10.
Once all is in readiness, our executioners move swiftly to raise and plant our cross. The Optio sees to it that the necessary muscle and raising ropes are strategically placed, then gives the signal. With one mighty heave our cross is lifted, righted and plopped into its waiting hole. Several legionaries stand ready, and as soon as it is place they rust to secure it with wooden staves and stones.
The sudden downward movement as the stipe slides into the hole, along with the massive jolt as it hits bottom, catches me off guard and tosses me about like a rag doll. My body swings wildly outward, twisting left and right, nails tearing at my my flesh and nerves. The girl on the other side experiences the same. Our screams are long and loud, and in perfect unison. Together we fall back heavily against the still shuddering wood.
I hang from my wrists, knees bent, heart pounding, chest heaving, head down, overcome for the moment with terror and pain. Then I try to get a grip. Slowly I raise my head to look around.
As the Optio ordered, our cross has been set at right angles to the road. 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 devoted 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.
Knots of onlookers, soldiers and ordinary citizens alike, amble up and down the roadway, taking in the macabre tableaux ... pointing, staring, conversing among themselves. Some laugh and make fun, others look somber, or even a bit terrified.
But as I look down, the largest cluster of onlookers appears to have gathered below us ... attracted by the unusual and tantalizing spectacle of two young women crucified together on the same cross.
I study the upturned faces. I see fascination, glee, arousal, pity, fear ... so many emotions and thoughts. Two young men point at my pussy, shamelessly exposed between my half-parted thighs, and exchange crude remarks. They laugh among themselves, reveling in my shame as I attempt to close my knees together. Another makes a lewd remark about the size and loveliness of my cross-mate's breasts. An impatient woman, with lust in her eyes, calls for us to move ... to get on with the show!"
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.
My own chest is constricting. Filling my lungs with air has become more and more difficult hanging in this position. The urge to rise in search of relief takes hold of my consciousness. Behind me I feel motion. The same for her! Together we struggle to rise ... to join in the dance of the crucified.
I pull with my arms ... terrible pain jumps from my pinioned wrists. I push with my legs ... blood spurts from the wounds in my shattered feet. Twinges of aching pain grip my cramping calf and thigh muscles.. But slowly, shakily I rise, lock my knees, and pull myself erect. The strain is terrible. I fill my lungs, once ... then again.
My legs start to shake uncontrollably. I fall forward, arms stretched back. I sway from side to side, and look down between my wobbling breasts. The crowd cheers ... laughter and gaiety reign below.
Then my strength gives out, my knees buckle. Down I go ... crashing back into the wood, tailbone first. I gasp and cry out. So does the other girl. We are in perfect sync, almost as though we are dance partners.
I hang panting. Fresh blood trickles down my arms. My body is covered copiously with sweat. It drips from my chin, flows down my back and chest, diminishing the filth of the ditch, washing it away.
Across from me, the third girl from coffle is up again, twisting and writhing about, then falling away, and crashing down.
I know that I need to do it again. I remember my finger link with my cross-mate ... my soul-mate in agony. I tug at her finger. She tugs back.
"Together now?" I gasp.
"Yes, now!" she groans.
Our cross trembles as we both push up.
The crowd gets what it desires and cheers again.
TO BE CONTINUED
Oh dear!
