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?
