• Sign up or login, and you'll have full access to opportunities of forum.

The Peg

Go to CruxDreams.com
J

Juan1234

Guest
He said he loved me. Then he sat on my naked hips and pinned my shoulders down while they crucified me. That was yesterday morning. Now he's watching me die.

My husband and the other rebels were all crucified together almost two months ago, so I am the last one left. I don't know the two men hanging on either side of me. They seem to have heard of me, though.

I need hardly say that I am in agony. I am nailed to this cross, the whole weight of my body hauling down on the nails through my wrists and
feet. I can only take the shallowest of breaths – my body is stretched so that
if I hang here I cannot breathe out. Only in, in, and in again, smaller, and
shallower, crushing my chest.

I have to decide what to do with the peg behind me. This morning,
when I began gasping for breath and my limbs shook as I struggled to heave myself up to let out my spent air, they fastened the long, upward-sloping peg to my cross for me to sit on. One reached behind me and held my pelvis out from the cross so the other could work behind me. I don't want to recall the pain of my wrists and feet pulling against the nails as they held me out; I can still feel the degradation of those rough hands on my bare bum and those hawk-like
eyes glaring at my bleeding sex. At least I could breathe.

When they had finished, they let my body fall back against the cross, and the peg hit me a little above my tail bone. It hurt, and when I writhed from the pain, the nails hurt more, but I knew what the peg was for, and I didn't want to use it. Once I had resigned myself to the added discomfort, the jab of the peg added little to the crucifixion agony I was
already enduring.

But now I can't breathe. It's good - I'm glad. It means I can die soon and leave behind this suffering and humiliation. Just hang here and
suffocate. He's still there, watching from the middle of the crowd. Just look into his eyes and let myself die. My mind knows. I know what I should do. But as my vision darkens, my body revolts, and a primal panic jolts through my muscles. Just one more breath! I can hang and die after one more. Against reason, I fight the fight of a woman at the gate of death, every muscle struggling, straining, shaking, visible to the crowd as I hang before them naked. My breasts ache. They all watch as I contend alone with my death.

I am able to lift myself high enough to let out about half of what is in my lungs. Oh, the pain in my wrists and feet! The peg is now between my
thighs, just beneath my body. I gulp a frantic breath of new air, then force it
out so I can take another before my strength fails and I fall again. I'm
falling! Without thinking I rest some of my weight on the peg, letting the
blunt point press into the tender flesh between my anus and vagina. It hurts,
but the alternative is the terror of sinking back down to hang, unable to
breathe, without the strength to lift myself again. He is still watching. Does he ever blink?
 
Two days. That's how old my daughter is now. I bore her in the night and barely even caught a glimpse of her in the darkness before they took her away and began scurrying around with preparations to crucify me at first light. I only even know she is a girl because the midwife whispered it in my ear, against orders. I hope my baby is with my sister, but they wouldn't tell me.

My baby is the reason I was spared when my husband and the others were executed. The day they were crucified, I was simply stripped of my clothing and chained with my back to the cross next to my husband's. For five days I stood there, watching my husband die. I was told not to sit down, or they would kill my baby. Finally, when they had all been dead for at least a day, they gave back my clothes and took me to a dungeon cell. For the next seven weeks I remained there, and they fed me well. But within minutes of giving birth, the guard was in my cell.

"Stand up and put your arms behind your back." I was too slow and weary, so his men yanked me and shoved me and soon were cinching my wrists together with tight knots. I was relieved when the hem of my shift fell to my knees.

"You are to be crucified when it is light. Until that time you will wait in a holding cell." They brought me to a small cage of a cell that adjoined the barracks.

I am breathing now, but the pain in my perineum is growing intolerable. With great effort, I lift myself just slightly and cock my hips forward a bit to rest my tail bone on the peg. My feet are nailed to opposite sides of the cross, so in cocking my hips forward, I display myself obscenely to the crowd. Oh, it hurts, though! This won't last long.

I have to decide. My vagina is so raw from giving birth, and then the repeated rape the night before they crucified me, that I can't imagine taking the peg inside me the way I would take a man. If I'm going to support myself on the peg, I will have to take it up my bum.

Or I can sink down and let myself hang with the peg jabbing the small of my back, and be dead before the sun goes down. What a welcome thought! Up here where I can breathe, death feels far away. Instead of the terror of death, I feel only the agony and shame of hanging naked before these people - and before him - from nails through my limbs. Whenever I mistakenly look into someone's eyes, the shame washes over me afresh. The torture is endless, the humiliation complete. And yet, I can choose to die! I can choose to leave my degraded, bleeding body with all its suffering to hang naked on this cross while my spirit leaves and finds peace. Go down! Sink down, sag, and die!

But I cannot. I don't know why. I know I should, but I cannot! Oh, the unbearable paradox! Why!? Why can I not make myself hang and die!?
 
Wonderful story so far! I feel so bad for her! I have so much respect for the woman who told her of her daughter, but it breaks my heart knowing she will never hold her in her arms, watch her grow into womanhood and have a family of her own!
 
You must log in or register to reply here.
Back
Top Bottom