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Early morning, in the woods on a hilltop miles from anywhere, she takes off what few clothes she's wearing . . .
Jo the cruxmistress, the exactor mortis for The Organisation, with a team of helpers, had brought her there to hang on a cross, the penalty for betraying the trust placed in her. The group had stopped close to the tree with the crossbar attached to it. She'd carried on walking when first she saw the thing, then, close to, she'd stopped and stared, entranced, horrified.
"That's it" said Jo firmly, "that's where we're going to hang you.
You'll be naked when we do, so take off your dress and knickers now.
Be quick about it, I want you up there and suffering."
The girl obeyed, slowly slipping down panties,
then peeling off her simple dress.
She stood completely bare in front of the others,
for there's nothing so naked as a woman with a shaved mons.
The photographer made the subject parade about and expose herself, whilst Jo and the team prepared the ropes for the crucifixtion. In an unusually generous gesture, for whilst not sadistic, Jo allowed few acts of leniency or kindness to interfere with the task at hand, Jo offered the time for one last gratification.
"If you don't take too long about it,
I'll let you masturbate one last time before we tie you onto the cross" she offered.
"Sit over there and do it. Make it good; we'll all be watching."
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