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Golgotha

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Watchingfromafar said:
This has to be the most amazing story I have ever read. I keep coming back and re reading it every day. Crucifixion has been a kink of mine since I was young. I’m 27 now and I can’t get enough of the clanging nails driving through your feet. Ugggh . Looking forward to the next segment. Thanks again.
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aaaaaaaawwwwwww!!!! Thaaaaaaaanks SO much!!! :) I am really really happy that you liked it!

Kisses all over you!
G.
 
And the next part is pure humiliation. Enjoy! And write your comments, please

Kisses kisses kisses
G.

_______________________________________________________________

GOLGOTHA


Part ten
by Gabriella Sivilla


"Get the WHORE a drink, she'll be thirsty shortly!", continues the centurion.

He turns to the guards, and speaks in a lower tone: "You know how to do it."

The soldiers move immediately, they were waiting for nothing else. It's their entertainment. One takes a bowl, and turns to the others. One grins, takes out his cock out and pisses inside. Then, the first moves to another, and this, too, pisses. The third takes out his cock, it's hard. He wraps his dirty fingers around it and starts jerking off, his gaze fixed on me. He murmurs, "what a bitch!", moans out loudly and cums inside the bowl, the white blob of sperm floating on the foul-smelling yellow liquid. Not happy, he starts hawking loudly. Then, when he has collected enough mucus, he spits it into the bowl.

The other soldier laughs, showing his crooked and dirty teeth. It doesn't matter: it's so much fun making fun of the girl above there, tortured to death on the cross! He moves on, passing from soldier to soldier, each depositing his disgusting load into the bowl. Piss, semen, spit, phlegm, everything. When it's his turn, one grins, pulls down his pants, turns around and shits in the bowl. It doesn't all go in, but some semi-liquid shit does go in. The rest dirties the edge of the bowl and drips on the floor. He turns around and the two look at me, and laugh, laugh together like crazy.

Then they approach me, together with the others, and show me the bowl, and all the disgusting things inside. They make sure I can see inside. They raise their arms and bring it close to my face so I can smell the revolting smell. Then they lower the bowl and put it on the ground. They take a sponge and fix it on a long, pointed wooden stick. They dip the sponge in the bowl and turn the stick, so that the sponge soaks well. Some of the liquid spills over to the ground, but that doesn't matter. There is a lot.

When they lift the stick and bring it closer to me, and they press the sponge against my red lips, split from the slaps and punches received, the centurion yells: "DRINK!!! DRINK SLUTTT!!!! OR I SWEAR I BREAK NOW THOSE PRETTY LEGS!!!" And I feel the liquid running down my chin. I feel it on my lips. I feel the dreadful stench filling my nostrils. I feel a few drops entering my mouth.

I cry. The pungent smell of the disgusting liquid that impregnates the sponge enters my nostrils deeply. I burst into tears and cry, desperate, like a child. Hot tears roll down my cheeks. Uncontrollable crying: not only am I here to be tortured to death, but I'm surrounded only by enemies, who hate me, who enjoy my pain. A few tears wet the sponge and mix with the piss.

"DRINK, BITCH, DAMN IT!!!" shouts the centurion. And one of the soldiers grabs one of my little feet with his dirty fingers and twists it hard around the rusty nail which pierces it. I feel my little bones rubbing against the metal, while a gush of blood comes out of the wound, and it's as if they had stuck a thousand spear points into my brain: "AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!" I scream like a wounded bird, and instinctively push on my leg, and the pain multiplies, and reverberates in my brain, and when I bend my leg the nails in my wrists take their weight again and ache my arms with hallucinatory pangs of pain. "AAAAAAAAAHHHHHH NNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOO!" I gasp as they stare at me, fascinated. One still chuckles. I manage to stammer, wheezing..."yeaaahh....yeah.. aaaahhh .... I... drink drink ... aaaahhh ... mercy, don't do it again..."

They press the sponge harder against my lips, and more piss runs down my chin. I suck. I feel the warm liquid enter my mouth, slide off my tongue. I feel at the same time the sour taste of piss, the bitter taste of shit, the rotten fishy taste of cum. All together in my mouth, and the disgusting stench in my nostrils. It's terrible, but I swallow quickly, because I know that, if I spit it, they will torture me again. And the fear of the pain is too strong.

As the disgusting liquid descends into my esophagus, I feel the urge for retching gripping me hard. The liquid flows back into my mouth. I keep my mouth shut and feel the liquid rise again and fill my nostrils, and a bit comes out of my nose. And the feeling is like drowning in piss and cum. All of my body is desecrated. They laugh, laugh, laugh.

"MORE, BITCH, DRINK MORE!!!" and they press again the sponge. I hiccup hard, and suck again, and this time the liquid goes down into my stomach. Everything, absolutely everything, of my body is profaned. I feel the liquid filling my belly. They laugh, the soldier presses the sponge against my cheek, to get out a little more piss, then lowers the shaft.

They are satisfied, for now.
 
GabriellaSivilla said:
And the next part is pure humiliation. Enjoy! And write your comments, please

Kisses kisses kisses
G.

_______________________________________________________________

GOLGOTHA


"MORE, BITCH, DRINK MORE!!!" and they press again the sponge. I hiccup hard, and suck again, and this time the liquid goes down into my stomach. Everything, absolutely everything, of my body is profaned. I feel the liquid filling my belly. They laugh, the soldier presses the sponge against my cheek, to get out a little more piss, then lowers the shaft.

They are satisfied, for now.
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"MORE, BITCH, DRINK MORE!!!"
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Gabriella drinks from the fouled sponge. Even a woman of such privileged upbringing cannot deny her thirst as she hangs naked and defiled from her cross...
 
And this is the final part. We have arrived at the end, finally. Enjoy!

Kisses kisses kisses
G.

_______________________________________________________________

GOLGOTHA

Part eleven
by Gabriella Sivilla


A few minutes pass. I hang from the cross, amid the screams of the crowd. Time is dilated here, and seems like an eternity of suffering. My naked body is on display. The pain is unbearable. My universe is pure agony. I feel my arms pulling, the nails in my wrists torturing me, but I don't dare push on my feet. Too much pain.

It is then that the other officer, who has never spoken, approaches me. On horseback, he's taller than I am from the ground. He is clean, his eyes are clear and stare into mine. For a second, my world is no longer just that of the nails driven into my flesh, but also of those eyes, which almost seem to understand what I'm feeling. Have some compassion.

"Gabriella... girl, I have a daughter of your age." Ha pauses a second, seems to be happy thinking of his daughter. "She's at home now. I do not see her since ages. She doesn't know where I am, nor what I'm doing. She is your age."

He looks again at him, seems to be on Earth again. "But you... you MUST DIE, suffering in front of everyone. Yeah, I know... you do not deserve it. You're innocent." He pauses again, then resumes: "And your torture must be so terrible, as to be remembered by everyone, and no one must even be able to THINK of rebelling against Rome. They must SEE and HEAR what happens to you. And what happens to you must have no limit... they must see things so hideous, so terrible, so disgusting that they should shiver from fear at the only thought of rebelling."

Pause again. "They'll slaughter you alive, baby girl." Another pause: "I'm sorry... but it's necessary."

He gets silent. Then, he rides away slowly, but first he spits in my face. His warm saliva drips from my right cheekbone.

I will die, here on the cross, in atrocious torments.

My ordeal has just begun.
 
GabriellaSivilla said:
Yeah, I recognized the style. Very nice ideed! :)
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He sat on the ground next to me and watched the soldiers prepare your drink. He winched almost as much as you did when you tasted their vile concoction. He asked me 'Does she know what she is drinking?'

I look up at the naked woman spread nailed to the cross. I sigh 'I don't know if she cares...'
 
GabriellaSivilla said:
Dear all,

here is my latest story. Before I start, I just wanted to say a few words about it, in particular about how I conceived it.

First of all, the story is written from the point of view of the protagonist, the victim. It goes without saying that she's me, and that I tried as much as possible to identify myself with the character. The descriptions are based on the sensations of the protagonist, on what she sees and hears. A partial vision but, in my opinion, very effective and involving, too.

Also for this, the background story is kept to a minimum. Everything takes place in the "here and now" of the protagonist, and there is only a brief mention of what previously happened, just to make it clear the background to the reader. I trust that the average reader will be more interested in what is happening on the scene then in the background story.

The story is violent. Very. Strong. Very. But in my mind an execution on the cross, in which a young girl is tortured to death, cannot be otherwise. Being then a public torture, all the most spectacular aspects are exalted. And they have to be terrifying, and obscene, to serve as a warning to onlookers. Then, everything takes place in the immediate aftermath of a conquest, which adds drama and violence to the scene.

That said, I hope you enjoy the story, and please post your comments, of any kind. They are of great help to the writers. By the way, I would LOVE if somebody wants to illustrate it.

Kisses !
Gabriella

_____________________________________________________________________________________

GOLGOTHA

by Gabriella Sivilla



It's there, in front of me. It's scary.

It's a low hill, no trees, almost no grass. Clay. And stakes driven into the ground. Dirty. And white stuff around. Bones. Broken bones.

"AAAAAHHHHH"

One of the soldiers has hit me with the whip. It's one of those long ones, made of hardened leather, with a metal tip. Terrible. The tip enters my tender flesh, tearing it apart and drawing blood. I stagger, bend one leg and hit the ground, painfully, with one knee.

"WHORE!!! STAND-UP!!! STAND-UP AND MOVE, OR I SWEAR I'LL SKIN YOU ALIVE WITH MY WHIP AND THEN I'LL MAKE YOU ASS BUGGERED BY A HORSE! STAND-UP!!!"

Whore. That's what they call me. And all possible insults, all obscenities. Slut. Bitch. I'll fuck you. I'll break your pussy. Shouting, screaming in my ears with full force. They didn't done anything else since they took me.

But I'm not, and I haven't been, a whore. I am the daughter of the king of this little kingdom. Indeed, I was. And when the Romans arrived, and the generals went out with the soldiers to face them, I stayed in the palace. And when the generals betrayed, and the Romans entered the city, I was the first they came for, guided by their directions.

I'm dressed. They don't let me march naked. They took a long cloth and wrapped it around my body, tying it around my waist, making sure to leave one of my long legs clearly visible. And another knot on one shoulder, leaving one of my breasts exposed. Tender breasts.

When they took me to the courtyard, they stripped me of my clothes. Always yelling, always shouting obscenities. Punching me in the stomach while someone held their arms firmly inside my back. Slapping me. Spitting on my face. Squeezing my boobs until I screamed in pain. Twisting my nipples. Surrounded by stinking, callous soldiers, guarded by two men on horseback, in armor, their eyes hard.

When they brought the patibulum and dropped it on the ground, I heard a dull thud, amid the cries of the soldiers. The insults: "Bitch, is there where you get fucked on, every night?" "How many buggered you tonight? Did you scream? Never how much you'll scream today, while we're butchering you."

Then someone brought a long cloth. And the ropes. And another brought my makeup and took out a brush. He painted my boobs in red, laughing like crazy, while the others held me down. And then the cheeks. And then a red circle around the pussy. And another one on the butt. And everyone was laughing and snickering like crazy.

Then they dressed me in the dirty cloth; it's a rag, full of holes, there are lice on it. But they have taken care to leave my back naked. And they tied the patibulum on my shoulders. It's heavy, so heavy. And they pushed me forward.

In arriving here, barefoot, I stopped several times, exhausted, overwhelmed by the cacophony of soldiers' insults and shouts from the crowd. Deafening cacophony. And each time they whipped me, over and over again, driving the metal tip of the whip deep into my flesh. Causing my hot blood to smear the fabric on my butt in bright red.

And now here I am, contemplating the hill on which I will die in excruciating torment. At eighteen. Among people who will bask in my screams of pain, who will cum to see me writhing from pain on the cross.

"MOVE IT BITCHAAAA!!!!" "DAMN I TOLD YOU I'LL FUCK YOUR ASS AND I WILL, BITCH!!!" I scream from fear, while he reaches down and grabs with one hand my hair and yells in my ear, and with the other lowers the cloth around my butt. I feel him shoving something hard between my ass cheeks, probing for my little hole. The handle of the whip. I panic: "No no... please... noooooo !" I cry. "Please, no, no, I move, I move.. ! nooo ..."

He stops, I get up with difficulty and take a step forward. Then another, staggering under the wooden pole, blood running down my bare back, that they left me naked, so they could whip me bloody. He looks at me, his gaze fixed on my bloody back, on my long legs. Someone from the crowd shouts: "Look at the beautiful ass of the whore!" Because he left my butt exposed. A tear rolls down my cheek and streaks the red on my cheeks.

We continue slowly, climbing the hill. I can get a closer look at the human remains. The stench fills my nostrils. The ground becomes more compact. The screams that, if possible, get even louder.

The soldiers lead me to one of the posts, making way through the crowd.


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Your writing is good ...
the theme is captured without 'making it sound nice'.
I'm a writer, too ...
Denny D
 
GabriellaSivilla said:
And this is the final part. We have arrived at the end, finally. Enjoy!

Kisses kisses kisses
G.



I will die, here on the cross, in atrocious torments.

My ordeal has just begun.
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"Who is she" Tree asks as he walks down the road towards the town.

"Probably a thief... She claims she's a princess" someone says.

"Is that why she's wearing a crown of thorns" Tree asks.

"I think it's the soldiers' joke. I'm sure she's just a thief" the other replies.

"HEY, GIRL, are you a thief" Tree calls out.

She looks at me and says "I am Gabrielle. I don't deserve this!"

"You look like a thief" Tree replies.

"I am a princess. The Romans captured me and did this to me" she cries out.

"You look a thief" Tree says.

She swings her hips to one side and cries "Are you Romans all the same? They are killing me!"

Tree takes a drink and thinks 'She must be a thief... we don't crucify princesses...'

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Hello Gabriella

Reading the last and seemingly final: it's awful, it's terrible, it's dreary ...
anyone who might have thought there is something great or worth experiencing
has surely come to his shattered dreams. It is sad, it is in vein, there is nothing
great or exceptional, it's just and plain the wasting of a young life - for nothing
if you don't count the self-pleasing of these men for anything but nothing worth donating a life too. It has no perspective, as such a victim had no perspective anymore.
It is a realisic reportage of an evil death, caused by evil but at that time powerful
people that were then making things hard for subordinates.
We learn we need not have any pity with the demise of the Roman Empire, human
Greatness does not last all too long and on its way through existence it more and
more abuses its power and the abuse floats down along the many structures of military orders and who gets infected by the thrill gets lost by it in the long run.
If you want, you may count that as the victims secondary return beat in general. Not that they can draw any release from it, yet it may present, if you will, a sort of overall jusitice that those who drove things there will stand no chance to evade if they're up for it. And they'll have things come back on them when its their time that has come up ... The demise of the Roman Empire may have looked unbelievable, even awesome - yet it only washed away what was completely rotten.
And same as a rotten ship will not swim any longer a rotten Empire sinks into its sands, leaving only fragments of former greatness and pride.
Pride that had robbed other people's dignity and in consequence its own ...
Domodonno
 
>> Tree takes a drink and thinks <<
For sure that's no Southern Comfort, that's one of these obviously dirty, even toxic sort of things we used to see slid across the bar in an old Western Movie -
which by the way the young and dusty rider gulps down before he will do what he has to do: he first vanishes - then - at the very last moment he comes stampeeding through town, shooting each one shot of his never-emptying revolver at the rich and noble heads of the community, in the last and final run towards the cross he fires right from the back of his gallopping 200.000 miles horse at the wrists and ankles of the (Indian?) princess, freeing her at an instance and dropping right onto his horse the very moment he passes by below the cross, keeping the speed to make a slight left turn and evade the sinfull city aiming his way for the Blue Ridge Mountains which he reaches at about sunset, which makes for a heroic picture - him riding towards the rich bright colors of the sky, his princess prepared to adore him, not knowing that she, as he drops card faking due to her order, neccessarily becomes a farmer's wife, cleaning the house, preparing a meal for her once heroic now just average farmer's man ...
Amen.
Domodonno
 
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