Farmer John, Ginny and Jasper - Part 8

And it came to pass that John Crosby was made to rise, to stand upon his bare feet, his padded leather straps now wrapping his wrists. Too exhausted and humbled to struggle against his tormentors, he trudged to his position beneath the scene of his previous torture. He was ordered to raise both hands above his head, this done by his wife, who stood on the second step of her stepladder behind him. Standing in front of him, the woman's faithful assistant wrapped both of his arms around the captive man's mighty chest, pressed his cheek to the center of that chest and lifted the victim until both of his feet left the ground. 

Surrendered, the condemned man latched onto the horizontal bar with both hands, just as he was ordered to do, while the cruel woman opened one by one the metal eye hooks imbedded to his wrist straps, hooking and closing them to matching notches of the horizontal bar. Spread apart wide were his hands, and once he was properly secured, the female joined her assistant on the ground, told him to release her prisoner's chest from the bear hug, ordered her prisoner to let go the horizontal bar.

Ginny... when are we gonna have our breakfast?

Right now, Jasper... will microwave oatmeal work for you?

Ha... that Ginny, always comes prepared... oatmeal is not the most exciting prospect I can think of for breakfast, but hell, I just needed for something to be in my stomach... and a little coffee wouldn't have hurt either. I got both. Ginny had everything she needed in John's workshop... directly above where John was abandoned to hang suspended from his bar. 

We left the trap door open, just so we could look down into the dungeon every now and then... see what he was up to... ha... he'd latch onto the bar with his hands, raise himself up to relieve the pressure on his chest... and then let gravity resume working on him with its full suspension.

I reckon it was right around noon, either before or after... and the air conditioner that cooled both the workshop and the dungeon hummed with efficiency... the workshop was comfortable, the dungeon was not... that's because Ginny'd shut off the vent fan that John had built to connect ground level to underground level... but at least by having the trap door open while we were up above him, John did get a bit of relief... a very small bit... 

It took us about 30 minutes to fix and consume our snack... at which time we also did some strategery before descending the stairs and closing the trap door... instantly, we realized just how miserably hot the dungeon had become... but remember, I told you we were looking for something dramatic... 

And so, John Crosby, stripped to his jock strap, muscles aching, skin drenched in sweat, entered a new realm of torture... unspeakable in its brutality... unholy in its ever increasing, lingering agony, a torment from ancient times, utilized most efficiently by the Romans... to not only punish and execute, but also to display before the public a condemned man, to degrade him before the eyes of all who dared watch, to be made an example, lest any other man get ideas of commiting such a foul crime... it is a hideous torture of unimaginable suffering... it is the torture of crucifixion... 

Just like before... when he was hanging upside down... Ginny and I stalked him... circled him... inspected him... and nearly melted at the sight of him... his muscled legs hanging freely, toes inches from floor... his engorged phallus centering his thighs, filling its fabric prison, bringing the strap with it, completely exposing his belly, exposing his beginnings of pubic hair... his rock solid abdomen compressed from stretching, each line of muscle coming to life with each dramatic exhale of his breath, his powerful chest expanded, thrust forward, laterals flared, as he forcefully brought oxygen to his compressed lungs. His bushy-haired armpits nearly black with sweat... his hairs matted, skin beneath them emitting a manly musk... his arms inflated like balloons, spread in a wide V, biceps and triceps bulging, forearms straining against his crucifixion torture... streams of sweat trickled from his scalp to his forehead and into his eyes... he blinked... stared foreward... lowered his head to gaze down the length of his racked body... gravity stretching him... his own weight torturing him... 

And as the light in our underground dungeon shimmered off his sweat-glistening skin, every muscle in his powerful body came to life... every line and curve highlighted, as he struggled to breathe, as he flexed to withstand his agony... as he performed, for us... and as we scanned every inch of him with our eyes, as we listened to the slight groans coming from the depths of his chest with every exhale of his breath...a mysterious glow surrounded him... dazzling light reflecting off his sweat-layered skin.

Ginny and I were hypnotized... no longer was he merely John Crosby, our farmer John, our plaything, our strong-assed muscle stud... no, suddenly, John Crosby became a thing of indescribable beauty... the epitome of masculine design, the ultimate composition of the male form... an other-wordly sculpturing of hair and muscle and sweat and manliness... no longer a man, but a man-god, worthy of our praise... and we responded accordingly. 

I said... go, woman, run to him... comfort him while you still can... for not even a man of his incredible strength can withstand punishment such as this... even he will eventually succumb to this devastating torture... his...  death... by crucifixion... 

And she did run to him, encircling him inside her vise, standing on her toe tips, her arms wrapping his back, her face buried to his chest... she smeared herself with his sweat, tasted him with her lips, with her tongue, while sobbing for him... oh, you pitiful man... why must you suffer so... mmm, slurp... what have you done to deserve such agony, such punishment... her face made a path from his chest to his stomach, from his stomach to his belly, kissing and licking every inch of him... No man deserves to die like this... no man can withstand torture such as this... she fell to her knees... wrapping his legs in her arms... kissing his thighs, his knees, his shins, lowering herself to kiss his ankles, the tops of his feet... oh, my god, I can't bear it... how much longer must you be made to suffer... how could any torture be more agonizing than this...

I answered her question, as though a Roman tribune... I will show you how, woman... guards, strip him... at which time I yanked his jock strap down to his knees, allowing it to fall on her kissing his feet head... 

OH, GOD NO! How could you? She knelt with her body erect, hands clasped together in begging, his cloth falling uselessly to the floor below his feet... Is there no mercy for this pitiful man? 

I sneered at her pleading... Mercy? HA! Unholy death awaits him, but not only that, he also will suffer the ultimate humiliation... now he's stripped of everything, his mighty phallus exposed for all to see... ha, the final insult... he will be mocked, entertainment for us, total degradation for him, his naked body tortured for hours... hanging from the cross, his naked body, crucified.  

My victim played his part well. He dropped his chin to his chest with a groan of despair. His penis, filled with blood, pierced the air in front of him, a perfectly horizontal spear... two inches of thickness, eight inches of length... (gasp) a sight to behold... and right below his mighty weapon, his monumental testicles hung low... suspended, waiting, same as their owner... their roundness exaggerated... their insides filled with semen, their skin stretched tight, ready to burst open. 

And in a glorious display of brute strength... this crucified man presented himself... he raised his head, strained his arms, and lifted his body towards the ceiling, arched his back, thrust forward his chest, thrust forward his magnificent cock... and cried out to the heavens... let it be finished... merciful gods... take me... now... 

And as his body collapsed back into full suspension, take him we did... I grabbed Ginny by the arm, made her stand up... I got behind her, locked my arms behind her knees and lifted her... moved her towards him... connected her with him... her legs straddling him... her pussy engulfing him... she impaled herself upon his mighty phallus, her hands clutching onto his shoulders, her ankles crossed and locking together behind and between his knees, her body hanging from his, his powerful rod connecting them...  and this incredible man incorporated the weight of two, fully grown, adult human bodies into his suspended crucifixion... 

Oh, what a fucking man... she thrust her pussy upon him, to and fro, spearing herself with his mighty tool... she pressed her tits against his chest... rubbing her nipples into his sweat-drenched hairs... their bodies squished together... chest to chest, pelvis to pelvis... woman screeching with ecstasy, man groaning with ecstasy and agony... 

And from behind our crucified hero... I joined them... On the step ladder, I hugged his belly with my arms, helped him support himself and his woman... helped him thrust his cock in unison with his woman, rubbed my cockhead into the wetness of his lower back... his sweat, my lubrication, his man hairs, my friction... man and woman fucked... Roman tormentor masturbated himself onto crucified man... the room was hot... our sweat flying in all directions... this torture was hot... this three-way fuck slash jackoff was hot, we melted together... my cock rubbing his back, his cock impaling her pussy, her pussy riding his cock... and with explosions of man juice and woman juice we grunted and we groaned and we shrieked... sounds of agony, sounds of ecstasy, sounds of the prehistoric, sounds of wild beastly animals... we shook the rafters while hanging from the god damn rafters... and together, we ended all suffering.  

Oh yes, John Crosby, you are correct, it is finished... god damn... have you ever been crucified and masturbated on? have you ever been crucified and fucked by a hot pussy? how long do you think you could take it? think you're man enough?  tough enough to hang there struggling to breathe, while some crazed woman brutalizes your cock? riding back and forth on you, force fucking you, when your chest feels like it's about to collapse, when it takes every ounce of your strength just to breathe? hmm? think you're man enough? Our man was man enough... fucking he-man, fucking pussy-filling masterpiece, fucking super stud... god damn he drives us crazy... he is everything a man ought to be... and even after Ginny jumped down and I joined her, his cock was still filled with blood, shining with woman juice... man syrup dribbling from its slit... his body still hanging there, breathing hard, still defiant, still muscle-flexing, still waiting for us to do whatever the fuck we wanted to do with him. Holy fucking shit...

For six days we'd kept this man busy... but don't you think for a second it was over... oh, sure, this was my last full day to be with them... before they had to go pick up their daughter from summer camp or wherever the hell she was... No, Ginny and I still had plenty we wanted to do with him. And even though this chapter is over, my testosterone rages on... that is why I'm going to end this and relish it.... save the final part, the end of Jasper McCutcheon's vacation, for telling next week. It will all come to a head... but for right now... goodbye, and sweet dreams.