J
Juan1234
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Amazing job, Barb!
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Together
- Thread starter Barbaria1
- Start date
Lucretius of course does not work for free!
"Lucretius! Come one man, make them move their lazy ass!"
"Sorry folks, if you want to see their ass move, I want to see asses first!"
"That's mean, man!"
"No bucks, no show! One sestertius for five lashes! No bargaining!"
Great chapter!
Lucretius apparently has an entrepreneurial side. Hard headed too ... "No bargaining ... just hand over the cash."
Oh dear. So much suffering! So well written.
I'm so glad Marcella is back with us, too.
In all seriousness, it's great commentary to an already gripping story.
Sizzle
Assistant executioner
Another great installment to the saga, now inevitably near its end...
Just when the erotic display for the spectators is winding down, here comes Lucretius with his whip!
Poor, poor Barbaria!
One bit of subtext I thoroughly enjoyed in part 10:
Before me stretches a long line of crosses, the nearest ones all bearing crucified women. The other side of the road is also lined with crosses, most of which seem to be assigned to male victims.
It is nearly midday. The sun beats down mercilessly from a cloudless sky. The heat is rising rapidly. The fields of ripening grain beyond the road on either side are motionless. Not even a scant breeze moves the heads of grain. Heat waves shimmer in the distance.
The woman on the cross nearest to me struggles to raise herself upward. Her struggling nude body is sheened with sweat as she performs the ritual dance of the crucified. A look of anguished determination masks the natural beauty of her face, framed in raven dark hair, as she tries to hold herself erect and greedily gulp in air.
I look beyond her. Many of the crucified all up and down the line seem to be in motion. Pushing up, sliding down, writhing and twisting. Some of the males have erections.
...
The woman crucified on the cross in front of me has sunk back down now into a resting position. She hangs listlessly from her cross, but looks at me with interest. I recognize her now as the third girl in my coffle. She forces a wan smile. Then her head sinks wearily to her chest.
As well as this additional background in part 11:
I learn she is from a distant place, far to the north ... that my cross mate is six years younger than myself ... that we share a dark disdain for our brutish Roman masters, especially the likes of Lucretius and Markus ... that the slave girl on the cross beyond her is a princess of some Gaulish tribe subjugated by the Romans ...
But the sun is merciless and our strength finite. As the day wears on we weary. Each performance becomes briefer, more ragged, more uncertain than the one that preceded it. Sometimes one or the other of us collapses earlier than the other, or fails to stand.
In both cases, I'm feeling the oppressive shimmering heat...and enjoy the description thereof!
Just when the erotic display for the spectators is winding down, here comes Lucretius with his whip!
Poor, poor Barbaria!
One bit of subtext I thoroughly enjoyed in part 10:
Before me stretches a long line of crosses, the nearest ones all bearing crucified women. The other side of the road is also lined with crosses, most of which seem to be assigned to male victims.
It is nearly midday. The sun beats down mercilessly from a cloudless sky. The heat is rising rapidly. The fields of ripening grain beyond the road on either side are motionless. Not even a scant breeze moves the heads of grain. Heat waves shimmer in the distance.
The woman on the cross nearest to me struggles to raise herself upward. Her struggling nude body is sheened with sweat as she performs the ritual dance of the crucified. A look of anguished determination masks the natural beauty of her face, framed in raven dark hair, as she tries to hold herself erect and greedily gulp in air.
I look beyond her. Many of the crucified all up and down the line seem to be in motion. Pushing up, sliding down, writhing and twisting. Some of the males have erections.
...
The woman crucified on the cross in front of me has sunk back down now into a resting position. She hangs listlessly from her cross, but looks at me with interest. I recognize her now as the third girl in my coffle. She forces a wan smile. Then her head sinks wearily to her chest.
As well as this additional background in part 11:
I learn she is from a distant place, far to the north ... that my cross mate is six years younger than myself ... that we share a dark disdain for our brutish Roman masters, especially the likes of Lucretius and Markus ... that the slave girl on the cross beyond her is a princess of some Gaulish tribe subjugated by the Romans ...
But the sun is merciless and our strength finite. As the day wears on we weary. Each performance becomes briefer, more ragged, more uncertain than the one that preceded it. Sometimes one or the other of us collapses earlier than the other, or fails to stand.
In both cases, I'm feeling the oppressive shimmering heat...and enjoy the description thereof!
You could be right, Marcella but I doubt that in these circumstances, the two women could well cooperate ! Each of them have their own needs ( breath , cramps ...) and it would be astonishing that they need to do in the same moment .
But, we can dream and it's sure that Barb had a great idea in imagining such a story !
I've only a regret, which is to be not nailed with her on the same cross .......
Two women sharing a cross, sharing their ordeal, but not entirely in synk, how could they be? Each has to endure her own pains, and listen as her partner screams from cramps, or gasps as she relieves herself. They can work together, but they will always be suffering individually, uniquely.
I think so too.
This man has it all worked out
mp5stab
Hair and Nails
The real question to me is: When does the sedile get put in?
http://mp5stab.deviantart.com/art/Sesaw-Sedile-Sketch-590888956
http://mp5stab.deviantart.com/art/Sesaw-Sedile-Sketch-590888956
OMG .... works like a seesaw!!! .... ouch ... you have a twisted little mind, mp5stab ✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞ 
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
Coordination of crux dancing with your partner is essential here!
Cella
Spectator
View attachment 516063 OMG .... works like a seesaw!!! .... ouch ... you have a twisted little mind, mp5stab ✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞
Yikes! An ingenious way to make something already horribly painful and humiliating all the more so. This device is not a way to make a friend of the person opposite you! The heavier of the two victims would primarily control the movement.
The image shows a special-built cross for two. Not sure how you'd install it as drawn on the cross in your story.
Same idea as in this pic.
The chain is shared and pulled on by both girls.
Just what are you up to?
Hmmm . . ..
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View attachment 516064
'This is nearly as bad as Ryanair!'
'Sure is - but at least they won't be wanting to chuck us off as they've overbooked!'
'This is nearly as bad as Ryanair!'
'Sure is - but at least they won't be wanting to chuck us off as they've overbooked!'
12.
I watch transfixed as Lucretius flexes his whip. The knotted tip strikes the ground, sending a shower of small gravel and dust flying.
The crowd senses that something entertaining is about to happen. People shout and excitedly beckon others to join them, swelling the small knot of onlookers, as if by magic, to a large throng. Reveling in the attention, Lucretius struts around, arrogantly ordering people to stand back and give him space.
Meanwhile Markus emerges from within the ranks of the crowd, carrying a second whip. Lucretius gives him an affectionate pat on the back as he brushes past his comrade on the way to taking up station facing my cross-mate.
Stimulated by the prospect of witnessing a double whipping, the gathering crowd raises a raucous clamor, shouting out both encouragement and expressing their delight.
"Please!" I plead, mostly to myself. "Please, don't!"
But the game is on. The Optio assumes his customary commanding place at the edge of the road, solemnly raises both fists above his head, and opens them with fingers extended ... signaling ten lashes.
Lucretius nods acknowledgement.
I am unable to see what is happening behind me, but the tightening of her finger tip around mine tells me that she is as worried as I am.
"It's ten!" I whisper.
"I know," she moans.
Laying his whip down on the ground, Lucretius removes his tunic, tosses it aside, and proceeds to make a crowd-pleasing show of strutting around, flexing and rippling his impressive set of chest and arm muscles. The tumult from the crowd rises to an excited crescendo at the sight of this display of raw masculine power.
Looking very pleased with himself, he retrieves his whip, takes a few paces to his left, leans forward, and squints at me, whip held behind his back, as he carefully selects his target.
"Begin!" orders the Optio.
Suddenly panic-stricken, I struggle to push up ... calling on reserves of strength I didn't know I still possessed. As I rise I twist me body away to the left, hoping somehow to turn my back to Lucretius and the coming whiplash. Leaning out far to the left, my hip and shoulder come into immediate contact with hers. She has done the same, mirroring my movement exactly! Remarkably we are still in sync!
For the briefest of moments we look at one another over our straining shoulders. Our bodies continue to touch. Our eyes lock ... words are not necessary.
Then the first lash soars through the air. The long "fall" section of Lucretius' whip slaps against my taut tummy; the knotted tip continues on to wrap around my side.
It barely hurt. He must not have put much into it, I think.
But then with a powerful tug he rips it away, causing the knotted tip to dig into my flesh and abrate as it is withdrawn ... leaving, in its wake, an angry red burning stripe across my midriff.
Behind me she screams and bucks under the lash. That brief, momentarily calming, melding of our consciousnesses and souls is lost. We are on our own now!
Lucretius lashes out again. This time he puts the full power of his back and arm into delivering a hard strike, which rips diagonally across my out-thrust chest, neatly snagging and nearly slicing away my protruding left nipple.
I scream. My knees buckle and I collapse, slumping down against the wood. Wide-eyed, I stare with horror at the bloody damage just inflicted. My poor nipple is split open; my entire breast throbs with pain.
The crowd cheers lustily.
The next lashes come in rapid succession, raining down on the two of us from every possible angle, ranging restlessly over our naked bodies, forcing us to do exactly what the crowd had hoped.
Together we renew the dance, moving our sweat and blood-streaked figures up and down and from side to side in a frenzied, but vain, effort to somehow avoid or lessen the punishing bite of the lash.
Under the brutal rapid fire assaults administered by Lucretius and Markus, we twist and turn, squirm and writhe, and howl our hearts out until all but the last of the ten have been administered.
Silence reigns. Nothing but the panting of our two tormentors and an occasional whisper within the crowd.
In unison, we slide down, knees spread, exhausted. My head dips forward. Spittle clings to my lips as I gaze down on my battered body. I know what is coming next. I know I should bring my knees together ... but somehow I haven't the will.
Lucretius advances on me purposely, plants himself before me and sneers, "this last one is for last night!"
I blink at him, semi-comprehending.
He marches off a measured number of paces, turns sideways and grips the handle of his whip in an underhanded fashion.
TO BE CONTINUED
I watch transfixed as Lucretius flexes his whip. The knotted tip strikes the ground, sending a shower of small gravel and dust flying.
The crowd senses that something entertaining is about to happen. People shout and excitedly beckon others to join them, swelling the small knot of onlookers, as if by magic, to a large throng. Reveling in the attention, Lucretius struts around, arrogantly ordering people to stand back and give him space.
Meanwhile Markus emerges from within the ranks of the crowd, carrying a second whip. Lucretius gives him an affectionate pat on the back as he brushes past his comrade on the way to taking up station facing my cross-mate.
Stimulated by the prospect of witnessing a double whipping, the gathering crowd raises a raucous clamor, shouting out both encouragement and expressing their delight.
"Please!" I plead, mostly to myself. "Please, don't!"
But the game is on. The Optio assumes his customary commanding place at the edge of the road, solemnly raises both fists above his head, and opens them with fingers extended ... signaling ten lashes.
Lucretius nods acknowledgement.
I am unable to see what is happening behind me, but the tightening of her finger tip around mine tells me that she is as worried as I am.
"It's ten!" I whisper.
"I know," she moans.
Laying his whip down on the ground, Lucretius removes his tunic, tosses it aside, and proceeds to make a crowd-pleasing show of strutting around, flexing and rippling his impressive set of chest and arm muscles. The tumult from the crowd rises to an excited crescendo at the sight of this display of raw masculine power.
Looking very pleased with himself, he retrieves his whip, takes a few paces to his left, leans forward, and squints at me, whip held behind his back, as he carefully selects his target.
"Begin!" orders the Optio.
Suddenly panic-stricken, I struggle to push up ... calling on reserves of strength I didn't know I still possessed. As I rise I twist me body away to the left, hoping somehow to turn my back to Lucretius and the coming whiplash. Leaning out far to the left, my hip and shoulder come into immediate contact with hers. She has done the same, mirroring my movement exactly! Remarkably we are still in sync!
For the briefest of moments we look at one another over our straining shoulders. Our bodies continue to touch. Our eyes lock ... words are not necessary.
Then the first lash soars through the air. The long "fall" section of Lucretius' whip slaps against my taut tummy; the knotted tip continues on to wrap around my side.
It barely hurt. He must not have put much into it, I think.
But then with a powerful tug he rips it away, causing the knotted tip to dig into my flesh and abrate as it is withdrawn ... leaving, in its wake, an angry red burning stripe across my midriff.
Behind me she screams and bucks under the lash. That brief, momentarily calming, melding of our consciousnesses and souls is lost. We are on our own now!
Lucretius lashes out again. This time he puts the full power of his back and arm into delivering a hard strike, which rips diagonally across my out-thrust chest, neatly snagging and nearly slicing away my protruding left nipple.
I scream. My knees buckle and I collapse, slumping down against the wood. Wide-eyed, I stare with horror at the bloody damage just inflicted. My poor nipple is split open; my entire breast throbs with pain.
The crowd cheers lustily.
The next lashes come in rapid succession, raining down on the two of us from every possible angle, ranging restlessly over our naked bodies, forcing us to do exactly what the crowd had hoped.
Together we renew the dance, moving our sweat and blood-streaked figures up and down and from side to side in a frenzied, but vain, effort to somehow avoid or lessen the punishing bite of the lash.
Under the brutal rapid fire assaults administered by Lucretius and Markus, we twist and turn, squirm and writhe, and howl our hearts out until all but the last of the ten have been administered.
Silence reigns. Nothing but the panting of our two tormentors and an occasional whisper within the crowd.
In unison, we slide down, knees spread, exhausted. My head dips forward. Spittle clings to my lips as I gaze down on my battered body. I know what is coming next. I know I should bring my knees together ... but somehow I haven't the will.
Lucretius advances on me purposely, plants himself before me and sneers, "this last one is for last night!"
I blink at him, semi-comprehending.
He marches off a measured number of paces, turns sideways and grips the handle of his whip in an underhanded fashion.
TO BE CONTINUED
Cella
Spectator
How horrible for a crucified woman! She has a front row seat to the slow destruction of her body -- her womanly temple!
-- She's stripped naked
-- Reduced to quivering terror contemplating the agony and physical assaults to come
-- Whipped/tortured
-- Raped (usually), repeatedly
-- Abused verbally and physically by other means
-- Marched to her crucifixion bearing her own cross (or at least the crossbeam)
-- Stretched naked over the wood and cruelly nailed through her wrists and feet,
-- Elevated above the crowd to hang in utter agony
-- Utterly humiliated with her naked breasts and pussy exposed
-- Total loss of control over her own body as muscles cramp and spasm
-- Personal bodily functions performed in front of spectators as she hangs
-- Nails grind relentlessly against raw flesh, nerves and bone to destroy her hands and feet
-- Further mutilation and torture of her body by whippings and inserted devices
-- Tortured with unquenchable thirst, slow loss of blood, loss of human dignity
-- Forced to suffer as long as possible
--- Total abandonment by all
-- Understanding, as she hangs on her cross, that her life has been taken from her
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It is obvious to me that Lucretius and Markus know that there is not going to be any overtime pay guarding the living corpses as still living crucified people are known as. There is no reason not to hasten their demise!
morten sigurdson
Voivode of Wallachia
Amazing discribing!!!! Thousands of likes!!
that's a lovely piece of whip-writing!
They whipped the two women. Their beautiful flawless flesh is ripped by the whips that were never intended for our tender flesh. They come to me. One of them runs his hand the length of the braided whip. He licks the fresh blood from his fingers and says "Do you want to bet on which nipple you can take off?"
I freeze in fear but the other one says "Naw, let's cross the road and cut his balls off a whip!
I am as much relieved as he is not...
Marcella
Repertor
Artifex Imaginum
Well Barb, you know where to place a cliffhanger!
Yep, that about covers it!
