Old Stories By Phlebas

[phlebas]

Pace Admi and his Old Crucifying Stories thread, I thought I'd start one here for my own stories from the old Crux group. Maybe it will give me the encouragement to finish a number that I never posted

Until the picture download problem is fixed, we'll have to depend on words, so I give you a short starter from 2002


The Bystander
by Phlebas
She had been a beauty, this dark haired slave. Now pain was etched
in every line of her face and body. Scourged and abused, she hung
from slender arms, pierced through by cruel iron. Twisting, moaning,
seeking any form of comfort, of relief from the agony of the cross.
A few people stand nearby, looking, talking, enjoying her public
nakedness, her helplessness.
You are one of these people. You came here earlier to meet a
friend "at the crossroad, by the crucifixion frame." You watched as
the woman was marched up the road, hands bound behind her, eyes on
the ground. You could not help but watch as her arms were stretched
upon the beam, her limbs nailed in place. Her vulnerability spoke to
something in you, her humiliation fascinated you. Her helpless body
aroused you. Hours later you are still here, rooted to the spot as
if nailed yourself.
For the first time the woman raises her face, streaked with sweat,
encrusted with dust from the road. She looks at you, her tortured
eyes look deep into yours. These eyes sear your soul. They speak to
you of experiences no one should have to endure. They plead with
you, they seek to connect with any shred of common humanity within
you.
Her mouth opens. You can barely make out her hoarse plea,
"Water . . . mercy."
You look at her, stretched and degraded on her cross.
You walk towards her.

 

[LittleSiss]

Phlebas!
This really draws me in. I can feel her nakedness and see myself, both in her place and as the bystander. A moment of realization for both of them.
Very nicely done.

 

[Barbaria1]

Pace Admi and his Old Crucifying Stories thread, I thought I'd start one here for my own stories from the old Crux group. Maybe it will give me the encouragement to finish a number that I never posted

Until the picture download problem is fixed, we'll have to depend on words, so I give you a short starter from 2002


The Bystander
by Phlebas
She had been a beauty, this dark haired slave. Now pain was etched
in every line of her face and body. Scourged and abused, she hung
from slender arms, pierced through by cruel iron. Twisting, moaning,
seeking any form of comfort, of relief from the agony of the cross.
A few people stand nearby, looking, talking, enjoying her public
nakedness, her helplessness.
You are one of these people. You came here earlier to meet a
friend "at the crossroad, by the crucifixion frame." You watched as
the woman was marched up the road, hands bound behind her, eyes on
the ground. You could not help but watch as her arms were stretched
upon the beam, her limbs nailed in place. Her vulnerability spoke to
something in you, her humiliation fascinated you. Her helpless body
aroused you. Hours later you are still here, rooted to the spot as
if nailed yourself.
For the first time the woman raises her face, streaked with sweat,
encrusted with dust from the road. She looks at you, her tortured
eyes look deep into yours. These eyes sear your soul. They speak to
you of experiences no one should have to endure. They plead with
you, they seek to connect with any shred of common humanity within
you.
Her mouth opens. You can barely make out her hoarse plea,
"Water . . . mercy."
You look at her, stretched and degraded on her cross.
You walk towards her.

I agree with Siss....I am drawn so powerfully in by this...I can feel myself in her place .... vulnerable, humiliated, stretched, helpless, abused and degraded.

 

[admihoek]

Pace Admi and his Old Crucifying Stories thread, I thought I'd start one here for my own stories from the old Crux group. Maybe it will give me the encouragement to finish a number that I never posted

Until the picture download problem is fixed, we'll have to depend on words, so I give you a short starter from 2002


The Bystander
by Phlebas
She had been a beauty, this dark haired slave. Now pain was etched
in every line of her face and body. Scourged and abused, she hung
from slender arms, pierced through by cruel iron. Twisting, moaning,
seeking any form of comfort, of relief from the agony of the cross.
A few people stand nearby, looking, talking, enjoying her public
nakedness, her helplessness.
You are one of these people. You came here earlier to meet a
friend "at the crossroad, by the crucifixion frame." You watched as
the woman was marched up the road, hands bound behind her, eyes on
the ground. You could not help but watch as her arms were stretched
upon the beam, her limbs nailed in place. Her vulnerability spoke to
something in you, her humiliation fascinated you. Her helpless body
aroused you. Hours later you are still here, rooted to the spot as
if nailed yourself.
For the first time the woman raises her face, streaked with sweat,
encrusted with dust from the road. She looks at you, her tortured
eyes look deep into yours. These eyes sear your soul. They speak to
you of experiences no one should have to endure. They plead with
you, they seek to connect with any shred of common humanity within
you.
Her mouth opens. You can barely make out her hoarse plea,
"Water . . . mercy."
You look at her, stretched and degraded on her cross.
You walk towards her.

great old chap if I find what about or by you I'll post them here

 

[admihoek]

this one was yours too I thought
China, 1900
Word had come late in the afternoon that a party of Boxers might be on their way to the mission station. There were many stories going around of their hatred for foreigners, and their acts of savagery throughout the land. Against the advice of his assistant Will, Dr Boreham chose to stay put and reason with the rebels. He had invested 6 years in his mission, and was understandably reluctant to throw it away unnecessarily.
That night the all the servants fled under cover of darkness. The Boxers arrived the next morning, and showed little inclination to talk. By mid-morning Boreham and his wife lay dead among the smoking ruins of their house, leaving his assistant Will and Mrs Boreham's niece Sarah to the mercy of the Chinese rebels.
Hands bound, they watched with rising alarm as the Boxers raised what appeared to be two I-shaped crosses in the field beside the Mission. "Be brave, we must draw strength from each other" were Will's parting words to Sarah before each was seized by their captors and roughly stripped of all their garments.
Will:
Will couldn't see everything that was happening to Sarah, and could only hope that she was not violated in the confusion as they were dragged naked and struggling to the crosses. Once there ladders, ropes and numerous eager hands ensured that he was hoisted effectively but brutally into place, where he hung spread-eagled and naked before the crowd.

​

He could see that Sarah had been similarly treated with limbs outstretched upon her own frame. There she hung open and exposed, helpless and unable to hide her feminine flesh from the curiosity of the crowd. Not only had Will failed to save her from the gross indignity of this treatment, he was unable even to spare her the sight of his own shamefully bare body. The watching crowd showed considerable interest in the two captive westerners, pointing out features of interest and making comparisons with enthusiasm. It was rare for them to have the opportunity for such a close and intimate look at a gweilo, let alone one of each gender.
Sarah had been staying with the Borehams for 7 months now, and Will had developed a great admiration for the young woman's dedication to her work. Their working relationship was moving rapidly towards one of genuine friendship. He was drawn to her personality and physical presence and, as one of the few young white women for miles around, she had often featured in Will's more private thoughts. More than once he had retired to his room at night with her on his mind.
Now here she was on display in front of him, every inch revealed, every question answered. He was in turmoil! Of course he was horrified to see her subjected to this ordeal, to the indignity of her exposure to these people! On the other hand, he could not tear his eyes away from her bare flesh. Her breasts were just as he had imagined, firm, full and crowned with dark pink. He was surprised at the size of her nipples, so much more prominent than his own. They moved in a most interesting way as her chest heaved with fear and effort. The legs that she had hidden behind long skirts were now stretched taught with ankles tied wide apart, forming a triangle with the bottom crosspiece. At the top of that triangle were visible the delicate folds of her most intimate place.
He fought to control himself. Twice he had taken prostitutes in Shanghai, but even then he had seen little of their nakedness, and he had never been with a white woman in that way. Here were Sarah's most private womanly parts were uncovered and open to his hungry eyes, vulnerable and inviting, yet ironically she was even more completely beyond his reach than ever before. Now she was looking at him, her eyes glancing down the length of his body, resting on his crotch. Will felt his lust rising, life flowing into his manhood . . . he must not disgrace himself this way!
Sarah:
She had come to China in search of the sort of adventure which a young woman could not find back home, but she had never imagined that things would get this "exciting". Physical discomfort and humiliation fought for dominance over her feelings. Stretched out and bound as she was, even scratching her nose was impossible, never mind shielding her secret places from this crowd. Shame was overwhelming her.
She looked across to where Will was similarly crucified. Over the preceding months she had grown ever closer to him as a friend, and Sarah's hope was that Will would soon begin to show a more serious interest in her. He had never appeared before her without being properly attired, although she knew that beneath his dark suits was a strong and well-formed body. This was now confirmed, his masculine attributes were on plain view to any interested observer. Sarah could not help looking and took some pleasure in the sight of him even at this difficult time. The muscles of his arms and shoulders showed prominently as he hung on his cross, his broad chest was matted with a surprising amount of dark hair. Her eyes followed the trail of hair down the front of his torso and along the line of his stomach muscles, to the point where it met the top of his thighs in a dark bush.
Sarah's experience of the male body had been limited to looking after little boys, which had not prepared her for the sight of a grown man's genitals, and what she could see emerging from the bushy patch between his open thighs caught her breath. His dangling member was larger than she had imagined, and to her surprise it began to inflate even while she watched. Her interest in this development was interrupted by the touch of a rough hand on her inner thigh, which sent a shock of indignation and an electrifying thrill through her body.
Will:
As he watched, one of the Chinese approached Sarah and grasped her inner thigh. He said something to his companions, eliciting approving responses from them, and proceeded to caress the flesh of her upper thigh. Sarah cried out in protest, twisting in her bonds, while the man made a further remark to his friends and, smiling, examined her exposed sexual organ from close range. Her body went rigid with futile resistance as he inserted a finger into the opening, roughly exploring the passage which had not previously known any part of a man. Will was spellbound with a mixture of horror and fascination, his own organ continuing to respond to the scene in front of him. The unexpected touch of a hand on his thigh prompted him to look down, to see a young Chinese woman exploring his genitals.
Chen Yun:
Dontcha just hate foreign devils? Yun had come along today to see what the Boxers would do to the gweilo, and so far she hadn't been disappointed. Naked, they were quite a sight, different in so many ways to ordinary people. They were so big, and so hairy! Look at the woman over there, large pale limbs, big tits, hairy cunt. How could any man find that attractive? Still, that rebel (was his name Wang?) seems to be enjoying himself. Two fingers inside her now and his thumb massaging her pleasure knob. Men will truly play with anything!
Yun was more interested in foreign man. So much taller than the men of her village, and although he did not work in the fields his body looked powerful, not stringy like the men she knew. He was hairy in so many places, particularly across his chest and on his thighs and groin. She had seen him once before when he visited her village, finding him rude and arrogant. He was not so superior now! His cock was large, and growing, as he watched Wang play with the other gweilo. It looked different to those she had seen before, ah, there was no foreskin! Where they born like that, or . . ? How strange the ways of barbarians. Yun's curiosity got the better of her, she approached him and took his strange foreign penis in her hand.
Sarah:
Her eyes were closed as the china man mercilessly probed the cavity between her legs, stretching membranes which she had never even known existed, kneading and stroking flesh which she had only ever touched when bathing. The only way she could cope with this violation was to try to draw strength from Will. She looked across at him, and saw that he was looking intensely into her eyes. She dropped her gaze briefly, and noticed that his member had grown full and dark in the hands of a young Chinese woman. The sight of it burned into her mind's eye. Will had begun to push his hips forward rhythmically in response to the woman's ministrations, and Sarah raised her eyes again to his face, imagining that it was his hands on her body, his manhood thrusting at her maiden's flesh. Eyes on his, she gave herself up this image.
Will:
Will tried to block out everything else, focussing on Sarah, looking deep into her eyes. He imagined that it was not the Chinese woman's fingers that caressed his engorged member, but the delicate folds between Sarah's thighs. She was visible excited now, continuing to keep her eyes fixed on his while she moved on her cross. Will hardly even noticed that he was moving too, or that the watching crowd was captivated by the unfolding spectacle.
Chen Yun:
The man had responded well to Yun's touch, his cock growing heavy in her hand. He was not the first man she had handled in this way, and she knew what to do. Soon he was breathing heavily and moving in a way which pleased her to watch, his body completely under her control. But he would not look at her, he stared fixedly at the foreign woman. The gweilo bitch returned his stare while she writhed and jiggled, moaned and gasped at the hands of her tormenter. She had begun to raise and lower herself on top of the fingers which impaled her, arching her back and inflating her chest as she did so. The watching crowd had never seen anything like it, all eyes were on the woman as she offered her body completely for their entertainment. Yun began to resent her, the centre of attention even at this time of her maximum humiliation. Why did no one pay attention to Yun? Her own victim was equally captivated by the spectacle of the woman, even while his genitals were helpless in Yun's hands. Angrily she dug her nails into him.
Will:
Will had put aside the indignity of his situation, and only had eyes for Sarah. Her thigh muscles strained each time she raised herself, her ribcage and breasts thrust forward as an offering to him each time she arched her back. He felt a pressure building in him, he arched forward in his own bonds. It was as if his whole body was crucified on this one, aching centrepiece of his anatomy. At that moment the sudden sharp pain of Yun's nails shot through him, the shock delivering the release which his body craved. He climaxed, and slumped in his bonds.
Sarah:
How did a well brought up girl cope with the extremity of an ordeal like this, to be a sex toy for the amusement of a crowd of foreign strangers? A part of her simply didn't accept it, and was watching as if from a long way off. Paradoxically, another part of her felt a freedom that she had never known before, a freedom from the need to guard and control her body and her reactions. Sarah realised with surprise that the high pitched noises she could hear were coming from her own mouth. Her head was spinning, her body was trying to fly. Eyes still fixed on Will, she saw him reach his climax at the hands of the Chinese woman. She had imagined that it was him she could feel between her thighs all this time, and now she was convinced that it was him she could feel exploding inside her. "We belong to each other now", she thought fiercely as the waves gradually subsided and she too slumped on her cross.
Postscript:
The rebels were so entertained by the morning's events that they decided to allow their prisoners to live. They might cut them just a little, for the sake of appearance, and they would probably leave them bound to their crosses (someone would get them down, eventually), but they would let them live.

 

[Barbaria1]

this one was yours too I thought
China, 1900
Word had come late in the afternoon that a party of Boxers might be on their way to the mission station. There were many stories going around of their hatred for foreigners, and their acts of savagery throughout the land. Against the advice of his assistant Will, Dr Boreham chose to stay put and reason with the rebels. He had invested 6 years in his mission, and was understandably reluctant to throw it away unnecessarily.
That night the all the servants fled under cover of darkness. The Boxers arrived the next morning, and showed little inclination to talk. By mid-morning Boreham and his wife lay dead among the smoking ruins of their house, leaving his assistant Will and Mrs Boreham's niece Sarah to the mercy of the Chinese rebels.
Hands bound, they watched with rising alarm as the Boxers raised what appeared to be two I-shaped crosses in the field beside the Mission. "Be brave, we must draw strength from each other" were Will's parting words to Sarah before each was seized by their captors and roughly stripped of all their garments.
Will:
Will couldn't see everything that was happening to Sarah, and could only hope that she was not violated in the confusion as they were dragged naked and struggling to the crosses. Once there ladders, ropes and numerous eager hands ensured that he was hoisted effectively but brutally into place, where he hung spread-eagled and naked before the crowd.

View attachment 129449​

He could see that Sarah had been similarly treated with limbs outstretched upon her own frame. There she hung open and exposed, helpless and unable to hide her feminine flesh from the curiosity of the crowd. Not only had Will failed to save her from the gross indignity of this treatment, he was unable even to spare her the sight of his own shamefully bare body. The watching crowd showed considerable interest in the two captive westerners, pointing out features of interest and making comparisons with enthusiasm. It was rare for them to have the opportunity for such a close and intimate look at a gweilo, let alone one of each gender.
Sarah had been staying with the Borehams for 7 months now, and Will had developed a great admiration for the young woman's dedication to her work. Their working relationship was moving rapidly towards one of genuine friendship. He was drawn to her personality and physical presence and, as one of the few young white women for miles around, she had often featured in Will's more private thoughts. More than once he had retired to his room at night with her on his mind.
Now here she was on display in front of him, every inch revealed, every question answered. He was in turmoil! Of course he was horrified to see her subjected to this ordeal, to the indignity of her exposure to these people! On the other hand, he could not tear his eyes away from her bare flesh. Her breasts were just as he had imagined, firm, full and crowned with dark pink. He was surprised at the size of her nipples, so much more prominent than his own. They moved in a most interesting way as her chest heaved with fear and effort. The legs that she had hidden behind long skirts were now stretched taught with ankles tied wide apart, forming a triangle with the bottom crosspiece. At the top of that triangle were visible the delicate folds of her most intimate place.
He fought to control himself. Twice he had taken prostitutes in Shanghai, but even then he had seen little of their nakedness, and he had never been with a white woman in that way. Here were Sarah's most private womanly parts were uncovered and open to his hungry eyes, vulnerable and inviting, yet ironically she was even more completely beyond his reach than ever before. Now she was looking at him, her eyes glancing down the length of his body, resting on his crotch. Will felt his lust rising, life flowing into his manhood . . . he must not disgrace himself this way!
Sarah:
She had come to China in search of the sort of adventure which a young woman could not find back home, but she had never imagined that things would get this "exciting". Physical discomfort and humiliation fought for dominance over her feelings. Stretched out and bound as she was, even scratching her nose was impossible, never mind shielding her secret places from this crowd. Shame was overwhelming her.
She looked across to where Will was similarly crucified. Over the preceding months she had grown ever closer to him as a friend, and Sarah's hope was that Will would soon begin to show a more serious interest in her. He had never appeared before her without being properly attired, although she knew that beneath his dark suits was a strong and well-formed body. This was now confirmed, his masculine attributes were on plain view to any interested observer. Sarah could not help looking and took some pleasure in the sight of him even at this difficult time. The muscles of his arms and shoulders showed prominently as he hung on his cross, his broad chest was matted with a surprising amount of dark hair. Her eyes followed the trail of hair down the front of his torso and along the line of his stomach muscles, to the point where it met the top of his thighs in a dark bush.
Sarah's experience of the male body had been limited to looking after little boys, which had not prepared her for the sight of a grown man's genitals, and what she could see emerging from the bushy patch between his open thighs caught her breath. His dangling member was larger than she had imagined, and to her surprise it began to inflate even while she watched. Her interest in this development was interrupted by the touch of a rough hand on her inner thigh, which sent a shock of indignation and an electrifying thrill through her body.
Will:
As he watched, one of the Chinese approached Sarah and grasped her inner thigh. He said something to his companions, eliciting approving responses from them, and proceeded to caress the flesh of her upper thigh. Sarah cried out in protest, twisting in her bonds, while the man made a further remark to his friends and, smiling, examined her exposed sexual organ from close range. Her body went rigid with futile resistance as he inserted a finger into the opening, roughly exploring the passage which had not previously known any part of a man. Will was spellbound with a mixture of horror and fascination, his own organ continuing to respond to the scene in front of him. The unexpected touch of a hand on his thigh prompted him to look down, to see a young Chinese woman exploring his genitals.
Chen Yun:
Dontcha just hate foreign devils? Yun had come along today to see what the Boxers would do to the gweilo, and so far she hadn't been disappointed. Naked, they were quite a sight, different in so many ways to ordinary people. They were so big, and so hairy! Look at the woman over there, large pale limbs, big tits, hairy cunt. How could any man find that attractive? Still, that rebel (was his name Wang?) seems to be enjoying himself. Two fingers inside her now and his thumb massaging her pleasure knob. Men will truly play with anything!
Yun was more interested in foreign man. So much taller than the men of her village, and although he did not work in the fields his body looked powerful, not stringy like the men she knew. He was hairy in so many places, particularly across his chest and on his thighs and groin. She had seen him once before when he visited her village, finding him rude and arrogant. He was not so superior now! His cock was large, and growing, as he watched Wang play with the other gweilo. It looked different to those she had seen before, ah, there was no foreskin! Where they born like that, or . . ? How strange the ways of barbarians. Yun's curiosity got the better of her, she approached him and took his strange foreign penis in her hand.
Sarah:
Her eyes were closed as the china man mercilessly probed the cavity between her legs, stretching membranes which she had never even known existed, kneading and stroking flesh which she had only ever touched when bathing. The only way she could cope with this violation was to try to draw strength from Will. She looked across at him, and saw that he was looking intensely into her eyes. She dropped her gaze briefly, and noticed that his member had grown full and dark in the hands of a young Chinese woman. The sight of it burned into her mind's eye. Will had begun to push his hips forward rhythmically in response to the woman's ministrations, and Sarah raised her eyes again to his face, imagining that it was his hands on her body, his manhood thrusting at her maiden's flesh. Eyes on his, she gave herself up this image.
Will:
Will tried to block out everything else, focussing on Sarah, looking deep into her eyes. He imagined that it was not the Chinese woman's fingers that caressed his engorged member, but the delicate folds between Sarah's thighs. She was visible excited now, continuing to keep her eyes fixed on his while she moved on her cross. Will hardly even noticed that he was moving too, or that the watching crowd was captivated by the unfolding spectacle.
Chen Yun:
The man had responded well to Yun's touch, his cock growing heavy in her hand. He was not the first man she had handled in this way, and she knew what to do. Soon he was breathing heavily and moving in a way which pleased her to watch, his body completely under her control. But he would not look at her, he stared fixedly at the foreign woman. The gweilo bitch returned his stare while she writhed and jiggled, moaned and gasped at the hands of her tormenter. She had begun to raise and lower herself on top of the fingers which impaled her, arching her back and inflating her chest as she did so. The watching crowd had never seen anything like it, all eyes were on the woman as she offered her body completely for their entertainment. Yun began to resent her, the centre of attention even at this time of her maximum humiliation. Why did no one pay attention to Yun? Her own victim was equally captivated by the spectacle of the woman, even while his genitals were helpless in Yun's hands. Angrily she dug her nails into him.
Will:
Will had put aside the indignity of his situation, and only had eyes for Sarah. Her thigh muscles strained each time she raised herself, her ribcage and breasts thrust forward as an offering to him each time she arched her back. He felt a pressure building in him, he arched forward in his own bonds. It was as if his whole body was crucified on this one, aching centrepiece of his anatomy. At that moment the sudden sharp pain of Yun's nails shot through him, the shock delivering the release which his body craved. He climaxed, and slumped in his bonds.
Sarah:
How did a well brought up girl cope with the extremity of an ordeal like this, to be a sex toy for the amusement of a crowd of foreign strangers? A part of her simply didn't accept it, and was watching as if from a long way off. Paradoxically, another part of her felt a freedom that she had never known before, a freedom from the need to guard and control her body and her reactions. Sarah realised with surprise that the high pitched noises she could hear were coming from her own mouth. Her head was spinning, her body was trying to fly. Eyes still fixed on Will, she saw him reach his climax at the hands of the Chinese woman. She had imagined that it was him she could feel between her thighs all this time, and now she was convinced that it was him she could feel exploding inside her. "We belong to each other now", she thought fiercely as the waves gradually subsided and she too slumped on her cross.
Postscript:
The rebels were so entertained by the morning's events that they decided to allow their prisoners to live. They might cut them just a little, for the sake of appearance, and they would probably leave them bound to their crosses (someone would get them down, eventually), but they would let them live.

Oh Wow...love being able to see this from different points of view. Really great!

 

[xso]

Pace Admi and his Old Crucifying Stories thread, I thought I'd start one here for my own stories from the old Crux group. Maybe it will give me the encouragement to finish a number that I never posted

Until the picture download problem is fixed, we'll have to depend on words, so I give you a short starter from 2002


The Bystander
by Phlebas
She had been a beauty, this dark haired slave. Now pain was etched
in every line of her face and body. Scourged and abused, she hung
from slender arms, pierced through by cruel iron. Twisting, moaning,
seeking any form of comfort, of relief from the agony of the cross.
A few people stand nearby, looking, talking, enjoying her public
nakedness, her helplessness.
You are one of these people. You came here earlier to meet a
friend "at the crossroad, by the crucifixion frame." You watched as
the woman was marched up the road, hands bound behind her, eyes on
the ground. You could not help but watch as her arms were stretched
upon the beam, her limbs nailed in place. Her vulnerability spoke to
something in you, her humiliation fascinated you. Her helpless body
aroused you. Hours later you are still here, rooted to the spot as
if nailed yourself.
For the first time the woman raises her face, streaked with sweat,
encrusted with dust from the road. She looks at you, her tortured
eyes look deep into yours. These eyes sear your soul. They speak to
you of experiences no one should have to endure. They plead with
you, they seek to connect with any shred of common humanity within
you.
Her mouth opens. You can barely make out her hoarse plea,
"Water . . . mercy."
You look at her, stretched and degraded on her cross.
You walk towards her.

Good stuff, thank you!

 

[Yupar]

Pace Admi and his Old Crucifying Stories thread, I thought I'd start one here for my own stories from the old Crux group. Maybe it will give me the encouragement to finish a number that I never posted

Until the picture download problem is fixed, we'll have to depend on words, so I give you a short starter from 2002


The Bystander
by Phlebas
She had been a beauty, this dark haired slave. Now pain was etched
in every line of her face and body. Scourged and abused, she hung
from slender arms, pierced through by cruel iron. Twisting, moaning,
seeking any form of comfort, of relief from the agony of the cross.
A few people stand nearby, looking, talking, enjoying her public
nakedness, her helplessness.
You are one of these people. You came here earlier to meet a
friend "at the crossroad, by the crucifixion frame." You watched as
the woman was marched up the road, hands bound behind her, eyes on
the ground. You could not help but watch as her arms were stretched
upon the beam, her limbs nailed in place. Her vulnerability spoke to
something in you, her humiliation fascinated you. Her helpless body
aroused you. Hours later you are still here, rooted to the spot as
if nailed yourself.
For the first time the woman raises her face, streaked with sweat,
encrusted with dust from the road. She looks at you, her tortured
eyes look deep into yours. These eyes sear your soul. They speak to
you of experiences no one should have to endure. They plead with
you, they seek to connect with any shred of common humanity within
you.
Her mouth opens. You can barely make out her hoarse plea,
"Water . . . mercy."
You look at her, stretched and degraded on her cross.
You walk towards her.

this one was yours too I thought
China, 1900
Word had come late in the afternoon that a party of Boxers might be on their way to the mission station. There were many stories going around of their hatred for foreigners, and their acts of savagery throughout the land. Against the advice of his assistant Will, Dr Boreham chose to stay put and reason with the rebels. He had invested 6 years in his mission, and was understandably reluctant to throw it away unnecessarily.
That night the all the servants fled under cover of darkness. The Boxers arrived the next morning, and showed little inclination to talk. By mid-morning Boreham and his wife lay dead among the smoking ruins of their house, leaving his assistant Will and Mrs Boreham's niece Sarah to the mercy of the Chinese rebels.
Hands bound, they watched with rising alarm as the Boxers raised what appeared to be two I-shaped crosses in the field beside the Mission. "Be brave, we must draw strength from each other" were Will's parting words to Sarah before each was seized by their captors and roughly stripped of all their garments.
Will:
Will couldn't see everything that was happening to Sarah, and could only hope that she was not violated in the confusion as they were dragged naked and struggling to the crosses. Once there ladders, ropes and numerous eager hands ensured that he was hoisted effectively but brutally into place, where he hung spread-eagled and naked before the crowd.

View attachment 129449​

He could see that Sarah had been similarly treated with limbs outstretched upon her own frame. There she hung open and exposed, helpless and unable to hide her feminine flesh from the curiosity of the crowd. Not only had Will failed to save her from the gross indignity of this treatment, he was unable even to spare her the sight of his own shamefully bare body. The watching crowd showed considerable interest in the two captive westerners, pointing out features of interest and making comparisons with enthusiasm. It was rare for them to have the opportunity for such a close and intimate look at a gweilo, let alone one of each gender.
Sarah had been staying with the Borehams for 7 months now, and Will had developed a great admiration for the young woman's dedication to her work. Their working relationship was moving rapidly towards one of genuine friendship. He was drawn to her personality and physical presence and, as one of the few young white women for miles around, she had often featured in Will's more private thoughts. More than once he had retired to his room at night with her on his mind.
Now here she was on display in front of him, every inch revealed, every question answered. He was in turmoil! Of course he was horrified to see her subjected to this ordeal, to the indignity of her exposure to these people! On the other hand, he could not tear his eyes away from her bare flesh. Her breasts were just as he had imagined, firm, full and crowned with dark pink. He was surprised at the size of her nipples, so much more prominent than his own. They moved in a most interesting way as her chest heaved with fear and effort. The legs that she had hidden behind long skirts were now stretched taught with ankles tied wide apart, forming a triangle with the bottom crosspiece. At the top of that triangle were visible the delicate folds of her most intimate place.
He fought to control himself. Twice he had taken prostitutes in Shanghai, but even then he had seen little of their nakedness, and he had never been with a white woman in that way. Here were Sarah's most private womanly parts were uncovered and open to his hungry eyes, vulnerable and inviting, yet ironically she was even more completely beyond his reach than ever before. Now she was looking at him, her eyes glancing down the length of his body, resting on his crotch. Will felt his lust rising, life flowing into his manhood . . . he must not disgrace himself this way!
Sarah:
She had come to China in search of the sort of adventure which a young woman could not find back home, but she had never imagined that things would get this "exciting". Physical discomfort and humiliation fought for dominance over her feelings. Stretched out and bound as she was, even scratching her nose was impossible, never mind shielding her secret places from this crowd. Shame was overwhelming her.
She looked across to where Will was similarly crucified. Over the preceding months she had grown ever closer to him as a friend, and Sarah's hope was that Will would soon begin to show a more serious interest in her. He had never appeared before her without being properly attired, although she knew that beneath his dark suits was a strong and well-formed body. This was now confirmed, his masculine attributes were on plain view to any interested observer. Sarah could not help looking and took some pleasure in the sight of him even at this difficult time. The muscles of his arms and shoulders showed prominently as he hung on his cross, his broad chest was matted with a surprising amount of dark hair. Her eyes followed the trail of hair down the front of his torso and along the line of his stomach muscles, to the point where it met the top of his thighs in a dark bush.
Sarah's experience of the male body had been limited to looking after little boys, which had not prepared her for the sight of a grown man's genitals, and what she could see emerging from the bushy patch between his open thighs caught her breath. His dangling member was larger than she had imagined, and to her surprise it began to inflate even while she watched. Her interest in this development was interrupted by the touch of a rough hand on her inner thigh, which sent a shock of indignation and an electrifying thrill through her body.
Will:
As he watched, one of the Chinese approached Sarah and grasped her inner thigh. He said something to his companions, eliciting approving responses from them, and proceeded to caress the flesh of her upper thigh. Sarah cried out in protest, twisting in her bonds, while the man made a further remark to his friends and, smiling, examined her exposed sexual organ from close range. Her body went rigid with futile resistance as he inserted a finger into the opening, roughly exploring the passage which had not previously known any part of a man. Will was spellbound with a mixture of horror and fascination, his own organ continuing to respond to the scene in front of him. The unexpected touch of a hand on his thigh prompted him to look down, to see a young Chinese woman exploring his genitals.
Chen Yun:
Dontcha just hate foreign devils? Yun had come along today to see what the Boxers would do to the gweilo, and so far she hadn't been disappointed. Naked, they were quite a sight, different in so many ways to ordinary people. They were so big, and so hairy! Look at the woman over there, large pale limbs, big tits, hairy cunt. How could any man find that attractive? Still, that rebel (was his name Wang?) seems to be enjoying himself. Two fingers inside her now and his thumb massaging her pleasure knob. Men will truly play with anything!
Yun was more interested in foreign man. So much taller than the men of her village, and although he did not work in the fields his body looked powerful, not stringy like the men she knew. He was hairy in so many places, particularly across his chest and on his thighs and groin. She had seen him once before when he visited her village, finding him rude and arrogant. He was not so superior now! His cock was large, and growing, as he watched Wang play with the other gweilo. It looked different to those she had seen before, ah, there was no foreskin! Where they born like that, or . . ? How strange the ways of barbarians. Yun's curiosity got the better of her, she approached him and took his strange foreign penis in her hand.
Sarah:
Her eyes were closed as the china man mercilessly probed the cavity between her legs, stretching membranes which she had never even known existed, kneading and stroking flesh which she had only ever touched when bathing. The only way she could cope with this violation was to try to draw strength from Will. She looked across at him, and saw that he was looking intensely into her eyes. She dropped her gaze briefly, and noticed that his member had grown full and dark in the hands of a young Chinese woman. The sight of it burned into her mind's eye. Will had begun to push his hips forward rhythmically in response to the woman's ministrations, and Sarah raised her eyes again to his face, imagining that it was his hands on her body, his manhood thrusting at her maiden's flesh. Eyes on his, she gave herself up this image.
Will:
Will tried to block out everything else, focussing on Sarah, looking deep into her eyes. He imagined that it was not the Chinese woman's fingers that caressed his engorged member, but the delicate folds between Sarah's thighs. She was visible excited now, continuing to keep her eyes fixed on his while she moved on her cross. Will hardly even noticed that he was moving too, or that the watching crowd was captivated by the unfolding spectacle.
Chen Yun:
The man had responded well to Yun's touch, his cock growing heavy in her hand. He was not the first man she had handled in this way, and she knew what to do. Soon he was breathing heavily and moving in a way which pleased her to watch, his body completely under her control. But he would not look at her, he stared fixedly at the foreign woman. The gweilo bitch returned his stare while she writhed and jiggled, moaned and gasped at the hands of her tormenter. She had begun to raise and lower herself on top of the fingers which impaled her, arching her back and inflating her chest as she did so. The watching crowd had never seen anything like it, all eyes were on the woman as she offered her body completely for their entertainment. Yun began to resent her, the centre of attention even at this time of her maximum humiliation. Why did no one pay attention to Yun? Her own victim was equally captivated by the spectacle of the woman, even while his genitals were helpless in Yun's hands. Angrily she dug her nails into him.
Will:
Will had put aside the indignity of his situation, and only had eyes for Sarah. Her thigh muscles strained each time she raised herself, her ribcage and breasts thrust forward as an offering to him each time she arched her back. He felt a pressure building in him, he arched forward in his own bonds. It was as if his whole body was crucified on this one, aching centrepiece of his anatomy. At that moment the sudden sharp pain of Yun's nails shot through him, the shock delivering the release which his body craved. He climaxed, and slumped in his bonds.
Sarah:
How did a well brought up girl cope with the extremity of an ordeal like this, to be a sex toy for the amusement of a crowd of foreign strangers? A part of her simply didn't accept it, and was watching as if from a long way off. Paradoxically, another part of her felt a freedom that she had never known before, a freedom from the need to guard and control her body and her reactions. Sarah realised with surprise that the high pitched noises she could hear were coming from her own mouth. Her head was spinning, her body was trying to fly. Eyes still fixed on Will, she saw him reach his climax at the hands of the Chinese woman. She had imagined that it was him she could feel between her thighs all this time, and now she was convinced that it was him she could feel exploding inside her. "We belong to each other now", she thought fiercely as the waves gradually subsided and she too slumped on her cross.
Postscript:
The rebels were so entertained by the morning's events that they decided to allow their prisoners to live. They might cut them just a little, for the sake of appearance, and they would probably leave them bound to their crosses (someone would get them down, eventually), but they would let them live.

Both are great!

 

[phlebas]

great old chap if I find what about or by you I'll post them here

Let me post them first, old boy, and if I've missed any, do fill in the gap

this one was yours too I thought
China, 1900

Yes indeed, in fact I reposted it here just a week ago!
http://www.cruxforums.com/xf/threads/what-is-your-perception-of-the-world-on-the-cross.3603/
post #12
Finding it is what set me on the path down memory lane (and my archive)

Thanks Sis and Barb, I'm glad the first story spoke to you.

Oh Wow...love being able to see this from different points of view. Really great!

I like to look at crux from different perspectives, and there is often a theme of the bystander, the witness, sometimes participating, sometimes not.

PS when I typed the line to Sis and Barb above, I initially typed "Bard" by accident, but given the posts elsewhere maybe it was a Freudian slip?

 

[admihoek]

Let me post them first, old boy, and if I've missed any, do fill in the gap



Yes indeed, in fact I reposted it here just a week ago!
http://www.cruxforums.com/xf/threads/what-is-your-perception-of-the-world-on-the-cross.3603/
post #12
Finding it is what set me on the path down memory lane (and my archive)

Thanks Sis and Barb, I'm glad the first story spoke to you.



I like to look at crux from different perspectives, and there is often a theme of the bystander, the witness, sometimes participating, sometimes not.

PS when I typed the line to Sis and Barb above, I initially typed "Bard" by accident, but given the posts elsewhere maybe it was a Freudian slip?

all right.........................but it is much more better in this place

 

[phlebas]

From 2002 - a good year for me in writing
_____________________________

Foolish Love
or
Lepida's story
by Phlebas
Lepida was a slave, born and bred in the house of the Junii. Her
mother was a German, her father (it was said) carried Nubian blood in
his veins. Lepida herself had fair hair, light brown skin, a grace
and beauty of movement which increased with every year. Soon her
budding womanhood attracted the attention of her master, C. Junius
Clarus.
Clarus was himself a young man of considerable charm, and Lepida was
overwhelmed by the invitation to share his bed. An impressionable
girl, she quickly developed an inappropriate attachment to her
master, idolising his looks, his strength, his kindness to her,
convinced that there was something more beyond shared physical
comfort. The young woman dreamed of the day when her master would
give her her freedom and take her hand in marriage. The Lady
Lepida! Why not? He loved her, didn't he, as she loved him?
The world fell apart when Clarus took a wife. Unable to perceive the
difference between an important social match and a convenient
mistress, Lepida focussed all on removing what she thought was an
impediment to her dreams. The subsequent attempt at poisoning only
succeeded in making her rival sick, but it brought about the
imprisonment and torture of the besotted girl. At 19 her life was
over, thwarted in love, and sentenced to death for her crime.
His slave had done a terrible thing, but Clarus couldn't help feeling
sorry for her. He hadn't realised that she had an unhealthy fixation
on him. He was fond of her, but she was just a slave, an
uncomplicated fuck. On the day scheduled for Lepida's crucifixion,
Clarus took himself to the place of execution intending to say a
final farewell to his former mistress.
Lepida lay prone upon the ground, arms outstretched and wrists
pressed against the patibulum. She was naked, her exposed flesh
showed the marks of heavy questioning. A man knelt on each arm,
another straddled her midriff, while a fourth took hammer and nails
and approached the distraught girl. Clarus, newly arrived, watched
from a distance as a nail was placed against the first wrist. He
grimaced as the hammer hit home, looked away as his former slave
bucked and thrashed, screamed as piercing agony travelled the nerves
of her pinned arm. Her beautiful face was distorted with pain as the
fresh smooth skin of her other wrist was likewise pierced, violated.
Writhing involuntarily, the condemned woman was now fixed forever to
her heavy wooden patibulum. The agony etched on her features eased
when she caught sight of Clarus, her eyes pleaded for him to come
closer.
"Dear master . . . please"
"Sweet Lepida, I am sorry it came to this, but . . . "
"Master . . . please, I want . . ."
"I have nothing to give you"
"Dear Master, you have. I want . . . I want you inside me"
Clarus stood stunned as the guards watched the exchange with lewd
interest.
"Please, please, one last time. I want you, I need you inside me!
Grant me this last request!"
Lepida followed up this plea by spreading her legs, shamelessly
opening her young thighs wide in invitation to Clarus, heedless of
the watching guards.
Clarus looked at the guards. They were nodding and making crude
encouraging noises. "How can I refuse such a plea?" he remarked
jauntily to them, uncovering his lower torso and kneeling between the
receptive legs. They did not see the look of pain in his eyes as he
viewed the raw undignified need of his former lover. Privately he
lamented her fall from woman of poise and beauty to creature of
desperate naked lust. Had the torturers done this, broken her
spirit? Or was she made foolish by unrequited love? Was it his
fault? No matter now. Her short life would soon be over, he could
at least give her what she most desired.
Tenderly, the noble Roman kissed the pinioned arms of his ex slave.
He stroked the hair on her head, kissed her slender neck. His hands
travelled gently over the curves of her body as he nuzzled her
breasts, kissed her belly. Lepida sighed deeply, began to move in
response to his silken touch. She cried out briefly as her nailed
wrists signalled their agony, but this pain was banished when her
beloved master dipped his noble head once more and explored her open
cleft with his tongue. Heedless of his own dignity, the young Roman
worked her body with his hands, drank her essence with his mouth.
Lepida's body responded mightily to this attention. Never had he
done this for her, it was always she who had taken him in her mouth.
The slavegirl moaned, arched her back in pleasure, opened her thighs
ever wider in response. Her body tensed again and again as waves of
anticipatory pleasure coursed through her.
Sensing the time was right, Clarus raised his head, moved into a new
position, and eased his now swollen manhood into her wet and ready
slit. While he continued to kiss and suck her shuddering breasts,
the girl wrapped long, strong legs around him, almost squeezing the
breath from him in her passion. With difficulty he pumped away as
she bucked beneath him, wondering at the intensity of her response.
Her cries, a mixture now of pain and ecstasy, rose higher and higher
in the still morning air. Clarus, carried along by the moment, came
quickly, groaning aloud as he did. This seemed almost to be a signal
to his onetime mistress, who came loudly and violently, again almost
crushing her lover before falling back against the hard earth, eyes
closed, chest heaving, legs still wrapped like bands of iron around
him.
Stunned by the intensity of what they had witnessed, the guards were
momentarily speechless. A couple came forward to release Clarus from
the grip of his lover, and help him to his feet. With dignity he
covered himself, drew himself up, and requested that the condemned
girl receive no further abuse at the hands of her executioners. He
moved to one side, watched as Lepida's crucifixion continued on its
unstoppable course. The girl was pulled to her feet and marched to
the nearby upright, where the experienced team raised the patibulum
and body the several feet necessary to fix it to the stipes about 8
feet up. Once fixed in place, the men released Lepida to hang solely
from her wrist nails until they were ready to fix her legs. The
tearing, dragging sensation was agony, Lepida's feet pressed
desperately against the upright, thighs bulging with effort, in an
attempt to find some purchase. Watching, Clarus almost went forward
to help her, before the minute which felt like hours passed. Her
struggling legs were tied in place against the cross, in preparation
for the final nailing. The ropes around her ankles gave the
struggling girl a brief respite from the pain in her arms and wrists,
but she then felt the press of cold iron against her bound feet.
Unable to move out of the way, the slavegirl could only grit her
teeth in preparation for a new explosion of pain. One nail this
time, which blasted through both her delicate feet, burying itself
deep in the wood of the cross which Lepida was now wedded to for the
remainder of her life.
>From a short distance Clarus watched the squirming agony of his once
and recent lover. Over her head was placed the inscription ancilla
serva
homicida
He watched with sadness as the girl went through the common pattern
of reactions of the crucified: she struggled for a time, twisting
her body in every direction trying to free her spiked limbs; next she
slumped down in exhaustion and abject misery; finally she grasped the
hard reality of life on the cross - the need to raise herself up
against the nails and the weight of her own body to take enough
breath to continue. The young Roman was filled with melancholy. He
looked at the hands and mouth which had once brought him simple
pleasure, now twisted in agony. The firm body upon which he had laid
was hanging, stretched, straining to cling to life. The legs and
thighs which had only moments before enfolded him in a passionate
embrace were already knotting with cramp, running with the sweat of
effort, the blood of torture. The pussy which had so recently given
him pleasure would know no other man, bring its owner no other
pleasure. Lepida hung upon her cross, her pitiful cries and groans
hanging useless in the air.
It was such a waste! Clarus was not a cruel man, but he was forced
to stand by the principles of Roman justice. He turned away, walked
back into the city to conduct the day's business.
Later that afternoon Clarus returned to the killing field. Lepida
lived, and could do for days more. A strong young woman, she
continued to dance upon her cross, although visibly more feeble. The
day had baked her skin, parched her lips. Her limbs twitched and
spasmed with cramp, her eyes were downcast. Clarus took pity on his
slave, had words with the attendants. A few denarii changed hands.
Without ceremony, one of the attendants took up a heavy stave and
approached the woman. Swinging the stave, he smashed the bones first
of one leg, and then the other. Lepida screamed hoarsely and found
enough energy to writhe in new agony, her body slumping hard against
the shattered limbs. Clarus regretted the new pain he brought, but
knew it was for the best. His beautiful Lepida, his foolish lover,
would die before sundown. She would be spared any more days of agony
and humiliation. Later he would send some slaves for the body. It
was the least he could do.
Clarus turned away, not wishing to see her last painful breaths.
Wasting no more time he walked away from that place, to return to his
household and to his wife.

 

[Wragg]

Phlebas:
"He grimaced as the hammer hit home, looked away as his former slave
bucked and thrashed, screamed as piercing agony travelled the nerves
of her pinned arm. Her beautiful face was distorted with pain as the
fresh smooth skin of her other wrist was likewise pierced, violated.
Writhing involuntarily, the condemned woman was now fixed forever to
her heavy wooden patibulum. The agony etched on her features eased
when she caught sight of Clarus, her eyes pleaded for him to come
closer."

You got right down to the depths of your soul to come up with writing like that, Phlebas.

And you reach the depths of mine with it.

W

 

[Yupar]

From 2002 - a good year for me in writing
_____________________________

Foolish Love
or
Lepida's story
by Phlebas
Lepida was a slave, born and bred in the house of the Junii. Her
mother was a German, her father (it was said) carried Nubian blood in
his veins. Lepida herself had fair hair, light brown skin, a grace
and beauty of movement which increased with every year. Soon her
budding womanhood attracted the attention of her master, C. Junius
Clarus.
Clarus was himself a young man of considerable charm, and Lepida was
overwhelmed by the invitation to share his bed. An impressionable
girl, she quickly developed an inappropriate attachment to her
master, idolising his looks, his strength, his kindness to her,
convinced that there was something more beyond shared physical
comfort. The young woman dreamed of the day when her master would
give her her freedom and take her hand in marriage. The Lady
Lepida! Why not? He loved her, didn't he, as she loved him?
The world fell apart when Clarus took a wife. Unable to perceive the
difference between an important social match and a convenient
mistress, Lepida focussed all on removing what she thought was an
impediment to her dreams. The subsequent attempt at poisoning only
succeeded in making her rival sick, but it brought about the
imprisonment and torture of the besotted girl. At 19 her life was
over, thwarted in love, and sentenced to death for her crime.
His slave had done a terrible thing, but Clarus couldn't help feeling
sorry for her. He hadn't realised that she had an unhealthy fixation
on him. He was fond of her, but she was just a slave, an
uncomplicated fuck. On the day scheduled for Lepida's crucifixion,
Clarus took himself to the place of execution intending to say a
final farewell to his former mistress.
Lepida lay prone upon the ground, arms outstretched and wrists
pressed against the patibulum. She was naked, her exposed flesh
showed the marks of heavy questioning. A man knelt on each arm,
another straddled her midriff, while a fourth took hammer and nails
and approached the distraught girl. Clarus, newly arrived, watched
from a distance as a nail was placed against the first wrist. He
grimaced as the hammer hit home, looked away as his former slave
bucked and thrashed, screamed as piercing agony travelled the nerves
of her pinned arm. Her beautiful face was distorted with pain as the
fresh smooth skin of her other wrist was likewise pierced, violated.
Writhing involuntarily, the condemned woman was now fixed forever to
her heavy wooden patibulum. The agony etched on her features eased
when she caught sight of Clarus, her eyes pleaded for him to come
closer.
"Dear master . . . please"
"Sweet Lepida, I am sorry it came to this, but . . . "
"Master . . . please, I want . . ."
"I have nothing to give you"
"Dear Master, you have. I want . . . I want you inside me"
Clarus stood stunned as the guards watched the exchange with lewd
interest.
"Please, please, one last time. I want you, I need you inside me!
Grant me this last request!"
Lepida followed up this plea by spreading her legs, shamelessly
opening her young thighs wide in invitation to Clarus, heedless of
the watching guards.
Clarus looked at the guards. They were nodding and making crude
encouraging noises. "How can I refuse such a plea?" he remarked
jauntily to them, uncovering his lower torso and kneeling between the
receptive legs. They did not see the look of pain in his eyes as he
viewed the raw undignified need of his former lover. Privately he
lamented her fall from woman of poise and beauty to creature of
desperate naked lust. Had the torturers done this, broken her
spirit? Or was she made foolish by unrequited love? Was it his
fault? No matter now. Her short life would soon be over, he could
at least give her what she most desired.
Tenderly, the noble Roman kissed the pinioned arms of his ex slave.
He stroked the hair on her head, kissed her slender neck. His hands
travelled gently over the curves of her body as he nuzzled her
breasts, kissed her belly. Lepida sighed deeply, began to move in
response to his silken touch. She cried out briefly as her nailed
wrists signalled their agony, but this pain was banished when her
beloved master dipped his noble head once more and explored her open
cleft with his tongue. Heedless of his own dignity, the young Roman
worked her body with his hands, drank her essence with his mouth.
Lepida's body responded mightily to this attention. Never had he
done this for her, it was always she who had taken him in her mouth.
The slavegirl moaned, arched her back in pleasure, opened her thighs
ever wider in response. Her body tensed again and again as waves of
anticipatory pleasure coursed through her.
Sensing the time was right, Clarus raised his head, moved into a new
position, and eased his now swollen manhood into her wet and ready
slit. While he continued to kiss and suck her shuddering breasts,
the girl wrapped long, strong legs around him, almost squeezing the
breath from him in her passion. With difficulty he pumped away as
she bucked beneath him, wondering at the intensity of her response.
Her cries, a mixture now of pain and ecstasy, rose higher and higher
in the still morning air. Clarus, carried along by the moment, came
quickly, groaning aloud as he did. This seemed almost to be a signal
to his onetime mistress, who came loudly and violently, again almost
crushing her lover before falling back against the hard earth, eyes
closed, chest heaving, legs still wrapped like bands of iron around
him.
Stunned by the intensity of what they had witnessed, the guards were
momentarily speechless. A couple came forward to release Clarus from
the grip of his lover, and help him to his feet. With dignity he
covered himself, drew himself up, and requested that the condemned
girl receive no further abuse at the hands of her executioners. He
moved to one side, watched as Lepida's crucifixion continued on its
unstoppable course. The girl was pulled to her feet and marched to
the nearby upright, where the experienced team raised the patibulum
and body the several feet necessary to fix it to the stipes about 8
feet up. Once fixed in place, the men released Lepida to hang solely
from her wrist nails until they were ready to fix her legs. The
tearing, dragging sensation was agony, Lepida's feet pressed
desperately against the upright, thighs bulging with effort, in an
attempt to find some purchase. Watching, Clarus almost went forward
to help her, before the minute which felt like hours passed. Her
struggling legs were tied in place against the cross, in preparation
for the final nailing. The ropes around her ankles gave the
struggling girl a brief respite from the pain in her arms and wrists,
but she then felt the press of cold iron against her bound feet.
Unable to move out of the way, the slavegirl could only grit her
teeth in preparation for a new explosion of pain. One nail this
time, which blasted through both her delicate feet, burying itself
deep in the wood of the cross which Lepida was now wedded to for the
remainder of her life.
>From a short distance Clarus watched the squirming agony of his once
and recent lover. Over her head was placed the inscription ancilla
serva
homicida
He watched with sadness as the girl went through the common pattern
of reactions of the crucified: she struggled for a time, twisting
her body in every direction trying to free her spiked limbs; next she
slumped down in exhaustion and abject misery; finally she grasped the
hard reality of life on the cross - the need to raise herself up
against the nails and the weight of her own body to take enough
breath to continue. The young Roman was filled with melancholy. He
looked at the hands and mouth which had once brought him simple
pleasure, now twisted in agony. The firm body upon which he had laid
was hanging, stretched, straining to cling to life. The legs and
thighs which had only moments before enfolded him in a passionate
embrace were already knotting with cramp, running with the sweat of
effort, the blood of torture. The pussy which had so recently given
him pleasure would know no other man, bring its owner no other
pleasure. Lepida hung upon her cross, her pitiful cries and groans
hanging useless in the air.
It was such a waste! Clarus was not a cruel man, but he was forced
to stand by the principles of Roman justice. He turned away, walked
back into the city to conduct the day's business.
Later that afternoon Clarus returned to the killing field. Lepida
lived, and could do for days more. A strong young woman, she
continued to dance upon her cross, although visibly more feeble. The
day had baked her skin, parched her lips. Her limbs twitched and
spasmed with cramp, her eyes were downcast. Clarus took pity on his
slave, had words with the attendants. A few denarii changed hands.
Without ceremony, one of the attendants took up a heavy stave and
approached the woman. Swinging the stave, he smashed the bones first
of one leg, and then the other. Lepida screamed hoarsely and found
enough energy to writhe in new agony, her body slumping hard against
the shattered limbs. Clarus regretted the new pain he brought, but
knew it was for the best. His beautiful Lepida, his foolish lover,
would die before sundown. She would be spared any more days of agony
and humiliation. Later he would send some slaves for the body. It
was the least he could do.
Clarus turned away, not wishing to see her last painful breaths.
Wasting no more time he walked away from that place, to return to his
household and to his wife.

I like it in some style even my fantasy is not a slave gal.

 

[phlebas]

Phlebas:
"He grimaced as the hammer hit home, looked away as his former slave
bucked and thrashed, screamed as piercing agony travelled the nerves
of her pinned arm. Her beautiful face was distorted with pain as the
fresh smooth skin of her other wrist was likewise pierced, violated.
Writhing involuntarily, the condemned woman was now fixed forever to
her heavy wooden patibulum. The agony etched on her features eased
when she caught sight of Clarus, her eyes pleaded for him to come
closer."

You got right down to the depths of your soul to come up with writing like that, Phlebas.

And you reach the depths of mine with it.

W

Thank you, you make me blush, Wragg
Well, I do try to write from the heart, and explore themes which interest me. This one was inspired by a simple comment by my wife, and it sent me in several directions. I wrote it quite quickly as I recall, it just rushed out, needing to be told.
Doomed love, failed murder, the compassion of a slave owner for his former lover, the inevitability of Roman justice and the fatalism of ancient people

 

[Wragg]

Thank you, you make me blush, Wragg
Well, I do try to write from the heart, and explore themes which interest me. This one was inspired by a simple comment by my wife, and it sent me in several directions. I wrote it quite quickly as I recall, it just rushed out, needing to be told.
Doomed love, failed murder, the compassion of a slave owner for his former lover, the inevitability of Roman justice and the fatalism of ancient people

Well, thank you, Mrs Phlebas, is all I can say!

 

[phlebas]

Another oldie, reposted as a result of discussion of drinks on the cross on the "Humiliation" thread

Chechnya -
Phlebas May 2001​

​

Sometimes we have cause to regret our actions, and sometimes we regret our inaction. A journalist is expected to remain apart from the events he reports, but life is rarely that straightforward . . .

Covering the war in Chechnya I had seen some ugly sights, bombed villages, dead civilians. I had been under fire and been personally threatened. Nasty, and at times frightening, but all part of the job.

That day I was bouncing around in the back of an old Lada, on my way to visit a local Chechen field commander for an interview. After miles of winding hill roads the car was met at a remote spot by several rebel fighters carrying automatic weapons. My driver stayed with the car while these men escorted me for some distance on foot through the trees to the small house which served as their headquarters.

Welcomed by the bearded leader Khattab Basayev, we quickly settled down to discussing the Chechen cause and their progress in the war. When I suggested that Russian air power was likely to prove decisive in the conflict, the men around me smiled. "Would you like to see what we do to decisive Russian airpower?" Basayev said, standing up and leading us outside. "A few days ago a Russian helicopter passed over this hill, and we shot it down. Over there you can see some of the equipment we were able to salvage, including that gun under the camouflage netting. And over here . . ." he led us through some trees into another clearing "is the rest of our salvage."

There in the clearing in front of me were two makeshift crosses, and fixed to each cross was a naked body, one male and one female. Each showed signs of harsh treatment, and were nailed to the wood through the wrists and feet in classical fashion. The man, whose legs looked wrong, twisted, hung in such a way as to suggest lifelessness. When I turned to look more closely at the woman, I was stunned to see the figure stir. She was still alive!

I watched as the Russian woman moaned, slowly raised herself a little, took a weak breath, exhaled and sunk down again, chin lowered to her chest. I had seen death before, and pain, but such deliberate and methodical torture as this was beyond either my experience or my understanding.

The Chechens watched with amusement as I approached the cross. The woman had been fit and attractive, that much was clear, but now she was suffering the effects of several days of mistreatment. She hung from her mangled wrists like a piece of meat, arms stretched tight and upper body strained by the extremity of her pose. Her light brown hair was tangled and matted, some strands drifting over her downcast face. She wore nothing but a single item of personal jewellery, a crucifix, which hung from a delicate chain to rest between her bare breasts. Whether this served as a mockery of her circumstances, or a comfort, I was never to know.

Basayev spoke in explanation. "These two survived when the chopper came down. We questioned them, had a bit of fun, then sentenced them to death for spying and murder. Unfortunately, Boris there had injured both legs, and didn't last very long. We are happier with her performance so far" he said, pointing. He shouted "Hey, Ruski slut. You have a visitor"

Slowly she raised her eyes and noticed me for the first time. I was clearly not a Chechen, and after a few moments of looking at me, her mouth began to move. I went closer to hear what she was trying to say. At this range I could see the sheen of sweat, the rivulets of blood oozing down her arms, the trembling muscles and tightly stretched skin. Her legs, and the once neatly trimmed bush between them, were now messy with a mix of bodily fluids and various dried substances which caked her flesh and pubic hair. "Drink" she croaked in Russian, "talk". I looked at her captives, who shrugged and gestured me to go ahead. Fetching a cup of water, I approached the suffering figure again. She was crucified quite close to the ground, so it was not difficult to offer the cup to her dry lips.

She received the cup with relief, eyes closed and head tipped slightly back. It was an awkward business, with every move of her body bringing her pain, so I tried to make things as easy as possible. Up close, I was again confronted by the brutality of this form of execution, and the evidence of prior abuse etched in her face and flesh. I found that helping her take a drink under these circumstances was a very intimate experience, and standing so close to this straining and helpless woman I became aware of my own body responding. My eyes were drawn to the movement of her belly, dimpled by it's navel and covered in very fine downy hair. Her breasts too moved in subtle ways as she drank, and I was very tempted to reach out and touch the prominent nipples that pushed towards me so invitingly.

Finished with her drink, the Russian cast a grateful look at me, and began heaving her body upright to take a deep breath. Muscles bulged, sinews tightened, lungs heaved; she gasped her message; "Ivan - ova. Captain . . . . . Dana . . . Ivanova" Slump down. Rest. Up again and grimace through another breath. "Intelligence. . . . Please . . . tell . . . . what happened." Down. Rest. Up. "We told them nothing." Slump. Moan. Slowly up. "Please . . . . tell family . . . . died in action". Down again. "Gospodi . . . gospodi pomiluj. Uslyshi mja, gospodi" she breathed in a small voice, losing interest again in her surroundings.
This woman was strong, but the cross was stronger.

I stood there a moment, looking into her face, but her eyes were again cast down, unfocussed, uninterested. I touched her briefly on the cheek, but she only muttered "please . . . ", and gave a silent sigh. I placed a hand on her thigh, briefly kneading the tense and trembling knot of cramped muscle. When she next raised herself on the cross, my other hand moved naturally to caress the gentle curve of her belly, taking delight in its rise and fall as she fought for breath. When she sunk down again my hand slipped easily between her weary inner thighs, and gently explored the private folds of her sex. The sounds and movements she made indicated pain and discomfort rather than pleasure, so I withdrew my hand. She reacted very little, except to give me a searching look. "I will take your message back" I told her, and went to rejoin my hosts.
Some of the rebels, interest renewed by my visit, approached the woman and tormented her, which I greatly regretted. I resumed my interview with Bassayev, and only returned to the clearing when it was time to leave. The Russian was alone again, hanging exhausted from her nailed limbs and occasionally raising herself for a laboured breath. I quickly took some photos of her, then set off on the walk back down through the woods to my car.

That was the last I saw or heard of her.

I am not proud of my actions that day. Maybe I could have negotiated with the Chechens for her freedom. Maybe I could have helped her to escape. I watched this woman's life draining away in agony and loneliness, and I did nothing to help. When I returned to Grozny I informed the Russian authorities that I had seen the bodies and identity papers of the dead service personnel. I never did tell them the whole story, or ever release the photos I took that day. I still have them, and even take pleasure in them sometimes, to my continuing shame. How can this be a fitting memorial to that brave woman?

 

[Wragg]

The agony of the watching witness. An intensely powerful story well written - thank you Phlebas.

 

[messaline]

Was it a true story, phlebas ?

 

[admihoek]

Was it a true story, phlebas ?

all our all time stories are true stories

 

[phlebas]

This story came up in conversation about my recent manip, as it speculates on a near future judicial crux.
As originally posted on Crux circa Jan 2002

Abigail

It was a reasonable day for a walk. The sun was shining, although there was a sharp wind which robbed the day of its warmth. Phil was grateful for the jacket he had on, and wondered how his prisoner was coping. He always enjoyed walking behind his prisoners. This one had a powerful arse, firm and round, which he took pleasure in watching. A sturdy young woman of 22 or 23, Abigail's strong limbs and straight back were fully occupied keeping a heavy patibulum balanced across her shoulders as she trudged the way to the Field of Justice. Her pleasant, square face looked strained behind a veil of long dark hair. While not a classic beauty, she had a vitality, an air of healthy attraction, which was a dangerous thing for a young woman to have in the new Britain of the Second Commonwealth.
Things had changed since the New Puritans had come to power. Crime and immorality were proclaimed the twin evils of the age, corporal and capital punishments were introduced for a range of transgressions. Flogging and hanging had become commonplace again, and acts which were deemed to threaten the fabric of society carried the new penalty of public crucifixion. Adultery, which undermined the family unit and therefore society itself, was one such crime.
Abigail had been convicted of seducing and corrupting a married man. They met at work, she was looking for companionship. His wife had just had a baby, he was just looking for sex. When discovered, he had saved himself from death by blaming everything on her, and had even led the police to her when they came for her at the office. The betrayal and following trial had broken Abigail's belief in other people, but not her self confidence or will to live. Even now, she did not accept that her life was effectively over.
The prisoner and her guards arrived at the Field just as another sentence was nearing completion. A black youth was shackled to one of the flogging frames, his back shining with sweat and blood, his genitals shrunken in the cold wind. "FORTY SEVEN" the crowd shouted in unison at each blow, "FORTY EIGHT. FORTY NINE. FIFTYYYYY". Sagging against the frame, the youth gritted his teeth and awaited his release. Abigail shuddered. This boy, probably a thief, would be going home again. She, who had only wanted to give and receive love, had been sentenced to a lingering death. What kind of people made these laws? What kind of people carried them out? She looked at the overseer, looked away when he leered back. Meanwhile, sensing that a new entertainment was about to begin, the flogging crowd began to drift in the direction of the new arrivals.
It was time. Abigail's patibulum was untied from her outstretched arms, taken from her shoulders and attached to the pulley system on a nearby stipes. The New Puritans did not believe in the use of nails for crucifixion. Neither did they flog the condemned. To do these things would have struck them as dangerously close to blasphemy. Rather, they employed wrist and ankle straps, hooks and rings. Female adulterers were granted the benefit of a misericord, though this was intended to be a punishment rather than a mercy. The condemned woman already had bracelets fitted. Once the patibulum had been raised to a suitable height, her wrist bracelets were clipped to fittings buried deep in the wood, so that she stood with her back to the cross and her arms stretched apart above shoulder height. This was the moment when the young woman finally confronted what was going to be done to her.
Phil paused for a few moments to appreciate the sight. His prisoner's arms were raised and spread against the patibulum, pushing her chest up and out a little more than usual. Abigail's breasts were of medium size. Pointy and slightly concave, they swept downwards to her nipples, which stood stiff and hard against the cold wind. Ribs were already visible against her sturdy torso. He knew that they would become more pronounced as her body was raised up the shaft of the cross. Below, the curve of Abigail's strong belly disappeared into a thatch of thick dark hair between her legs. Phil would soon take some professional interest in what was hidden there, but for now there was a crossing to complete.
He gave the signal, and Abigail was lifted into the air, her patibulum hauled up the stipes to rest in its locking place. Now all her weight pulled against the bindings on her wrists, while her legs dangled free in the air, looking for purchase on the wood. It was uncomfortable, painful, and made breathing difficult. Would they leave her like this?
"OK, spread em, darlin"
Abigail had known this was coming. The misericord, or mercy seat, was mandatory for seduction and adultery sentences. It consisted of two parts. The seat, known to the Romans as sedile, was a wooden crotch support which bolted directly into the cross. To this was attached the cornu, an articulated device made of wood and rubber. Phallus shaped and a little thicker than the average man's penis, its flexibility allowed the woman considerable freedom of movement on the cross without the risk of serious internal injury. Up and down, in and out, the hard wooden parts provided a constant reminder of the condemned woman's crime.
An unspeakable instrument. Abigail could not prevent them using it on her, but she did not have to co-operate. She held her dangling legs close together.
Phil grinned. "Awright, lads, take her legs"
One guard took hold of each leg, holding them up and spread apart to allow their boss easy access to her private parts. This was the bit that Phil loved. Professional decorum had kept him from taking advantage of the girl as he would like. She had not been raped, her breasts remained unfondled, her genitals had been untouched. Until now. In the course of her execution, the law sanctioned this delightful form of public penetration, and he fully intended to enjoy every moment of it.
Abigail hung from her wrists, thighs open to the chill wind, dreading what was to come. Phil held the cornu aloft for all to see, then liberally coated the object with lubricant. With one hand he parted the outer lips of her sex, while the other began working the cornu's head into her exposed vaginal opening. Abigail gasped as the sensitive inner lips tightened around its thick unforgiving shaft. She grimaced as the artificial phallus stretched the internal walls of her vagina, her lower body instinctively trying to twist away as Phil forced the device deeper inside her.
When only a few inches were left protruding between her legs, Phil went to fetch the seat. This was bolted to the upright post of the cross, between the victim's legs and just below her crotch, then the cornu was carefully slotted into place upon it. The men holding Abigail's legs now lowered the skewered woman onto her seat, and secured her ankle straps to the appropriate cross fittings.
Abigail blushed with shame at these public indignities. Her discomfort, her abject humiliation, was providing entertainment for a crowd of more than one hundred. These people had just watched her most secret parts penetrated by an artificial penis, and now they would witness the slow ebbing of her life as she hung naked on this cross. Her last hours and days would be nothing but a public spectacle for these and many other complete strangers.
The misericord was no true mercy. It took a little of the strain from her limbs, but it was placed too low to provide serious support. Her arms still took most of the strain, while the stressed pose of her upper body prevented her from breathing properly. Arms and legs had to work to raise her body to a more effective breathing position, sometimes by pulling directly up the cross, sometimes by thrusting out away from it, depending on cramps and the relative strength of her limbs. Meanwhile the misericord was a constant unwelcome companion. At rest, it was a thick and unforgettable presence inside her. When she moved, to breath or to alleviate cramps, it moved with her, up and down, in and out, in an obscene imitation of the sexual act. Abigail was being judicially fucked.
Phil placed a new sign on a post beside the cross. "Abigail Reece - Seductress and Adulterer". Many in the crowd were clearly excited to witness the punishment of such a terrible sexual criminal, they watched with barely concealed lust as the young woman paid the price for her mistake, was forced to endure again and again an imitation of the act which had brought her to this end.
After a time, another party came along the road, and moved towards the flogging frame. Some in the crowd looked to see whether the new entertainment was worth watching. They saw a naked man of about 40 being strapped to the frame, arms above his head and feet set wide apart. As the sentence was read the man looked towards Abigail's cross, an odd expression on his face.
"To receive 25 lashes for each of the next 4 weeks, for diminished adultery".
The man kept his eyes fixed on Abigail as the first stroke fell on his back. The crowd began to count again, as each blow brought forth a grunt. "ONE. TWO. THREE."
Abigail, lowering herself once again on the infernal shaft of the misericord, could not help glancing over to the flogging. It was that bastard, her ex lover Brian! He had thrown himself at her, used her and betrayed her. Now she hung here awaiting slow death in public, suffering repeated penetration by an instrument of the State, while he had his sentence of crucifixion commuted to serial flogging on the grounds of diminished responsibility and co-operation with the authorities. She was sooo angry! She raised herself again on the cross to fill her lungs, cornu withdrawing slowly and uncomfortably from inside her as she did so. The crowd began murmuring, some people laughing or making lewd comments. Looking across at Brian, she was stunned to see that his eyes were on her, and that he had an erection. The unspeakable scumbag! He was getting off on this! She writhed with humiliation and indignation, but she was helpless to do anything.
"TWENTYYYY FIVE"
Trembling and sagging against his bonds, Brian closed his eyes, his erection gradually subsiding. He was forced to endure many lewd comments as he was released from the frame and allowed to dress. He rested for a while, enjoying the sight of his lover on the cross. Then, moving slowly and in considerable pain, he set off back down the road. He would go home, take a bath, tend his wounds. Later, if he felt up to it, he would come back with his camera, and see how Abbie was getting on. With any luck, she would provide him with several more days of pleasure before her strength finally gave out. He smiled a private smile, and limped away.​