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What Would You Do?

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Marcella said:
What would you do as I'm marched through the streets. What would you do if you had the time to watch a poor young woman die on her cross? Especially one as pretty and desirable as I?:p;) Go ahead, think about. How would you, as a man, or you, as a woman interact with me.

What would you do? I wonder????;) (And I hope you are wondering about it too!:D)
Click to expand...

As you are marched through the streets, I would stop your guard detail and ask who their CO is. I would then show him my credentials as a member of the intelligence services and order him to let me interrogate you for a bit--in private.

After you lay down your cross and we are out of public view, I would tell you "Look, just give me some kind of information. Doesn't have to be current. Can be on a rebellion plotter who is dead. Can be on a plot years old. Just give me something."

You would ask why. I would tell you you would see later. You would give me some either false or out of date information. At that point, I call in the CO of the guard detail and tell him. "This one is going to be an asset for us. So we are going to change things. She will be crucified, but not as an execution, but rather as a public warning."

The guard would mumble something about his orders, and I would respond that, as an intelligence officer, my orders to him supersede written orders he received hours ago. I would also add the incentive that I heard that there are plenty of openings in the remote barbarian frontier forest positions for guards who question intelligence officers' orders from the safety of cushy Rome.

You would then pick up your cross and be led to the crucifixion site...only to be immensely pissed off when you see a Saint Andrew's Cross already waiting there for you, meaning I had you carry that regular cross all the way up there for nothing.

You are then stripped. Then, to your surprise, you are bound, not nailed, to the Saint Andrew's Cross. As you are being bound, I stage-whisper to you "Just work with me, OK?"

The Saint Andrew's Cross is raised. The terrible agony of the hell in your crotch overwhelms you. I turn to the crowd and shout out "See? For those who refuse to cooperate with Rome, a fate worse than death awaits!"

Then I turn to you and ask "Ready to talk?"

Naturally, as a result of the immense pain in this most intimate part, you shout out "Fuck YOU!"

I start tickling your ribcage. You laugh and scream at the same time ans your laughter amplifies the inhuman inferno in your crotch.

I then such your nipples and finger your labiae and clitoris. In your agony, you feel an arousal, an arousal that soon begins to match your agony...

Then my fingers go to work on your ribcage and the paradoxical concomitant laughter and screaming continues from you.

I alternate between arousing you and tickling you for what seems an eternity.

Then, all of a sudden, you have a super-nova of an orgasm. You pass out and your body hangs limp on the cross.

I put my fingers to your neck. To my relief, I feel your pulse. I turn to the guard detail.

"She's dead. Have the body taken to my quarters. She has some markings I want to examine."

Eventually, you awake. I thank you for your services and tell you that I have to secret you out of Rome so no one knows our trick. I tell you I am sending you to a remote Greek Island, where you will have to hide out for a couple of years.

You ask me the name of that island.

"Lesbos," I respond.
 
KvK said:
As you are marched through the streets, I would stop your guard detail and ask who their CO is. I would then show him my credentials as a member of the intelligence services and order him to let me interrogate you for a bit--in private.

After you lay down your cross and we are out of public view, I would tell you "Look, just give me some kind of information. Doesn't have to be current. Can be on a rebellion plotter who is dead. Can be on a plot years old. Just give me something."

You would ask why. I would tell you you would see later. You would give me some either false or out of date information. At that point, I call in the CO of the guard detail and tell him. "This one is going to be an asset for us. So we are going to change things. She will be crucified, but not as an execution, but rather as a public warning."

The guard would mumble something about his orders, and I would respond that, as an intelligence officer, my orders to him supersede written orders he received hours ago. I would also add the incentive that I heard that there are plenty of openings in the remote barbarian frontier forest positions for guards who question intelligence officers' orders from the safety of cushy Rome.

You would then pick up your cross and be led to the crucifixion site...only to be immensely pissed off when you see a Saint Andrew's Cross already waiting there for you, meaning I had you carry that regular cross all the way up there for nothing.

You are then stripped. Then, to your surprise, you are bound, not nailed, to the Saint Andrew's Cross. As you are being bound, I stage-whisper to you "Just work with me, OK?"

The Saint Andrew's Cross is raised. The terrible agony of the hell in your crotch overwhelms you. I turn to the crowd and shout out "See? For those who refuse to cooperate with Rome, a fate worse than death awaits!"

Then I turn to you and ask "Ready to talk?"

Naturally, as a result of the immense pain in this most intimate part, you shout out "Fuck YOU!"

I start tickling your ribcage. You laugh and scream at the same time ans your laughter amplifies the inhuman inferno in your crotch.

I then such your nipples and finger your labiae and clitoris. In your agony, you feel an arousal, an arousal that soon begins to match your agony...

Then my fingers go to work on your ribcage and the paradoxical concomitant laughter and screaming continues from you.

I alternate between arousing you and tickling you for what seems an eternity.

Then, all of a sudden, you have a super-nova of an orgasm. You pass out and your body hangs limp on the cross.

I put my fingers to your neck. To my relief, I feel your pulse. I turn to the guard detail.

"She's dead. Have the body taken to my quarters. She has some markings I want to examine."

Eventually, you awake. I thank you for your services and tell you that I have to secret you out of Rome so no one knows our trick. I tell you I am sending you to a remote Greek Island, where you will have to hide out for a couple of years.

You ask me the name of that island.

"Lesbos," I respond.
Click to expand...

Oh my! I love the supernova orgasm part. Can we go at it again?

Now, about this Lesbos trip you have me on. Is there a part 2 to this story? I'm curious what might happen to me,
 
Marcella said:
Oh my! I love the supernova orgasm part. Can we go at it again?

Now, about this Lesbos trip you have me on. Is there a part 2 to this story? I'm curious what might happen to me,
Click to expand...
To answer your question, let's just say you will get another supernova of an orgasm at the skilled fingers, tongues and caresses of the inhabitants of the Island of Lesbos, so much so that, once you return from there, the mere mention or sight of a Saint Andrew's Cross or a beautiful woman will automatically trigger another supernova of an orgasm then and there.
 
Marcella said:
I wanted to explore the topic of how the crowd of spectators might interact with someone who is crucified. This is another spin-off of Hasturan's Decadence thread. He has been so wonderful in creating a series of incredible images depicting my crucifixion fantasy. I didn't want to clutter up his thread with my off-topic meanderings.

So, here I am, all nicely crucified:
View attachment 377892 View attachment 377893 View attachment 377894 The executioner's have done a good job, haven't they?

To set this up:

Early in the morning you heard the news that there was to be a crucifixion. Or perhaps you caught sight of the procession as I'm marched through the streets to the execution grounds. You follow, as do many others interested in seeing a young woman crucified. This isn't an everyday event. The fact that I'm quite attractive increases the public's interest in my awful plight.

Arriving at the execution site, you watch as I'm stripped of my few tattered remnants of clothing. I am displayed to you now, naked and trembling. There's blood between my thighs. You all know I've been raped. There are other sign that I've been tortured.

I'm not at all stoic. I am begging and sobbing for mercy. "I'm innocent." I cry out. "Oh, please don't do this to me!" You hear my cries for mercy, then my screams of agony as I'm nailed to my cross.

The crowd gathers even more spectators. I am elevated, screaming and writhing, swearing in a most unlady-like manner. More people arrive, anxious to see a young woman on her cross.

For me, all he terrible drama and impending horror of being crucified is over. I'm hanging naked on my cross and enduring the unimaginable agonies and humiliation that attend to that.

I scream, I writhe, I moan. All parts of my body are exposed. I am sure I lose control of my bodily functions at some point, especially if I'm hanging for hours, or even days!!:eek:

I am in my own little world of agony. This is my life now.

Hasturan shows me being given water as my executioners attend to me. I'm not being allowed to die too quickly. Oh no. Who would want that to happen?!

In my fantasies about enduring crucifixion I imagine myself looking down at all of you near my cross.



Now, how do you, the spectator, or if you are someone minding me as I die, interact with me as I hang? I mean, I'm not going anywhere, am I? What would you do as I'm marched through the streets. What would you do if you had the time to watch a poor young woman die on her cross? Especially one as pretty and desirable as I?:p;) Go ahead, think about. How would you, as a man, or you, as a woman interact with me.

What would you do? I wonder????;) (And I hope you are wondering about it too!:D)
Click to expand...

If I had the chance to watch your crucifiction, I'd probably do it in the crowd. Horrified and shocked. Checking out the whipping, the march, the stripping, then the fixing to the cross. Monitoring the crucified, how they comunicate with each other. Listen how the nails are driven through the bones into the wood. See how the Titulus is hammered above your head and the crowd is insulting you. Maybe, if there is a chance, get a little closer to catch a good view, while you start moving on your cross.
 
I think my reaction to the woman who was freshly married to the cross would very depending on her situation. If I knew why she was being nailed up and I agreed with the sentence, I probably wouldn't waste my time, as I'd feel the dead don't deserve to have an audience. If I didn't know what the reason was, I'd be curious and might come up and ask one of the officials. If I felt sorry for her, I'd offer her waters or at least an ear or some company while she descended or ascended to what ever hells or heavens she believed in.

Yet, I could see one more rare scenario where I'd acknowledge the travesty of her sentence and offer to get her down. However, she'd probably not appreciate that her hand and feet get left on the cross or that she'd end up in the local specialty meat market.... ;) Gotta be wary of them traveling cannibals.

-Wolfie
 
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