwhile. Sometimes it’s simply the only thing that one can take away from the curveballs so often thrown one’s way. The problem for the unwise lies in working out what lesson the accused is to take away from his crime. For the introspective the problem is rarely not seeing the problem at hand. They can even take precautions to make sure that one accident is never repeated, by not repeating whatever lead to disaster the first time around. For the experienced, and by that I mean the scarred, the disfigured, those drivers who possibly still hurt every waking day of their lives, there are an entirely different set of problems, regardless of their ability to learn from past experiences. The problem faced by the salty, by the ones who well and truly drove around that block more than they care to admit, is the inability to disengage from what they think they know best, and in doing so they find themselves sat exactly where they were before they even released the handbrake. One cannot escape his past, cannot escape the stupid things they did. But to make matters worse, they begin to see that so many of the reflective, glaring, fluorescent signs they are bombarded with as they hit the highway begin to contradict each other. They blur, they all look the same, sound the same. It seems impossible to follow one highway code without breaking another. At first, one particularly thoughtful individual might find, there seemed to be one over-arching Way. The irrefutable Tao of the road. The one true way. I miss that idea. I’ve reached a point where no matter how hard I try and see things as I used to, either I changed, or the rules did.

And so those rare unfortunates may find the signs begin to undermine each other. Slow down, but speed up. Be cautious, but never so more than you’re being brazen. Make sure to flaunt every last thing you have and haven’t ever done, because nobody likes It when you brag. And so experience fails you. It begins to lie to you, and even when you’re aware that there is clearly deception afoot, you become a man looking at a map with no reference as to where in the fuck they actually are. It’s at this point in my career as a driver that I also realised that for all the years I had been driving, I could not remember where I was going. I knew that I had been driving for a very long time, and I think at certain points I had stopped off at places, and I still remember the people I picked up. Some of them drove with me for the longest time. I always liked having passengers, but sooner or later, the destination is reached, and the journey has come to an end. But I digress. At a certain point, I found myself lost. It was the worst kind of lost, in that not only did I not know at all where and when I was, but in that I had totally forgotten where I had originally intended to go. I could not even remember at what point I had forgotten everything about myself. All I knew was in looking in the mirror, I was sure I didn’t recognise myself. I could not even describe the person who stared back at me. The Driver was a man about which you could say so much, but I’m quite certain that none of the obvious things you could gleam from that countenance were objectively correct. Nothing I’ve ever experienced has been quite so simple as that. First impressions are hard to resist, however. In a way it didn’t matter that I’m sure in some ways I recognised the Driver’s face, because from the moment I met his eyes with mine, I knew he’d always be a simple mystery to me, destined to be my enemy, the one who knew me the best.

He had the look of the man who has learned from experience as he lit that cigarette. The glow from the lighter revealed a face older and more weathered than I’m sure my own face was. He looked bad. I was certain he didn’t have the slightest good intention in mind for me, and yet everything in his eyes and in the tone of his voice struck me as sincere and well meaning. He spoke to me as if he knew me. We’re on the road now aren’t we? I’ve always loved these warm nights, the heady smell in the air. He grinned, and his eyes lit up. I suddenly felt thirsty. Thirstier than I’ve ever felt in my life. There was adrenaline coursing through my body now, and most of my worry had suddenly receded. As he rolled down the window, an old and child-like excitement crossed his face, as a child who is told on Christmas day that the best present has been saved to last. What does it even matter where we’re going? The pleasure’s in the driving. It’s also in the uncertainty. We passed a strange scene by the side of that long road. This struck me because until now it had all been so blank. There was a cow being led down the road by two men, one in front, and one following up from behind. We passed so quickly that the image struck me as an old black and white picture would have, fixed in my mind without the suggestion of fading. It was like some grim scene from a foreign abattoir, and I felt my spirit drop, knowing where the cow’s destination lay despite all his ignorance. He looked complacent if not slightly confused as to his predicament, being lead by his handlers as he was. For some unknown reason, I honestly felt very sad for him. Then I laughed. Fucker should have evolved faster. I couldn’t but help show the slightest disapproval, even if deep down something in me knew it was true. It would be pretty much the same if the boot was on the other foot. Or hoof. You get my drift. I laughed again, and I wasn’t sure if it was humour or desperation I heard in that laugh. It sounded strange to me, but laughs always sound strange when you really listen to them. Everyone knows what a laugh means, but that shit can’t be found in any dictionary I ever heard of.

Bernard's Cock

This is the confessional story of how Bernard was able to fuck whoever he wanted in class.

Bernard was timid and shy, and his thin body reflected this. However, as is often the case with such a person, he was the horniest of fuckers. Losing his virginity permeated his thoughts throughout every minute of his waking life, and when he slept, well, needless to say all his dreams had a common theme. Every morning Bernard awoke to the disappointment that the cunt he thought he'd finally been penetrating, was just another dream, and that in fact all he had achieved in doing was to make his pyjamas wet and sticky about the groin area again.

Eighteen and the closest he'd been to fucking was in his dreams. However, an unearthly gift was about to change all this.

The first time it happened, Bernard was in Math class. Sitting absentmindedly as ever, Bernard would alternate his gaze between the clock on the wall, and the view out the window. The girls were playing volleyball in the playground. He would try not to stare at them for too long, firstly so that he wasn't caught, and secondly so that he wouldn't get an erection in class. Every time one of the girls would jump to shoot, he would narrow his vision at their vest covered breasts, some were larger than others, but all gave him equal delight.

Turning his attention back to his text book, Bernard couldn't help but notice the pink thong of the girl in the desk in front of his. She was Jessica Riley, and she was the prettiest of things. Seeing her thong from behind, Bernard couldn't help but imagine what the front would look like, how she would look with nothing but the thong on, with her long brunette hair resting on her naked shoulders. How he would love to pull her thong to oneside and taste her fresh pussy, how her body would writhe under the influence of his tongue up her cunt. Bernard's breaths begin to become shorter when all at once his thoughts were suddenly broken.

Mrs Adams was standing over his desk. "Distracted by something again Bernard?", she enquired in harsh tones.
"No Mrs, sorry Mrs", fell the words out of his embarrassed red face.

Leaning forward, Mrs Adams continued to lecture Bernard on the importance of remaining focused in class and studying well. However it fell on dead ears, Bernard had already been distracted by her low cut top, draping off her shoulders, exposing first her collar bones, then her well defined cleavage. Bernard tried to retain eye contact with Mrs Adams, tried to look as if he was paying attention to her words. It was too dificult. He Intermittently nodded to simulate agreement with what she was saying, however this was merely an excuse to catch a glimpse down her blouse.

Seeing the top of her black lace bra, remembering the sight of Jessica's pink thong. Imagining Mrs Adams and Jessica naked together, rubbing each others bodies, kissing each others lips. Picturing them on their knees under his desk, pulling down his trousers, seeing their astonished faces as he reveals his gigantic cock (it wasn't). Bernard could no longer suppress the feeling in his boxers, a bead of sweat rolled down his face, and his cock all of a sudden was erect.

As instantaneously as Bernard's cock was hard, Mrs Adams speech wash frozen. He looked up awaiting the next sentence but it didn't come. He looked around, no one was moving. He looked out the window, the girls had stopped playing volleyball, frozen like statues in their sporting poses. Finally he looked back at the clock on the wall, it ticked no longer. In total shock, Bernard rose from his seat. Shaking like a leaf he reached out to touch Mrs Adams' arm. It was warm and soft, she remained totally motionless and unaffected.

The distress evident on Bernard's face slowly faded as his parted lips transformed into a wry grin. The realisation time was frozen and his cock was rock solid made Bernard overwhelmed with a strange blend of fear and joy. Building in confidence, he reached for Mrs Adams' tits, the first non-maternal pair he'd ever felt. He squeezed them with delight. In the blink of an eye he had removed her blouse, and then - not without difficulty - removed that seductive lace bra, dropped it to the floor, and almost awe struck eye-balled her large exposed tits. Those grand orbs of desire, framed and enhanced by a thin waist and slender shoulders. Bernard was beside himself.

Removing his own top, Bernard moved closer to Mrs Adams. He threw his arms around her waist tightly to feel her naked torso against his. He tasted her lips, slid his hands down her trousers and groped her firm ass cheeks. After feeling her tongue with his own one, he moved down to kiss her neck, in doing so he saw it again - over Mrs Adams' shoulder - the pink thong of Jessica Riley.

How had he forgotten about Jessy, sitting there, bent forward, frozen. He stepped away from Mrs Adam's body, approached Jessica's desk. She sat there with the end of a pencil in her mouth. How innocent she looked clearly deliberating on one of the problems from class. Bernard was transfixed by her pretty frozen face, by her soft lips teasing the end of that pencil, he couldn't resist any longer. Her head was at a perfect height, he turned it towards his crotch and dropped his trousers. He ripped off his boxers and manually opened her mouth, then - slowly yet purposefully - buried his throbbing cock in her gob. He felt her wet tongue before the back of her mouth.

His heart beating like a drum, Bernard lost all self-control. Taking hold of her head with both hands, Bernard begin thrusting in and out of her mouth. The silence in the room was broken by the sound of squelching and of Bernard's balls ricocheting off her chin. Jessica's mouth became ever fuller with spit and bile as she began to gag on Bernards cock which gave him a shock. He took his cock out her mouth to see if she had awoken. She hadn't, but moreover, she was more beautiful than ever. Frozen in time with saliva hanging between her mouth and his cock, her eye make-up a mess.

Bernard lifted Jessica out of her chair. Fortunately she stood of her own accord. Starting from the top down, Bernard unbuttoned her shirt one by one. She didn't wear a bra, and her perky budding tits were a sight to behold. Small, unassuming, fucking perfect. Her body was just as Bernard had imagined. Petite as anything, slightly tanned, soft, delicate, ripe.

Bernard continued to strip both his mannequinesque beauties completely bear. He looked around the room at all the other frozen faces, but with little inspection was sure he already had the two finest women in the room stripped naked, ready at his disposal. He pushed Mrs Adam's onto his desk face up, and positioned her body so that her head dangled off the end. With some effort and plenty of huffing and puffing, he lifted Jessica's body on top of Mrs Adams' the other way around and on all fours, so that her hairless pussy rested right above Mrs' Adams' upside down face.

Bernard stood back and admired his perfect fucking creation. Proudly he stood up to it, kissed Jessica's pretty little ass cheek (for it looked so sweet), then angled his cock down towards Mrs Adams' mouth. He secured the two bodies in place with his hands, and begin to pummel her mouth like a rabid dog fucks their favourite toy.

Once again the room was full of the sound of gagging. This time Mrs Adams' mouth squelching whilst spit spluttered out all over her face. Bernard stopped fucking her face for a moment, again admiring his creation and the mess he'd made of it.

Using his hand, he cupped up some of the saliva from his cock and Mrs Adams' messy face, and dribbled it over Jessica's ass. Bernard returned his cock to Mrs Adam's throat, burying his whole length in there as far is he could go, holding it there for a few seconds so to lube up his cock. He pulled it out again, took a firm grip of Jessica's hips, and with some force required, squeezed his cock into her asshole.

Her asshole, tight as it was, gradually parted, expended, and engulfed the head of Bernard's cock. He slid inch after inch, deeper and deeper into her shitter, and as he reached maximum penetration, she wimpered.

Again Bernard feared she had awoken. He reached forward and turned her head to face him. It was still motionless, yet now it bore an expression of discomfort. Still angling her face towards him, Bernard removed all but the head of his cock from her ass. Staring deeply into her eyes (still beautifully framed by her messed up makeup), he slammed his cock hard up her ass to the sound of flesh slapping flesh and another whimper. Certainly she was still frozen in time, but to Bernard' delight, she quietly whimpered as he continued to pound her ass.

After a few minutes of fucking Jessica's pretty little ass, he removed his cock, and spat onto her barely gaping hole. It slid over her asshole, down the ravine between her red ass cheeks towards her pussy, before dripping on Mrs Adams' face. The sight of this excited Bernard immensely, and joyfully he returned his ass stenching cock to Mrs Adams' throat.

He pounded away gleefully, alternating between the teachers gob and the students asshole, the messier Mrs Adams' face became, and the more Jessica whimpered, the more Bernard became excited. Frantically he fucked both of them until he felt a contortion in his stomach. Uncontrollably, as if possessed, he stretched Jessica's ass cheeks wide apart, found her drenched wet cunt with the head of his cock, plunged the whole thing in, and instantly erupted. With a demonic grunt, the likes of which Bernard did not know he could produce, Bernard was finished.

So that's the story of how Bernard lost his virginity (if you can call it that). After cumming (and taking a moment to watch his cum spew out of Jessica's pussy onto Mrs Adams' face) he quickly cleaned and dressed the pair, and soon as his cock was soft again, the clock ticked again. Needless to say Jessica and Mrs Adams' were might confused as to why their makeup had suddenly became a mess, why Jessica's ass was sore, and why Mrs Adams' had lost her voice. However it remained an unsolved mystery.

From that day onwards, whenever Bernard got an erection, time froze. Might this gift turn out to be a curse for our timid Bernard. Who knows? All Bernard knows, is that he had the best fucking experience of his life, one that he couldn't have even dreamed off without his magic cock.

Imagine as I walk up to you slowly, gazing at you seductively, I slowly lean in to give you a warm wet passionate kiss ever so slowly but before there is a kiss I pause at your lips.. you can feel the warmth of my lips fade away as I slowly move my attention to your neck, kissing it and licking it then sucking on your ear lobe. I kiss down your neck to your shoulder where I playfully bite you while slipping my hands into your shirt lightly caressing your body. I growl viciously and press you against the wall pinning your arms against the wall, walking slowly and carefully down your chest with my fingers down down down to your crotch I slowly unbutton your pants, and unzip them while gazing into your eyes passionately. I slip my hands into the sides of your underwear and slide them gently to your rear where I grab both cheeks firmly....

--- your turn.. ;)

For many years I jerked to pictures and videos of traps. One day I took a trip and had an experience for myself. The fantasy was way better than the reality.

The trap looks good when they are all done up and you are in the right light, but when you get back to the hotel most of the shit comes off. The sexy legs and height fall when the shoes come off. The tits fade away when they take off the bra. Most of the real traps you encounter don't have the money for real fakes. So they just use push-up bras to make it look like they have tits..

Both of you normally want a shower before you get to the dirty, so when the makeup eventually comes off you are left with a petite fem dude with girly hair. Once you get down to business it also kinda sucks. You only have two holes to fuck with. Get some head is fine, then its all downhill.

Playing with the d is kinda fucked up. You aren't playing with the d of some hot passable fem shemale like you see in pornos. you are playing with a dudes dick. Its like jerkin yourself off but without any feeling. Blowing is another story. With a condom on its pretty much like sucking on a balloon, and condom off is pretty gay haha. No but you have to be careful with STDs and shit. Who really wants some strange dude blowing loading in your mouth.

I guess you could ask them to stay dressed, but I know my balls stink after walking around all night, so I can only assume theirs do too?

Not to mention the level of crazy you have to deal with with a trap. They may have an STD. They may try and rob you. They may try coming back unannounced to your hotel. They may beg for money. I've had all but the STD thing happen so far.

Chicks are way better. They don't look quite as good without all the shit on their face, but it is pure woman. You wake up in the middle of the night next to a chick you feel pretty good. You wake up next to a trap you met on a drunken night out and the only think you think is how can I get her the fuck out of here.

Got to distance myself from this world emotionally, or else i will crack. Leave all love, desire and lusty thoughts behind. Wish i could just pluck some brain wire off and be away with these burdening feelings.
Too many a little girl, that i've known and loved to imagine them running through the dandelion meadows, are now all grown up, married, completely different persons, doing who-knows-what with who-knows-who... while i remain that shy, awkward boy. I don't feel jealousy, just having lots of regret, and hatred for fleeting time. Clothes get old, notebooks lost, burned, ripped, trees are felled, and with them memories fade.
That world i created in my head has no princesses anymore, and it crumbles, leaving only darkness and silence. How i wish i could experience being special to someone, for once.

I confess that about twelve years ago I fucked my aunt Claire (my dad’s little sister).

I was 21 the first time I fucked her and she would have been about 35 or 36. I was in the army at the time and just about the only sensible thing I did with my money (before or after this) was to buy a house not far from my mum and dad’s place, giving me a decent shag-pad so I didn’t have to try and sneak girls into my parents’ house while I was home on leave. Claire was always my flirty aunt when I was growing up, always making jokes about how she’d sort me out if I didn’t get myself a girlfriend soon and stuff like that. To be honest, I’d wanked over her a lot while I was a teenager! She was about 5’4’’ (a lot shorter than me) with mid-length dyed dark blonde hair and probably about a size 14 – 16 so she was ‘chubby’ but she was a good looking woman and had a big pair of tits that had been the main focus of my teenage lust.

This particular weekend I’d gone home for a family barbecue on the Saturday evening. Claire was there with her boyfriend, Tim, and she’d been hitting the wine pretty hard. Eventually he’d lost his temper with her and they ended up having a domestic in the living room while the rest of the family sat round in the back garden making awkward small talk to try and stop all the kids from hearing the arguing. Eventually Claire told Tim to fuck off home if he didn’t like it and stop ruining her night. He stormed out and she came out in the back garden, sat down next to me and carried on drinking.

A little later she asked if I still had that house I’d been talking about buying last time I’d seen her and could she crash there that night so she didn’t have to go home to ‘that fucking knobhead’. I told her she was more than welcome to the sofa for the night (I wasn’t even thinking about fucking her at the time, just that she needed a place to kip) and a little while later we got a taxi back to mine.

When we got in she made herself comfortable on the sofa and I went into the kitchen to get a couple of drinks. As I walked back in to the living room I froze in the doorway – Claire had turned the TV on and it was still on the Sky porn/chatline channel I’d been watching the night before. Claire giggled and asked why on earth I was watching stuff like that when I had that hot girl I’d been with at the last family party (a girl called Kate. She was miles out of my league in looks and fantastic in bed but we’d both agreed that neither of us would stay faithful while I was away so we’d ‘split up’ but agreed to meet up for the fantastic sex whenever I was back home. I hadn’t been able to see her that weekend because she was doing stuff with some boyfriend she was with at the time).

Claire eventually stopped taking the piss out of me for watching porn and found a film to watch and we sat round chatting and drinking for a while until eventually Claire asked where the toilet was. She was gone for about ten minutes and I was just starting to think she must have stumbled into the bed and gone to sleep when she reappeared. She said she’d been having a look round upstairs (it was the first time she’d been in my place) and asked why I had a camcorder sat on my bedside table? I laughed and told her that Kate liked being filmed and I must have left it there last time I’d been home and seen her. Claire laughed and said she didn’t know that her baby nephew was so kinky, then asked to see the video. I thought she was joking and just laughed but she asked again. I told her I wasn’t sticking my porn on for my aunt but she insisted and eventually I gave up and put one of the videos on.

The video started with Kate dancing and stripping for me while I was holding the camera. When she was naked she started grinding on me and telling me all things she wanted to do to me, then she grabbed the camera and asked me to do down on her – something I loved almost as much as her. Claire was giggling and congratulating me on making her cum so noisily when on-screen Kate told me to stand up and strip for her. Luckily at the time I was at a shit posting with nothing to do on camp other than go to the gym so (for pretty much the only time in my life!) I had a really good body which Claire noticed straight away.

On-screen I got the camera back and Kate knelt in front of me, pulled my boxer shorts down and started to kiss my cock (a decent seven and a half inches with enough girth to keep most girls happy). At this Claire turned round to me and said ‘you really have grown up a lot, haven’t you?’ I smiled and told her not to be silly, she’d seen it plenty of times before (although, admittedly, I had been in nappies the last time she had!) and she replied “it didn’t look like that last time”. We watched for a bit longer as Kate gave me a fantastic blow job on screen when Claire turned to me and said “I can’t believe I’m getting so horny watching my nephew getting blown”. I thought I’d misheard and asked what she’d said and she said “I’m getting wet watching that lucky girl sucking your big cock”.

I’ll be honest and say I was a bit shocked and I asked her if she was serious. She put her glass on the table in front of her, leant in to me and whispered in my ear “I’m very serious, if you want me then you can have me” and with that she pulled my face to hers and started to kiss me. I couldn’t believe my luck and started to kiss her back while my hands instantly went down to play with those tits I’d wanted to have in my hands pretty much for as long as I could remember knowing what tits were for.

Claire’s hands were already pulling my jeans open and pulling my cock out as I reached behind her, unzipped her dress as far down as I could get it and pulled it down at the front exposing a black lacy bra barely holding two huge tits in. As she started giving me one of the best hand jobs I’ve ever had I pulled her bra off and starting licking and biting her nipples while I pushed my right hand under her dress, pulled her knickers to one side and started to play with her pussy. She wasn’t lying about being horny – her pussy was already soaking wet and after just a few minutes of rubbing her clit and fingering her I had her lying back on the sofa cumming hard. As her orgasm faded I pulled her dress all the way off, along with her panties, and sat over her slowly wanking myself while taking in every inch of the body I’d been lusting after for so long.

As I said, she was overweight but not fat, with big thighs and arse (something that still turns me on in a girl now). Her tits were nearly perfect – big but not too big and pert enough that they didn’t flop around everywhere. Her pussy was neatly shaved into a ‘landing strip’ and as I looked down at it she opened her thighs and asked me to eat her out like I had with Kate on the video. I didn’t need any second invitation and I knelt on the floor in front of her and started licking her pussy while my right hand rubbed her clit. After a while I changed to licking her clit while finger fucking her with first three then four fingers, roughly forcing them in and out of her tight (no kids!) pussy while she moaned my name and ground her crotch onto my face while pulling my head even closer into her cunt with both hands.

After I’d made her cum two or three times she told me she wanted me cock so I stood up and in one movement pushed it deep into her. I’d been planning to ‘show-off’ a bit and take it slow for a while but as soon as I felt that tight cunt around my cock I started to hammer into her as hard as I could. She was loving being fucked like that and was moaning and gasping my name, telling me it was the best she’d ever had as I forced my cock as deep as I could into her. I didn’t last long until I could feel that familiar tightness in my balls and I told her I was going to cum. I told her to get on her knees in front of me and as she did she pulled my cock into her mouth. Her tongue never stopped moving once, licking every bit of my dick from my balls to my Jap’s Eye as she roughly wanked me with one hand and gently squeezed my bollocks with her other. As I was getting closer she stopped licking and sucking my dick and started talking dirty to me as she wanked me, telling me she knew I’d fancied her for years and that she’d seen me loads of times trying to get a look down her top when I was a kid. She told me that it had turned her on knowing I was looking at her tits and she’d thought about letting me do more than look a couple of times when I was younger but never had the chance. Then she told me to call her Aunty Claire and that she wanted me to show her how much I liked her tits by covering them in cum. All of that put me over the edge and I just about managed to gasp out something like ‘oh fuck, Aunty Claire’ before my cock exploded with probably the biggest cum shot I’ve ever managed all over those amazing breasts.

As the cum finally stopped pulsing out of my cock she grinned and slowly pulled my foreskin back and licked all of the last drops of my cum up from around my helmet before looking me in the eyes and licking all of the cum off her tits.

We spent the next few hours in bed licking, sucking and fucking in every position we could think of with Claire letting me cum all over her tits, on her face and in her mouth about four or five times before we finally fell asleep at about 0400. I woke up again at about 0900 to find that I was alone in the bed. I was starting to think I’d dreamed it all when I heard a voice from downstairs. I wandered down to find Claire sitting on the sofa in the living room wearing just the T-shirt I’d had on the night before, on the phone to Tim patching their argument up. As I walked in she was telling him she loved him and that she’d be home soon to sort things out. She looked up as I walked in, saw me standing there naked with a semi-on and immediately told Tim that “our ********* just walked in with breakfast, I’ll have to go. I’ll be home soon”. With that she hung up, stood up and walked over to me. She grabbed me by the cock, pulled me over to the sofa when it had all began the night before and lay back in-front of me, looking up at me to say “I’ve only got time for one more go before I have to leave, fuck me” as she spread her legs and pulled my cock inside her. We fucked until I could feel myself getting close again and I told her I was about to cum. She wrapped her legs around me, pulling me even deeper inside her and told me that it was ok, she was on the pill and she wanted to feel her nephew shooting deep inside her. She was starting to cum herself and as I felt her pussy starting to tighten on me I couldn’t hold back anymore and we both came together, me filling my aunt’s pussy with my cum.

We lay next to each other kissing for a few minutes until we’d got our breath back. Then she sat up and looked around for her knickers which I’d thrown on the floor the night before. She pulled them on and went upstairs carrying her clothes from the previous night which had also been left on the floor, asking me to call her a taxi while she was gone. A little while later she was back down, having had a quick wash, brushed her teeth and dressed. She told me she had to go and as I stood up she came over and kissed me again. Then she whispered in my ear “I can feel your spunk dripping into my knickers and it feels so dirty and so good. Are we going to do this again?” I told her that of course we would, if she wanted and she pointed out that she’d made it pretty obvious that morning that she definitely would want it again. She gave me her mobile number and told me to let her know the next time I was up and that I mustn’t tell anyone what had happened (as though I’d was that stupid!). As she was saying that, we heard a car horn outside. It was her taxi so she gave me one last kiss, told me to make sure I called or texted and left to go back to her boyfriend.

For the past week and a half I've been having very sexual dreams about my ex stepdad. I woke up from one this morning and it's been all I can think about. You know how when you wake up from a dream and it's all fresh you can still remembers details and feelings and then it starts to fade? I've been going over and over what I remember because i don't want to forget it. Something about the way it made me feel. I haven't been this turned on for awhile. It's that sensation that no matter what I do or try to think about, I can feel my pussy more than any other part of my body, my clit throbbing, and my panties getting wetter and wetter. I'm finally about to give in and make myself cum, thinking about him of course, but I wanted to write it all out before I get off and move on and forget this intense feeling.

What I remember from last night's dream was being in a room, my bedroom from when I was younger, and on my laptop. My stepdad came into my room, naked, and told me he needed to use the computer. When I saw him it felt natural, like there was no shock of seeing him without clothes and in my dream I didn't react but I also remember being very aware that I could see his dick and that felt unusual. (I know this hardly makes sense but dreams are always hard to interpret into words for me, as a lot of what happens in them for me is mental). I was sitting at desk right next to my bed and he came over and stood by me for a second, his dick was not just out it was halfway hard. You know, not standing up straight but kinda plump and straighter than normal. In my dream I noticed this and knew what it meant and was fascinated by it and instantly started talking to him differently.

I was asking him to let me finish what I was doing and I remember saying "please" and knowing it was suggestive considering how close my lips were to his cock as I slightly pouted after. I told him if he would just let me finish I would let him do anything he wanted for the rest of the night. And then as I told him that he smiled and came over to sit on the bed next to me. And then I remember actually going back to what I was doing online and him watching me, us talking but nothing specific. At some point here my little brother came walking into the room, also naked, and then it was instantly weird for me. I kinda jokingly half mad yelled at them that they had no boundaries and needed to start wearing clothes around me more and they laughed I think and my brother left the room. So it was weird to me that my brothers nudity bothered me so much, like I looked away and yelled at him, but my stepdads naked dick instantly turned me on.

The other weird thing is that I totally remember how his cock looked in my dream, and it fits well with what I remember of him when I was younger. I've caught glimpses of him in the past, peeing with the bathroom door cracked, or going through the hall late at night. Never anything too strange from what I remember but just a few occasions of walking into a room I shouldn't, or seeing him passing through the hall late at night. (All things I felt were normal for families in small apartments). But it's weird because even before this dream if someone mentions him or I think of him, I've always had a vivid memory of his dick and what it looked like. And it matched up well with the dream, other than in the dream it was definitely hard and getting harder and I was getting a close up view of it.

Unfortunately, I don't remember much else. I know we were talking while I was on the computer and that I was aware we were being somewhat flirtatious even though in the dream I was too young to really know what that was.

And now, I've spent the whole lay lusting over those memories and thoughts of it going further. It isn't physically possibly because he isn't a part of my life anymore, and I don't remember lusting after him when I was younger, though I have always been more sexual than most people I know and tend to have a dirty mind. I started master bating at what to me would be a young age and did it nightly from that point on. Other things like that that are a little more sexual than you should be at that age, but I don't remember ever thinking if him that way consciously.

I know I had another dream about him 2-3 nights ago, and even woke up to tell my fb that I had a great dream (no more details than that) and ended up getting on top of him... After that I didn't think of it again until this morning, when I can't get it out of my mind.

So I've been super lonely, and feeling unwanted. I was wondering if any ladies out there might cheer me up by sending me a pic or two. Don't have to be nudes, or anything. I just want to know that someone has thought of me, and to make sure I still exist. Feels like I'm fading away sometimes. :(

Here I'll sit all alone
Like an airplane
On the edge of a sky full of solid gray
Staring at the ceiling
Tell me that I'm dreaming
Oh, I wish you were here today
All these days I know I'll never get back
All the words that I always wish you would've said
All these dreams that we had,
Now fade to black
Try to wash it away

I'm torn to pieces
I'm broken down
I still see your face when you're not around
I sit here in misery wondering if I'll ever be half the man you wanted me to be

My second year of junior college, my friends were living in a rental duplex in the neighborhood most of us grew up in. It was like 3 bedrooms and we crammed 9 guys in there. It was worse when the other guys were in relationships too because I was never comfortable lying in bed, trying to sleep, while some hottie bit her lip trying not to moan as she got finger banged. Sometimes I’d walk in and just them making out would make me turn around, get in the car, and go for a long drive.

That was when I got in an accident.

I don’t remember any of it. The other driver had T-boned me after, according to him, I ran a red light. But I was the slow, patient driver that braked on yellow. And he had five wrecks. Insurance did most of the work and there was one witness who said the other guy was speeding and that alone made him responsible and I didn’t have to pay.

But I also didn’t have a car for a few months while the court case was being fought. My insurance didn’t get me a rental either. Thanks, Obama.

Only one other guy had a car in the house and we couldn’t all fit so…

My mom drove us.

She lived just four blocks away and she was a cool, stay-at-home mom. Most of the guys knew her since elementary school when she chaperoned field trips and when we got to hanging out in high school, she’d never bust us for sneaking a few drinks during poker games in the basement. That first she came down for frozen pizzas, we freeze, waiting for trouble, yelling, a lecture, a look, anything. But she never mentioned it. By senior year, we didn’t even pretend to hide our Solo cups. And the guys liked her, joking the way guys do about my hot mom, her fake tits (no proof of that!), and how she’d get dressed up for giving us a ride to school while we were in ripped jeans and faded T-shirts. She wanted it, they were sure, and sometimes they’d flirt, “Looking nice, Mrs. Stevens. New perfume?”

But there’s still something about being in college, on crutches, and having my mom drop me off at school that I couldn’t get over. The car rides were quiet.

She had a mini-van and the guys in back would whisper and giggle and I’d hear, “Would you rather…” then a bunch of text alerts and my phone would vibrate and I’d look and it’d be like two photos of porn stars covered in jizz that I’d avert from my mom’s view.

Everyone would respond to the group text and if I didn’t, I’d get ragged on so I’d pick.

On our drive home from class, this kid Blake sent one that made me turn around and go, “Really?!”
He’d sent, “For half a million dollars, would you rather get fucked in the ass or in the mouth? Both to completion. Like inside.”

Everyone had pretty much the same reaction, calling him gay, refusing to answer. He swore that was the game, two awful choices and you had to pick one.

“What’d this one say?” My mom asked. She was smart enough to know the game they were playing.

“Forget it,” I said. The drive was slow. A lot of crosswalks with students that never paused.

“I want to play. It seems like you’re all having fun.”

“They like it because it makes me uncomfortable. Assholes.”

“Let her play!” all the guys chimed in.

“So would you rather…” She paused to think, tapping on the steering wheel. “Asparagus or broccoli?”

The guys all laughed.

“That’s not really the game,” I said.

“I’m just warming up! And it’s practical. I thought I’d make you boys something with vitamins. Keep you fitting into clothes and looking good.”

“It’s got to be two tough choices,” I said.

“This wasn’t a game when I was a kid,” she told us.

“It’s got to be something awful or sexual or maybe two options so good that it’s tough to choose either,” Gabe said.

“It’s not really something I want to play with my mom.”

“Give me an example. What’d Blake ask?”

There was a silence at a light as everyone looked around at who’d man up and say it.

“Anal or oral,” Blake said.

The light turned green in the silence and the car revved up. “Both,” she said.

“Oh god,” I groaned.

The boys cheered like mad. “Yeah, Mrs. Stevens!”

“What? They’re both fun if you’re in the mood.”

“Kill me,” I muttered. She smacked my leg playfully.

“Blake asked that?” she said, looking in the rearview. Blake was in the middle of the bench seat in back between Tommy and Michael. “All right, then Blake, would you rather jerk off Tommy or Michael?”

The two guys in the pilot seats, Gabe and Louis, turned and laughed and high-fived as Blake just shook his head and Tommy and Michael looked out the window, inching away from Blake.

“I answered yours! Let’s hear yours? Or you going to say ‘Both’ too?” She was a devil of a woman.

“I don’t know… Michael looks like a virgin so he’d probably finish quickest.”

There was a chorus of “Ew!” “Gay.” “Gross, dude.” And Michael was adamant he’d made it with like twenty girls last week.

“Sure, Mike,” Mom said, giggling, teasing.

“All right, all right. Um…” He was desperate to get her back, but all of this was really just an attack on me. “Who would you rather?”

“Between Mike and Tommy?”

“Between all of us.”

She thought about it as she turned “I thought these were supposed to be tough choices.”

I wasn’t sure where we were. It was a cornfield, which were common around her, but usually just on one side. We were surrounded and the only buildings in front were grain silos and farm houses and there wasn’t any traffic coming our way or tailing us.

“Do you have a choice?” Mike asked.

She pulled over into a shaded spot. “The only tough part about this is having to choose at all.”

“Whoa, hold on,” I said.

Mom undid her seatbelt and as it went up, so did her sundress letting her bare, bouncing breasts hang out. I’ll never forget her tan marks.
She got in back before the guys knew what to do and she was on her knees between Gabe and Louis and one hand was fumbling with both zippers. “One of you better get up here and fill my mouth.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’ve done the math. There’s enough room for everyone in every hole and every hand.”

“Mrs. Stevens,” Michael said, unsure. But Blake undid his pants and stepped up and slid his uncircumcised cock in her mouth, putting his hands on her head. She went down deep on him then came off, licking his shaft to his tip.

She’d gotten Gabe’s and Louis’s pants undone and told them to take them off. “Who wants which hole? We got a pussy and an ass that needs filling and Blake can’t do it all himself.”

“I’ll take pussy,” Louis said, trembling.

“So Gabe gets the ass. Don’t worry about hurting me. John,” she said to me licking up Blake’s shaft again. “Open the glove compartment and get Gabe some lube. Always use lube boys. A lot of it.”

I couldn’t. I was frozen.

My mom, topless and in a thong and strappy heels, bent over my friend’s cock with four others out, ready to get stroked, sucked, and fucked. I couldn’t aid this. But I couldn’t leave either.

“John!” she snapped. But she was impatient for her fucking and got up to shuffle on her knees to the glove box for her lube. KY.

“Okay, boys,” she said. “Some rules first. No telling anyone about it, but you should all be taking videos and photos. You’re not in charge. I am. You stop when I say, not after, definitely not before. All those cocks are going to get drained. When you need to finish, on my face, chest, ass, stomach, hands, wherever, but not inside me. On me. And please, call me ‘Mom.’”

She adjusted the rearview so I could see, if I wanted. I peeked. Then watched. Getting aroused. Wanting it too. Wanting her to be anyone else’s mom or my stepmom or a stranger. But she wasn’t. She was my mom. And I watched my friends fuck fill both holes, her mouth. She jerked them slowly, then quickly, asking them if they wanted to cum, then stopping to edge a bigger cumshot out of them. She switched people at will. There was a lot of bumping around and at one point she was getting railed by just Blake in the ass and she was right by me and she kept looking up, smiling at me, licking her lips.

The guys would shoot cum on her face and it’d drip off as they kept fucking her. When they had finished once, she made them keep going. I think each finished three times and she tried milking more out. She was dripping. And smiling.

“Okay, let’s all get out so we can get dressed more easily.”

The boys all filed out of the van, listening to her. But she slid the door closed.

“It’s our turn, baby,” she said and kissed me with cummy lips. “I saw you watching. I know you wanted a turn. Well now I’m all yours.”

The windows were tinted and the guys couldn’t see what was happening but they tried to open the doors and peek in but since the car was off, they knew they weren’t stranded at least.

Meanwhile, Mom led me to the back where she sat on me, kissing me, letting their cum drip off her face, pressing her jizzed on breasts against my bare chest. It was gross…but I liked it.
She pulled my cock out and slowly gyrated her hips as she slid it inside her. She was in complete control.

And I loved it.

She went slow at first. It was my first time, whether she knew or not, and she treated me lovingly, kissing me as she sank onto me. Asking if I liked it like this. Asking me if I was ready for more? For faster? For harder?

“Yes,” I moaned.

“I love you,” she said.

And she didn’t stop until I finished inside her.

#

When she let them back in the car, Blake wanted more but she was cleaned up, clothed, and not in the mood. He tried to force it but I sat him down. It was a quiet ride home. Mom stole glances at me, little smiles. I had them too.

Then she pulled up to our house. Our other roommates were out so we all went inside and mom got started on cooking us broccoli and fried rice and a good home-cooked meal.
And for dessert, Blake had to watch the rest of us and her and he never got that special by himself moment with Mom like I did.

# # #

Let me know if you'd be interested in a whole blog dedicated to these erotic fantasies I have.

Jamilla’s crucifixion

Jamilla was already awake when the sunlight entered her cell. After the Romans had captured her a week ago at the villa of her master, they had locked her up in there. They had stripped her and tied her up tightly, her hands behind her back, she was forced to sit here in this dark cell. She have had a lot of time to think about what has happened, and, more important, the things to come. At first she had been scared to death by the thought of being crucified, but right now she had found peace with it. Jamilla knew what she had done, and she also knew that she deserved nothing better. There was no doubt that, if she was to be killed, it would happen out there for every one to see. She was just to beautiful to let her die in here. After all she was the most beautiful girl in and around the city, In fact the thought of starving in here scared her even more than a public humiliation. Being tied up all the time and at least raped and tortured, imagine taht! No, no, all well considered, crucifixion was the best she could hope for. At least her pain would be over in a few days instead of years. She didn’t dare to think that the soldiers wouldn’t come for her.

But then the door opened and a couple of men gave entered her cell and removed the ropes from her hands and feet. Jamilla felt some sort of relief when she left the cell. They would not let her starve. Thus far she had been very lucky. It was only now that she realized that nobody had abused her until now. She wasn’t raped, she hadn’t been whipped. The fact of being nude don’t scare her, as a slave girl she has experienced this form of humilation many times, it was usual for the female to walk nude trough the city up tot he crucifixion side, while the men are allowed to wear a loincloth.

As they came out of the dark hallways into the inner yard of the camp, Jamilla spotted a long, thin, wooden cross lying on the ground. “Pick it up!” one of the soldiers said. Jamilla walked towards the cross and lifted it on her shoulder. There was no use in trying to resist, which would only make it worse for her. Two soldiers came standing next to her and one of them hung a wooden plate around her neck with her name, her age and her crime carved in it. Jamilla expected them to push her forward in to the streets of the city, but they didn’t. Both of the soldiers were looking at a little door behind them. As Jamilla looked at it as well, she saw an other soldier coming out with a hammer, a ladder and a basket with nails. Long heavy spikes…

“So it ’s going to be a full nailing” Jamilla said to herself. Until now she had hoped that they would only use ropes or at least only nail her hands, but as she could count more than two nails, she knew she wouldn’t be that lucky. The soldier loaded the gear on a donkey and the other two gave Jamilla a gentile push on her shoulder. “Let’s go.” They said and the campgates opened.

Jamilla carried her cross through the narrow streets of the city. It wasn’t very heavy but despite the early hour the sun was already shining hot. As she came closer to the crucifixion site, more and more people were watching and following her, yelling things at her. She noted the views of the men, on her slim body, her well-shaped breasts, with the long nipples. Her master has pierced them years ago, she has to wear rings there, and the nipples has grown considerably. Except her long hair, her body has been shaved completely, even if the pubic hair has started to grow back, her crotch is visible for everyone.

“Look at you, you stupid basterds,” Jamilla said to herself “ shouldn’t you be working? No you just want to see me suffer, you want to hear me scream on the cross, you want to see the extreme fear in my eyes when they nail me to it. Well screw you! You think I’m afraid but I’m not, you think I’ll beg them for mercy, beg them not to nail my feet, but you’re wrong, wrong, wrong! I won’t. In fact I’ll show you that it doesn’t scare me, I’ll show you how a proud girl faces her destiny!”

As she took the last turn to the marketplace, Jamilla felt this strange sensation in her underbelly. She knew she was walking her last few steps ever. On the market place, one of the soldiers gave the order to stop right in the middle of the square. She let her cross slip to the ground, took a few steps back and looked at the people that came to see her humiliation. One soldier held a hand on her shoulder and took back the wooden plate as the other one unpacked the gear. The third one began to declare her verdict and why she deserved it. During that time Jamilla realized that the strange feeling in her underbelly wasn’t fear as she thought it was, but pleasure. Her crotch has become wet, she noticed it. Every single person on the square wanted to see her young, nude body exposed on the cross. She knew she turned on every man that came to see her today, but none of them would ever have her. She would remain an unreachable ideal forever. She knew she could give them a spectacle they would never forget, that would make every other women look like durt.

Right now Jamilla realized that her time had come. The third soldier reached the end of his speech.

Jamilla knew what she had to do, she would show the crowd she was not afraid. Slowly she walked towards the cross, looking at the soldiers. Then she turned around, looked at he crowd and went lying down on her cross. Before one of the soldiers could grab her, she placed both of her wrists on the crossbeam, waiting for the nails.

The soldier that was going to nail her held back his two accompagnons. “No, no, don’t grab her. I want to see if she really can take this.” Jamilla looked at him as he put the first heavy spike right on top of her wrist. There was no one holding her wrists in place, yet she did not pulled them away, when the soldier raised his hammer for the first blow. Jamilla looked closely as the point of the first nail was driven into her wrist. “Aagh!” The pain was more than unbearable, it didn’t just stay in her wrist. Like water spilled on a flat stone, the pain started to run in various directions, all through her body. Yet the nail had only cut a few muscles and flesh. Right now he was only pushing on her wristbones, slightly driving them apart. As much as Jamilla was suffering, she couldn’t move her arms. She could only watch how the hammer came down a second time. This time the nail crushed her wristbones. Jamilla could feel the couldnes of the steel against her bones. Again she could not hold back a short scream. The pain had now turned into a supernatural form of agony. One of the soldiers who was standing next to the cross, noticed how Jamilla was rubbing her beautiful bare feet over the sand in a useless attempt to lighten the pain. Although the nail hadn’t reached the beam yet, she managed to keep her tortured wrist in place. Her most beautiful body was already covered with sweat when the hammer came down for the third time. Finally the nail came out of her wrist again and made his first contact with the crossbeam. Jamilla felt a bit relieved because she thought the wrist part was over. Once the nail was through, it would be easier to bare. But she was wrong. The hardness of the wood made it very hard to finish the job. The executioner needed six more blows to get her wrist fully nailed to the beam, every blow causing Jamilla more and more pain in addition to the already unbearable agony…

At the first blow, Jamilla had pulled back her second wrist. “Aagh!” A short scream escaped her mouth every time the nail went deeper. Finally the last blow was given and the executioner stood up. Shortly he admired his work, then he walked over to the other side of the beam to nail her other wrist. Jamilla didn’t know how she did it, but she had managed not to cry. Although only one of the four nails was in place, she was already covered with sweat. She looked at her unnailed wrist once more, then she placed it on the crossbeam as she saw the executioner approached with the second nail. He looked at her beautiful young face while he went across her wrist with his fingers to locate the bones. When he found the right spot, he place the nail on it, held his hammer high up in the sky. Then he waited for a moment to see if Jamilla really wouldn’t pull down her arm now that she knew what it felt like to have one nailed wrist. Then he started his horrible job.

Jamilla thought she knew what she had to expect, but no one could ever get used to a sudden explosion of pure pain like that. Again her short screams filled the air, again her beautiful bare feet rubbed against the sand, but yet the agony seemed like at least a thousand times worse. Again she felt how the nail crushed some of her bones and drove others apart. It was in this pure sensation of nothing-but-absolute-agony- that Jamilla realized something strange. With every blow she screamed her little “AaAgh’s” as a message to every one on the square that she couldn’t take it any more. But now she realized, as her pain reached a new, horrible peak with every other blow that she wanted more. Though the agony made it quite impossible to keep her wrist in place, as long as the nail hadn’t pinned it to the wood, Jamilla realized she was able to do so, because she loved it. From this moment one, she could kill and love the executioner for what he was doing to her at the same time. She hated and admired him because he was able of hurting her like this. Though her agony reached unknown hights with every blow, she couldn’t wait for the next one. She watched closely how the nail disappeared deeper into her wrist and into the wood. When the executioner stood up after the nailing, Jamilla felt relieved and disappointed at the same time. Her body was under tension, shivering, excited, despite the heat her nipples remain hard all the time, and she notes that her juice has started to leak.

Jamilla looked at her beautiful nude body as the soldiers made preparations to pull up the cross. With her arms spread out like this above her head and her legs a bit opened to feel the sand under her feet for the last time, both her beautiful small breasts with their long and hard nipples and shaven pubic were exposed to the crowd. Yet Jamilla felt no shame, she felt only pain and a deep desire for more pain. Two soldiers were tying ropes to both ends of the crossbeam while the third one was placing some small pieces of wood at the bottom of the longpole so that the cross wouldn’t slide over the sand when they tried to raise it. Then they attached the ropes to their donkey as well. Then the executioner kneeled down at Jamilla’s feet. He grabbed them by the ankles and measured the length of her legs. He placed her feet on the longpole, right next to each other, so that her legs were slightly bent. He looked at it, changed the pose a bit, released her feet and carved a little bit of wood out of the pole, where he wanted her feet to be when he nailed them. Jamilla had observed his actions very well. For a moment she thought he was going to nail her feet before they raised the cross. She had loved the feeling of his hand around her feet. The two soldiers made the donkey pull up the cross while the executioner made sure the longpole would slip into the hole that was dug for it. As they raised her cross and her feet left the ground for the last time, Jamilla felt how her weight was no longer carried by the thin longpole but only by the two spikes that pierced her wrists. She had to scream. Little yelps of both extreme agony and pleasure escaped her mouth while the donkey was raising her cross. As her cross was almost in a complete vertical position, Jamilla spotted the carve made by the executioner to indicate the intended position of her feet. While the soldiers were making sure the cross wouldn’t fall back if they cut the ropes, Jamilla tried out her final footpose. With her feet against the longpole and her legs opened widely because of the roundness of the longole, she decided that it was both a humiliating and an exciting pose. Jamilla looked at her elegant ankles and her adorable toes. Soon her most beautiful feet would be nailed. To feel once more the pain of really hanging on a cross, she moved her legs away from the longpole, so that they were just hanging on either side of it. Now the executioner placed his ladder against the cross and climbed up to fulfill his duty.

As the executioner reached the final step of the ladder, Jamilla lowered her left foot and placed it right on the spot the executioner wanted it to be. He put the nail right on the most central spot of her foot, slightly adapted its pose so that the toes were really pointing towards the ground. Then he began the nailing. Once again Jamilla experienced a wave of fresh agony running through her body. Again she felt how the nail pushed against the bones of her foot and crushed them with the second blow. Again she let out her little yells every time the nail went a bit deeper. Even when the nail entered the wood after the third blow, she didn’t dare to put any weight on it. Her foot was causing her the same amount of agony as both her wrists. Oooh, she loved crucifixion right now; She thanked the people that invented this heavenly torture from the bottom of her heart as the final blows were given. As the executioner finished the nailing of her left foot, Jamilla felt a bit sad. Now her other foot was the only thing left. After that, her agony would slowly fade away … So she put her other foot right next to her nailed one. The executioner brought out the last nail. Jamilla closed her eyes as her bully raised his hammer. Very intensely she tried to analyze the waves of pain that were caused by the final spike. As the bones of her right foot were crushed she couldn’t hold back a small yelp. Also when she felt how the nail tore the skin of here sole apart, she simply had to release a little “ Ôah!” As the nail was driven further into her foot and the wood of the longpole, Jamilla first realized she was being put to death in the most cruel, horrible and agonizing way known in the whole of the Roman Empire, and that she just loved it. The soldier smashed the nail a bit deeper for the last time. Then he went down a few steps and nailed the wooden plate that quoted Jamill’s crime, name and age to the longpole, right underneath her beautiful, nailed feet. “Jamilla, twenty one year old, blonde slave, murder, theft and arson.” Then he stepped down, took away his ladder and together with one of his fellows he went back to the camp. The third one staid to guard Jamilla so that no one would get her down of there.

Although it had seamed a lot longer, her crucifixion had only taken half an hour. Now most of the spectators resumed their work on the market. For Jamilla, the real horror of crucifixion was about to begin. Right now she realized that the pain in her wrists became too much to bare, even for someone who loved it, so Jamilla had to push up on her feet. Putting her entire weight on the nails piercing her feet caused her a wonderful amount of pain, yet she had to let go, if she didn’t want to faint, and she fell back on her wrists. But very soon, again, the pain in her wrists forced her to retry the push up. The Romans had spiked her in a very ingenious way. By bending her legs just a little bit, Jamilla had to face the problem where to put her weight, but she couldn’t suffocate that easy. As she looked around to see what the other people who had watched her crucifixion were doing. Some people were still looking at her, pointing out to each other how well she was nailed. Jamilla herself was also admiring the work of her bully. While she was at it, she saw that she wasn’t bleeding as much as she thought. The only blood Yamilla saw was the blood that had run out of the wounds when the nails were still driven in. Meanwhile the soldier that staid behind walked over to the fountain and took a drink. He didn’t return to the cross but went strait to one of the stalls on the market. He decided to watch over her from there, in the shadow. On the cross, Jamilla was exposed to the sun. Very slowly her bronzed skin was burning. As she saw the guard take a drink, Jamilla became aware of her own thirst. She wondered whether she could ask for some water as well. After a while her thirst became so big she decided to risk it. “Can…can I have some water to, please…?” she moaned. The guard fulfilled her request and put a cup filled with water on the top of his spear. Jamilla drunk it all and asked for more several times, especially around noon when the sun was burning every drop of liquid out of her.

Jamilla now realized that the pain wasn’t fading away at all. She didn’t know why but the spikes kept hurting her as much as they did when they were driven into place. She looked once more to the nails piercing her body. As she could clearly feel, al four of them were smashed through some bones. “I wonder…” she thought. Jamilla tried to move her fingers, but some of them didn’t react to her command. Also her toes weren’t completely movable. The sight of the spikes entering her feet and wrists fascinated her. Jamilla tried to reach the head of the nails in her wrists. Her fingers could only touch the top of the nails. Her excitement still remains, and her crotch has started to leak, she notes the liquid running down the lips, and the it drops down to the sand.

As the sun went down and the market became empty, Jamilla first realized she would never leave her cross again. Even her corpse would be left up there after she died. She wondered what it would be like, if she died. Would she pass out and never awake again? She didn’t know.

Jamilla’s first night on the cross was filled with agony. There was now way of getting some sleep up there. If the pain didn’t keep her awake, then the coldness of the night would make sure she didn’t sleep. The hours passed slowly, way to slowly, but when Jamilla finally thought she was used to it, the first rays of sunlight announced a new day….

As the market became crowded again, people returned to her cross to see how she was doing. "You 're realy enjoying this, aren't you?" Jamilla managed to ask her public. Of course they did. "Guess what," Jamilla moaned as a reply, "so do I..."

According to some spectators who had seen a few crucifixions already, Jamilla was “dancing” real nice. She was pushing herself up on the spikes piercing her feet and falling back on her wrists al the time. Even if she didn’t had to push up to get some fresh air, she still forced herself to do so. It largely increased her pain. It was her second day on the cross, but Jamilla felt far from exhausted. Now she knew why she hadn’t been raped or whipped: If she were still strong when they nailed her to her cross, she would last longer. Once again Jamilla looked at her beautiful body. The nails fascinated her, how they disappeared in her wrists and feet. Only four nails, but they put her in hell. Right now the thought crossed her mind that despite of the fact that she had been drinking quite a lot yesterday, she didn’t have to pee. The sun burned away every single drop of liquid, even the water from the fountain. In the afternoon, Jamilla felt how she was becoming weaker and weaker, how the pain slowly faded. Right now she wished she could live through it al again, from the cell, to the first nail, the moment of triumph when she exposed her completely nude body to the overwhelmed crowd, the nailing of her wrists and feet, her complete crucifixion. Later that day Jamilla lost conscience. She didn’t saw how a rich salesman paid of the guarding soldier and ordered his men to get Jamilla down from her cross. She didn’t even realized the nails were pulled out.

Jamilla looked out of the window as the sun came up. Six months had passed since her crucifixion. Her wounds had completely healed. The salesman had dropped her of at one of his houses in a small village while she was still unconscious. An other girl slave had told her everything. She had never seen him until now. He was standing in the inner yard, saying goodbye to someone. Then he entered Jamilla’s room. “You’re so beautiful” he said. “You’re so beautiful that you can ask me anything. Ask me and I’ll do it!” Jamilla looked at him as he touched her face. “Well, there is one thing you could do…” She answered.

Later that morning, the entire village watched how Jamilla publicly undressed herself. Completely nude, she walked over to the cross and went lying down on it. She smiled at the salesman as he approached with the hammer and the nails. “Nail me!” she said.