Wind And Rain

[montycrusto]

Here against the cross she lies
Her eyes half wild, her trembling thighs
Betray her frantic state of mind.
Around her wrists a rope I wind
And bind her arms against the wood
And check that their position's good.

In panic, then, she tries to rise,
I push her down, ignore her cries.
As always, though, I feel the itch,
To violate the rebel bitch,
To fill her with a Roman's seed
Unleashing all my pent-up need.

But my hot spirit I restrain,
My ardour dampened by the rain.
Naught but spikes will penetrate
This naked, writhing reprobate,
And pin her to the bloodstained beams
To entertain us with her screams.

Her ankles to the cross I bind,
The junction in her wrist I find
Where through her flesh the spike must go.
For here's the craft that few men know,
To find between her bones the hole
Where iron nail may find its goal.

She knows my aim and weeping, begs
For mercy, lewdly parts her legs
And promises, if I could save
Her from this fate, she'll be my slave.
Too late for that, my pretty thing -
Upon the cross you'll dance, and sing.

And when your voice is cracked and gone
Your silent torment will go on.
You'll fight for every ragged breath
While torturing yourself to death.
And so, I hold in place the spike.
I raise my hammer, aim, and strike....

 

[thehangingtree]

...I want to know
if you ever seen the rain
coming down on a sunny day...

J. Fogartey

 

[roxie]

Here against the cross she lies
Her eyes half wild, her trembling thighs
Betray her frantic state of mind.
Around her wrists a rope I wind
And bind her arms against the wood
And check that their position's good.

In panic, then, she tries to rise,
I push her down, ignore her cries.
As always, though, I feel the itch,
To violate the rebel bitch,
To fill her with a Roman's seed
Unleashing all my pent-up need.

But my hot spirit I restrain,
My ardour dampened by the rain.
Naught but spikes will penetrate
This naked, writhing reprobate,
And pin her to the bloodstained beams
To entertain us with her screams.

Her ankles to the cross I bind,
The junction in her wrist I find
Where through her flesh the spike must go.
For here's the craft that few men know,
To find between her bones the hole
Where iron nail may find its goal.

She knows my aim and weeping, begs
For mercy, lewdly parts her legs
And promises, if I could save
Her from this fate, she'll be my slave.
Too late for that, my pretty thing -
Upon the cross you'll dance, and sing.

And when your voice is cracked and gone
Your silent torment will go on.
You'll fight for every ragged breath
While torturing yourself to death.
And so, I hold in place the spike.
I raise my hammer, aim, and strike....

Wow! How do you write so much, so well, so quickly. Monty, I applaud your considerable talent! Bravo!

Now, for me, it's off to bed. Getting late. Perhaps I'll dream on this...

 

[montycrusto]

Wow! How do you write so much, so well, so quickly. Monty, I applaud your considerable talent! Bravo!

I'm following your example

 

[roxie]

I'm following your example

You surpass me sir! I write mere doggerel, whilst you are a poet!

 

[montycrusto]

You surpass me sir! I write mere doggerel, whilst you are a poet!

aww shucks.... I can do it doggerel-style with the best of 'em. Anyway stop it before Tree tells us to get a room

 

[LittleSiss]

Here against the cross she lies
Her eyes half wild, her trembling thighs
Betray her frantic state of mind.
Around her wrists a rope I wind
And bind her arms against the wood
And check that their position's good.

In panic, then, she tries to rise,
I push her down, ignore her cries.
As always, though, I feel the itch,
To violate the rebel bitch,
To fill her with a Roman's seed
Unleashing all my pent-up need.

But my hot spirit I restrain,
My ardour dampened by the rain.
Naught but spikes will penetrate
This naked, writhing reprobate,
And pin her to the bloodstained beams
To entertain us with her screams.

Her ankles to the cross I bind,
The junction in her wrist I find
Where through her flesh the spike must go.
For here's the craft that few men know,
To find between her bones the hole
Where iron nail may find its goal.

She knows my aim and weeping, begs
For mercy, lewdly parts her legs
And promises, if I could save
Her from this fate, she'll be my slave.
Too late for that, my pretty thing -
Upon the cross you'll dance, and sing.

And when your voice is cracked and gone
Your silent torment will go on.
You'll fight for every ragged breath
While torturing yourself to death.
And so, I hold in place the spike.
I raise my hammer, aim, and strike....

That's pretty good!

 

[LittleSiss]

...I want to know
if you ever seen the rain
coming down on a sunny day...

J. Fogartey

When I was stuck in a Lodi, once!

 

[messaline]

Oh shit, I hope not....did they have ancestors in Roman times ... well yes, come to think of it, they probably can trace theirs back to the Neanderthals

Dont talk in bad about Neanderthals ! Recent researches were showing that we've yet a great part of their genes !...
...and that they were not so much crude

Messa has some remembrances ...

 

[Pia]

Returning to a familiar theme ... those Romans again! But with a little twist ....

WIND AND RAIN

1. Driving rain pelts against my face as helpful hands ease me down from a sitting position onto the cold hard wood. A gust of wind drives a sheet of freezing rain over my naked body as my left arm is stretched out and held against the roughness of a cross-beam splintered and scarred by numerous nailings.

"What has she done to deserve being crucified on a wretched day like this?" asks a youngish-looking Roman soldier as he winds a thin rope around my thumb, through my fingers and several times around my left hand before binding it securely to the wood.

"Don't know Lucius," replies his older comrade, "I just nail them and raise them ... I don't ask questions."

The older one stares down at me, eyes roving over my rain-spattered bare breasts, and then to my raised ribs, flattened tummy and finally to my fully exposed sex. His reaches back to drape his cloak over his head against the rain, droplets running down his nose and into his beard, as his young comrade splashes through a puddle on his way around the head of my cross to secure my other hand.

I become agitated. I turn my head frantically from side to side and begin to struggle, digging my right heel into the muddy earth beside the stipe, arching my back and throwing myself to one side, fingers out in an attempt to claw at his face.

He catches me by my upturned shoulder and slams me back down on my bloody scourged back, quickly straddling my chest and pinning my arms down under his knees. Helpless under his weight, I wince as the one called Lucius draws a rope tight around my other hand and lashes it to the wood. I buck my hips, kick vainly with my feet and shout curses until the bearded one quiets me with a violent open-handed slap across my face.

"Hold still my little hussy," he hisses, "fighting us will only make things worse for you."

A fresh burst of wind throws a sodden tangle of hair across my face, partially covering teary eyes and the stinging red of his vicious slap.

"Get around and tie her ankles Lucius while I hold her down," he growls.

He slides back on my belly to position himself over my narrow hips, leans forward and cups both breasts in his large hands and jiggles them playfully, a lustful look in his eyes, as Lucius swiftly gathers my ankles together, wraps a rope around them and pulls it tight. I wince again as the rope digs into my flesh.

"Looks like a long day for us in the wind and rain Marcus," observers Lucius.

"Just get the nails and be quick about it," snaps the one called Marcus as he squeezes my breasts together and vigorously rubs my hardened tumescent nipples with his thumbs.

A flash of lightning illuminates the scene, followed by a clap of thunder. Marcus scowls as he looks skyward and reluctantly releases his iron grip on my breasts. Rain pours down with renewed fury and the two of them scurry off to take nearby shelter under a tree, leaving me alone, lying naked and shivering on my back, under a drenching downpour, to contemplate my plight.

TO BE CONTINUED

There is something infinitely erotic about the juxtaposition of death on the cross and the skin slick with rain and the hair soaked and matted.... I love this.

 

[Barbaria1]

Here against the cross she lies
Her eyes half wild, her trembling thighs
Betray her frantic state of mind.
Around her wrists a rope I wind
And bind her arms against the wood
And check that their position's good.

In panic, then, she tries to rise,
I push her down, ignore her cries.
As always, though, I feel the itch,
To violate the rebel bitch,
To fill her with a Roman's seed
Unleashing all my pent-up need.

But my hot spirit I restrain,
My ardour dampened by the rain.
Naught but spikes will penetrate
This naked, writhing reprobate,
And pin her to the bloodstained beams
To entertain us with her screams.

Her ankles to the cross I bind,
The junction in her wrist I find
Where through her flesh the spike must go.
For here's the craft that few men know,
To find between her bones the hole
Where iron nail may find its goal.

She knows my aim and weeping, begs
For mercy, lewdly parts her legs
And promises, if I could save
Her from this fate, she'll be my slave.
Too late for that, my pretty thing -
Upon the cross you'll dance, and sing.

And when your voice is cracked and gone
Your silent torment will go on.
You'll fight for every ragged breath
While torturing yourself to death.
And so, I hold in place the spike.
I raise my hammer, aim, and strike....

wow ... my story paralleled in verse, and so beautifully done too ... thank you Monty and keep it up! new episode up later today!

 

[Barbaria1]

Wow! How do you write so much, so well, so quickly. Monty, I applaud your considerable talent! Bravo!

Now, for me, it's off to bed. Getting late. Perhaps I'll dream on this...

You surpass me sir! I write mere doggerel, whilst you are a poet!

aww shucks.... I can do it doggerel-style with the best of 'em. Anyway stop it before Tree tells us to get a room

That's pretty good!

I agree with Siss ... you are both pretty good!

 

[Barbaria1]

Dont talk in bad about Neanderthals ! Recent researches were showing that we've yet a great part of their genes !...
...and that they were not so much crude

Messa has some remembrances ...

View attachment 300881

Early romantic behavior in a certain part of France?

 

[montycrusto]

wow ... my story paralleled in verse, and so beautifully done too ... thank you Monty

Thank you Barb, you and Roxie got my juices going last night Enough said.

wind throws a sodden tangle of hair across my face

Seriously enjoying your tale, as I forgot to mention. It's vividly written, cinematically visual, energetic and hot as fuck, despite the british weather, which doesn't seem to have changed much since Roman times.

the filthy little slut bit me! ... absolute vermin, these Britons!

Don't bite me, I'm just a verminous Briton! Thanks, and looking forward to the next part

 

[Barbaria1]

3. And so I came to make the acquaintances of Marcus and Lucius, the unlucky and disgruntled pair of legionaries who on my account were rudely roused from the warmth and comfort of their beds on a blustery rainy morning and ordered to take a frightened young Briton out on the road and crucify her.

As other soldiers gathered to watch with amusement what certainly in their minds promised to be a spectacle not to be missed despite the inclement weather, the two legionnaires reported to and sullenly took their orders from the officers who had seized me following my little act of defiance.

Grumbling and cursing all the way, they frog-marched me, arms pinned behind my back, across camp to a place where a stout wooden post had been driven into the ground. I stood there compliantly while Lucius produced a length of rope from his kit and used it to bind my thin wrists to an iron ring affixed to the top of the post high over my head.

As a growing crowd of onlookers watched, Marcus worked swiftly and methodically to strip me of my clothing ... ripping and tearing with a vengeance that reflected his foul mood each and every piece of fabric.

Terrified and humiliated, I sobbed and begged for mercy, becoming more and more hysterical with each loss of clothing, much to the entertainment of the crowd of legionaries who jeered and whistled at each step of my growing nakedness, and who cheered lustily as my last remaining article of clothing ... my last shred of dignity ... a small white loincloth ... was torn away with a triumphant flourish.

As the small piece of cloth was ripped from between my thighs, I tried to at first resist and then to cover up by pressing my thighs tightly together, but to no avail. I was naked and everyone was staring at me, ogling me; pointing and joking raucously among themselves.

Then all fell silent as attention was diverted to Marcus, who was thoughtfully weighing in his hand a long leather whip with a knotted tip. I gawked, wide-eyed and fearful, at the menacing sight of the whip and at the long muscular arm about to wield it. I gasped and looked around in desperation as a sudden gust of wind came up and a sheet of icy cold rain doused my naked trembling body. Knowing full well what was in store for me I braced myself, turning to face the gnarled blood-stained wood of the whipping post, knees bent slightly, loosely hugging the wood as though it might somehow protect me.

Several seconds passed. It seemed like an eternity. Then with a grunt Marcus swung the whip over his head and leaned into a biting lash that cut like fire straight across my bare back just below the shoulder blades. The knotted tip wrapped around my ribs, slapping down hard and then digging into and abrading my flesh as it was swiftly pulled away. I screamed on impact and jerked my body about, raising one knee in the air, throwing my head back and slamming my chest hard against the wet slippery post.

Before I had a chance to recover, a second lash zinged across my buttocks, causing my tight little ass cheeks to quiver and shake and eliciting a bawdy chorus of appreciative cheers. I screamed, jumped up against the post, slid back and glanced ruefully over my shoulder at the long angry-looking red welt left by the whip.

The wind came up again. A fresh burst of blustery slanting rain enveloped me and my executioners, quickly sending even the most die-hard spectators scurrying for cover, and leaving Marcus and Lucius to finish the job alone.

Standing ankle deep in red mud and soaked to the skin, Marcus resolutely continued on to deliver eight more brutal lashes. I screamed and howled and repeated my little frenzied dance of agony after each of the first six, before giving it up and allowing myself to hang limply from my wrists, half-turned away from the post, while Marcus delivered the last two lashes … one snaking around my hips and across my belly and the other slashing ferociously at the exposed soft undersides of my breasts.

With that it was over. I hung from the post, buffeted by wind and rain, water tinged with blood running in rivulets down my scourged backside. I was both cold and in shock, shaking uncontrollably and whimpering feebly to myself.

Marcus laid down the whip and ordered Lucius forward to take me down. Eager to please, the young downy-faced soldier rushed forward only to promptly lose his footing in the slippery mud and fall flat on his face. He slowly picked himself up, gobs of slimy red goo decorating his face; his leggings and jerkin caked with red mud. Marcus sighed, and with a look of utter contempt on his face, placed a boot squarely against Lucius' raised rear end and sent him sprawling a second time.

The older man then proceeded to take me down, muttering to himself as he freed me from the ring at the top of the whipping post. He caught me before I could fall to the ground, spun me around, took me by the hair and propelled me toward the camp gate. Lucius picked himself up and followed along.

TO BE CONTINUED

 

[montycrusto]

zinged across my buttocks, causing my tight little ass cheeks to quiver

Arousing stuff, Barb! The stripes suit you phew...

 

[thehangingtree]

Just ten lashes... she got off easy!!!

Another good chapter, Barb...

T

 

[Celticvirgin]

Your great at turning me on Barb. Xxx

 

[Barbaria1]

Just ten lashes... she got off easy!!!

Another good chapter, Barb...

T

And you would have meted out more ... standing there in the freezing rain, ankle deep in mud?

Oh yeah, I forgot...easy for you to say ... it's not you, it's Gunner and Bull's ancestors

 

[thehangingtree]

And you would have meted out more ... standing there in the freezing rain, ankle deep in mud?

Oh yeah, I forgot...easy for you to say ... it's not you, it's Gunner and Bull's ancestors

Tree knows when to get out the rain, Barb