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

Young Mother Crucified

Go to CruxDreams.com
deborah777 said:
Please it hurtssss! Mercy Mater Dea...! :D
Click to expand...

There is nothing but hurt now, you are condemned to an eternity of torment, you are beyond the concerns of men, of women, of Gods and Angels. You are an empty vessel of pain, without substance save in your suffering. You ar without hope, without redemption and without salvation.

There is of course another way. Ignore his evil tongue, do not beg, do not plead, transcend your body, you are without limits, you are a mother, life's very source, you are creation itself, ascend to your new being, gaze down on these mere mortals from your barbed throne, for you have the gift of existence beyond them, when they are forgotten you shall remain as you have become....Goddess
 
RacingRodent said:
There is nothing but hurt now, you are condemned to an eternity of torment, you are beyond the concerns of men, of women, of Gods and Angels. You are an empty vessel of pain, without substance save in your suffering. You ar without hope, without redemption and without salvation.

There is of course another way. Ignore his evil tongue, do not beg, do not plead, transcend your body, you are without limits, you are a mother, life's very source, you are creation itself, ascend to your new being, gaze down on these mere mortals from your barbed throne, for you have the gift of existence beyond them, when they are forgotten you shall remain as you have become....Goddess
Click to expand...
...breath taken away... <3 <3 <3 xoxoxo
 
Part III

"Wake up slut! Yells the lictor, slapping my whipped ass. "Time for a drink! You need to be lively for her majesty!"

Shaken out of my second day on the cross haze...fatigue...dull thudding agony...loins on fire from the plethora of men and objects invading...

A cool moist object rubs my cheek.

"Drink up m'lady! As much as you want!" Mocks the smiling lictor. "You're to be a lady-in-waiting for Christa hahaha!"

I drink more than fifteen spongefulls, my lictor seeming eager to get the life back into me, at least for a little while. He must want me to add some variety to an already
sensational
show
of
Lust Pain Roman Justice and Cruelty.

Christa.

I had seen her. She was a renowned teacher in her early thirties like myself...yet much more beautiful, much better learned than an ignorant slave mother.

The wonders she performed! The words of love and hope!

What could Christa have done to fall afoul of the Romans...?

Then through the morning haze I see her. Her.

The Messiah.

Bearing her cross beam. Scourged. Skin hanging in tatters, spit crawling down her beautiful yet bruised face.

A crown of thorns covers almost the
entire top of her head sending the
black locks into a shudder of pain...

She looks like I did carrying my palitibulum to the stipes. I manage a smirk
drop my head. So what?

Apart from the enormous crowd that is rambling with her to jerk off to her death, what matter.....

She is beautiful.

She is the divine One.

She is the goddess I tell myself I am to cope with being pinned naked to a piece of wood baking in the summer heat going on two days.

She is what I want to be, even shamed like she is.

Her serene face. Her calm demeanor. Her love radiating from a broken heart matching her broken body.

Yes. Nail the bitch.

Her wrists and then her legs feel the fire. She gasps and prays...but even her screams seem to be directed to somewhere a million miles a
...

The crowd already her joins the new arriving multitude and focuses their mockery on the Woman.

I hate her.

I despise her.

"Nail the whore! Christa....y-you'll look...good...hanging...*gasp* here...like me......"

All my effort to insult her.

And for what? To receive the most loving look I have ever recieved in my life from the Woman on the Cross to my left...

Meanwhile another woman is crucified. Like me she is almost unknown.

Down on the cross.

In go the nails.

Screams.

Up goes her cross.

Off comes her ragged black loincloth.

Teenager. Angry. Thief. Jewess.

Brunette. Unshaven armpits and very hairy black muff. Slender. Brown eyes and skin.

The Romans even added a delightful touch-each of the girl's nipples had been pierced with a brooch, doubtless a mocking reference to the girls
sticky fingers.

We two could be Christa's homely sisters.

After she manages to stop screaming bloody murder and blubbering she is panting and looking around.

Her eyes narrow in derision at the quiet Christa...

"Hey Bitch! How do you like the cornu in your pussy?! Some throne huh?! Fucking worthless cunt dying like a fucking worm slut...!"

On she went for some time.

For a girl struggling for
air she yelled on and on...through all the verbal abuse Christa was silent, not dignifying the girl on her left with an answer....

"If You are truly Christa get off that fucking Cross Slut! Fucking do it bitch! What's the matter Christa, too tired Hon? Oh and get us bitches off our crosses fucking too!"

"Shut up!" I am surprised at my own
voice...

"Of everyone slandering this poor Woman, a stupid teenage slut not smart enough to stay off the cross is the last one with any say," I manage...I could not have without drinking the water earlier..."You and I are...exactly... the type of... slut who ends up doing this dance. We deserve nothing better. But Christa is innocent! Innocent!"

I turn to Christa:
"Christa...please pray for me. Remember me, the woman who died beside you
...believing in you."

Christa slowly stirred...then lifted her thorn crowned head and smiled at me again that lovely smile.

"You may rest assured that you and I will be together forever... from this moment on our crosses, to my reign in glory."

I sighed with utter joy and content, the teenage girl was sobbing and whimpering quietly for her mother...

The hour wore on without mercy. Our naked wound laden bodies burn blister redden scream in the desert summer sun.

Water is given, now only in the bare amounts the experienced soldiers know we need to remain alive...

Part IV? Should Part IV happen?
 
deborah777 said:
The hour wore on without mercy. Our naked wound laden bodies burn blister redden scream in the desert summer sun.

Water is given, now only in the bare amounts the experienced soldiers know we need to remain alive...

Part IV? Should Part IV happen?
Click to expand...
Yes Deborah, Please! Pp is enjoying all your heart-felt writing since you came back back to us.
 
Part IV

The relentless heat is hell for us. Most of the great multitude that came to watch Christa has left due to heat and our relative inactivity. Even the dozen or so Roman soldiers left guarding us are half-dozing under their canopy.

Meanwhile between the biting flies and horrid muscle cramps us three ladies are far from relaxed.

Most of the stories you hear about Christa have truth-she is divine and she is as beautifully pure to look at. That being said...an hour on the cross and there were no more prayers or famous words.

The teenage girl offered no more curses, and as for me I reverted to slowly shaking my head side to side to cope with my torment.

Moans. Whimpers. Sobs when we stupidly shifted our bodies. Gasps every time we pulled ourselves up for air. Occasional little bleats to one another through dry lips and parched throats, a sort of hang-in-there-girl code...

Of course we had to humiliate ourselves by being catty bitches. A few hours suffering nude together in the sun and we're fucking lesbian lovers...or would be if we weren't nailed down to pieces of rough splintery wood like insects....

The sky didn't mercifully darken.

No one but me felt anything but pity and derision for the thorn-crowned girl hanging with us.

No holy mother mourned.

Nobody but three naked suffering women with sunburnt sexlips mourned.

They came at dusk.

Clubs in hand, to shatter our delicate legs...

The End

Epilogue:

Christa and her two ladies-in-waiting, unknown to us at the time, would become famous. However the patriarchal, prudish clerical and political powers would greatly alter our story and memory.
 
deborah777 said:
The sky didn't mercifully darken.

No one but me felt anything but pity and derision for the thorn-crowned girl hanging with us.

No holy mother mourned.

Nobody but three naked suffering women with sunburnt sexlips mourned.

They came at dusk.

Clubs in hand, to shatter our delicate legs...
Click to expand...

This is wonderful stuff, Deborah, beautiful evocative writing. Childbirth has really put you in touch with the primal, the fundamental, has given you a voice to express these deep feelings, deep fantasies, in a really fresh and moving way.

Many thanks, I look forward to any other stories you have, when you are ready.

"A few hours suffering nude together in the sun and we're fucking lesbian lovers...or would be if we weren't nailed down to pieces of rough splintery wood like insects...."

That's the only way to stop some of the ladies on this site!
 
deborah777 said:
The sky didn't mercifully darken.

No one but me felt anything but pity and derision for the thorn-crowned girl hanging with us.

No holy mother mourned.

Nobody but three naked suffering women with sunburnt sexlips mourned.

They came at dusk.

Clubs in hand, to shatter our delicate legs...
Click to expand...

phlebas said:
This is wonderful stuff, Deborah, beautiful evocative writing. Childbirth has really put you in touch with the primal, the fundamental, has given you a voice to express these deep feelings, deep fantasies, in a really fresh and moving way.

Many thanks, I look forward to any other stories you have, when you are ready.

"A few hours suffering nude together in the sun and we're fucking lesbian lovers...or would be if we weren't nailed down to pieces of rough splintery wood like insects...."

That's the only way to stop some of the ladies on this site!
Click to expand...
Deborah, Pp can't help but agree with phlebas. Your writing over the last couple of days has been wonderful, earthy stuff. He really hopes we will see more in time.
 
messaline said:
It's not a question of beauty, in my opinion ; everybody is beautiful in living his passion ...
Us, women, are too much submitted to the male rule which sets some models of beauty ...
No, we can be proud to be crucified women, proud to show them that we can suffer with dignity even in these worst circumstances ...:rolleyes:
Your feelings are wonderful, deborah : they make me crying with you ....
Click to expand...

Yes, yes Messaline!
Beauty, and passion, and dignity.
And Deborah!
 
deborah777 said:
They stare at me.

I'm not sure why.

They think they stare at a worn out woman, two little brats and too many men...hardly worth spitting at!

They stare, but I have my pride.

Yes...naked, in agony, I have my dignity!

The curves, the awkward folds, the stretch marks.

Not your fantasy girl...
not your flawless doll but I have given life to two precious girls...now again I am looked down upon even above them as my own life gasps and moans out of me.

I manage to smile...a contrast to my tear streaked haggard face.

These men these oafs these boys can't hurt me no not like the nights where I earn my title goddess!

My cross is truly my throne...for I am a mother...a goddess.

( Two weeks ago I gave birth to my second daughter. The judgement I have received because of the circumstance seem appropriate to me...I'm crying as I type this but I want to speak up for my ladies who may not feel like crux models and let them know we are absolutely beautiful and desirable at our most
Vulnerable
. <3
Click to expand...

Deborah,

What a beautifully poignant thread!!!! I just loved it so much, and was brought to tears more than once. I can relate (though I won't go into the details here). The crucifixion fantasy is so intensely emotional and adding motherhood gives it a unique, heart-wrenching twist.

A young mother, crucified, who sees her babies in the crowd as she hangs in agony, her breasts heavy with milk...oh my! I'm utterly in love with this deeply maternal image. She aches to hold them to her breasts, smell their wonderful baby aroma, and nurse them...to feel their warm, soft mouths greedily sucking at her nipples, drawing the nourishing, life-giving milk she has to offer out of her aching breasts and giving her that wonderful, inexpressible sense of maternal contentment.

The crying, fidgeting babies are held up so she can see them. In the throes of agony she is at least content knowing they will be cared for. In her emotional torment, which only compounds her horrible physical sufferings, she pushes up and out from the cross, despite the awful agony, crying out in deep, wrenching, sobbing anguish. Her body shudders uncontrollably as she drops back down on the cross. And then, at first a single drop, then more drops of milk collect at her nipples and roll down the soft, full contours of her engorged breasts, or fall to the ground beneath

Mixed with sweat and blood, her milk only feeds the flies as she hangs through the day...

Thank you Deborah for your amazing post!!!:D
 
Last edited:
phlebas said:

Excellent work, Deborah. From the heart, where the best work originates. The great events of life stir us powerfully, bring to the surface feelings that we are often not aware of. Crucifixion becomes a metaphor for childbirth, suffering and indignity endured, the spirit triumphant in the face of the unendurable.
And as Wragg and PP have said, a woman on the cross is beautiful. No need to worry about love handles or stretch marks, the cross will enhance your natural grace.
That you give yourself so fully, so freely, that is what is important.



It is a tremendously powerful theme, I would be interested to hear more of your thoughts on this. The mother and child relationship is so fundamental, so strong. This is part of the tragedy of the biblical crucifixion, but you are coming at it from the other direction, of the suffering crucified mother.

This is what I love about crux, stories like this, experiences like this, Deborah, sharing your journey with us. Wonderful.​
Click to expand...
Mother is crucifed for her son's sake. Naked, humiliated n suffered before him. I do like this fantasy since long time ago n RR n I did RP once ;)
 
deborah777 said:
They stare at me.

I'm not sure why.

They think they stare at a worn out woman, two little brats and too many men...hardly worth spitting at!

They stare, but I have my pride.

Yes...naked, in agony, I have my dignity!

The curves, the awkward folds, the stretch marks.

Not your fantasy girl...
not your flawless doll but I have given life to two precious girls...now again I am looked down upon even above them as my own life gasps and moans out of me.

I manage to smile...a contrast to my tear streaked haggard face.

These men these oafs these boys can't hurt me no not like the nights where I earn my title goddess!

My cross is truly my throne...for I am a mother...a goddess.

( Two weeks ago I gave birth to my second daughter. The judgement I have received because of the circumstance seem appropriate to me...I'm crying as I type this but I want to speak up for my ladies who may not feel like crux models and let them know we are absolutely beautiful and desirable at our most
Vulnerable
. <3
Click to expand...
Goddess ..I can feel it :)
 
roxie said:
Deborah,

What a beautifully poignant thread!!!! I just loved it so much, and was brought to tears more than once. I can relate (though I won't go into the details here). The crucifixion fantasy is so intensely emotional and adding motherhood gives it a unique, heart-wrenching twist.

A young mother, crucified, who sees her babies in the crowd as she hangs in agony, her breasts heavy with milk...oh my! I'm utterly in love with this deeply maternal image. She aches to hold them to her breasts, smell their wonderful baby aroma, and nurse them...to feel their warm, soft mouths greedily sucking at her nipples, drawing the nourishing, life-giving milk she has to offer out of her aching breasts and giving her that wonderful, inexpressible sense of maternal contentment.

The crying, fidgeting babies are held up so she can see them. In the throes of agony she is at least content knowing they will be cared for. In her emotional torment, which only compounds her horrible physical sufferings, she pushes up and out from the cross, despite the awful agony, crying out in deep, wrenching, sobbing anguish. Her body shudders uncontrollably as she drops back down on the cross. And then, at first a single drop, then more drops of milk collect at her nipples and roll down the soft, full contours of her engorged breasts, or fall to the ground beneath

Mixed with sweat and blood, her milk only feeds the flies as she hangs through the day...

Thank you Deborah for your amazing post!!!:D
Click to expand...
<3 <\3 Oh my. I teared up reading this...I just put my girls down for their nap. I can only imagine the wounded rage I would feel on the cross, unable to hold my babies, my daughters never again to feel my warmth and comfort, the wakeup at 3am, potty training...their mother is a spectacle, a slut for today's show, her bloated breasts and stretch marks simply another cause for jeering laughter. I writhe not in passion or pain but maternal animal rage to protect my daughters...
 
You must log in or register to reply here.
Back
Top Bottom