The Naked Truth

[mp5stab]

The Golden Headband​

It was inevitable. How could it not be? Her path was set, her mind had been made before she had even started the journey.

It was Thursday, a few hours before noon. A few hours before her crucifixion. But it felt like her plan was no longer her own, like she had been swept away in the uncaring waves of fate. Everything she had done yesterday and the day before had led up to this. The crowd that had gathered to witness her execution was much larger than the paltry show that professor Moore had suggested. There must have been thousands of them. And they all would remember this, every one of them with a clear story of what happened, so her chances of returning home shrunk smaller with each moment.

“Hail Yalizah, the Prophetess Queen of Antioch!” the Prelate declared from his grand balcony overlooking the island on the Orontes. The crowd booed. They had come to see blood, or tits, or both. She was going to be the main event, Cara Castanga was going to be crucified.

“She is not our queen, and she is no prophet!” A man from the crowd hissed. They were more correct than they could’ve known. She was just playing the prophetess’ part. As long as she followed through with Yalizah’s journey step by step, no massive changes would be made to the flow of history, and survival was still possible.

But Thursday? It was still far too soon in the week to be nailed to the cross, much sooner than she had originally planned. Her ability to last four whole days on a cross would determine if the tether would pull her back… her chances of surviving the ordeal were just continuing to narrow.

There were many inevitabilities and many chances. Cara however was a woman who rejected all of her chances of escape, a woman who pursued a terrible end without a single hesitation. She had sealed her fate.

“Crucify her!” The crowd roared. “Crucify her!” The venomous bloodlust filled the air.

Cara was dragged into the center of the Prelate’s insula by the soldiers, her feet stumbling over the rough ground as she tried to keep up with their quick pace. She was wearing a long white toga, adorned with gold trim and intricate designs. Her blonde hair, a rare sight in the city, was styled in a thick bun held in place by a golden headband. It was just like the hairstyle she had worn when she had first arrived in the city on Monday, except she now had blunt bangs. The soldiers leered at her, taking in her expensive robes and jewelry, commenting on her rare beauty.

"Look at this one, Gaius," one of the soldiers called out to the chief executioner. "A real prize for the whipping post. I bet she's worth a pretty penny."

Gaius, a burly man with a cruel glint in his eye, approached Cara and inspected her closely. "She's a rare one, all right, Licinius," he said, running his hand over her bound golden locks. "But we can't sell her off, not when she's been sentenced to the cross. She's a traitor, you know. Conspiring against the empire."

The soldiers jeered and taunted her, calling her names like “fool’s gold” and “cumrag” and making lewd gestures. They surrounded her, their faces twisted into grotesque masks of sadistic glee and contempt. In the midst of this frenzy of cruelty, one figure stood out - a tall, muscular man, clean shaven, with thick hair that was graying on the temples, that same sadism within his eyes. Licinius. He was the lictor, and he had been tasked with flogging Cara before her crucifixion, a task he was most eager to undertake.

The soldiers began to strip Cara of her robes, tearing them from her body with rough, calloused hands. They pull off her outer tunic, revealing her thin, pale undergarments. The loincloth and the breastcloth. After a moment of mocking for not wearing a more modest stola, they tore those away as well, leaving her naked and exposed before the jeering crowd. Cara tried to cover herself with her arms, but the soldiers grabbed her wrists and tied them behind her back. The crowd whistled and catcalled as her firm breasts dropped from underneath her tunic.

Gaius, the chief executioner, approached Cara with a sly smile on his face as he examined her expensive white robes, toga, and jewelry. He knew that he would receive a good payout for the coding on these items, and he was already anticipating the thrill of stripping Cara of her fineries. “Everything, boys. But I want to see it, no nicking anything pricey.”

This was part of her plan. The inevitable began with a stripping. None of these clothes were her own, she had taken care of that. Her original clothing had all been burnt, so that not a single piece would be left in the past. Well, almost every piece; the golden headband couldn’t be burnt. Ironically, the one item of clothing that had given her the most trouble was the one that was meant to keep her safe. She knew now the true purpose hidden inside the intricate gold leaf and soft white fabric. For this reason alone she would have to find a way to keep it on her or near her.

As the soldiers continued to strip Cara, they took care to remove all of Yalizah’s jewelry - her earrings, her bracelets, her necklace, her anklets. They even removed her sandals, leaving her barefoot and vulnerable. The executioner Gauis watched with a twisted, lecherous smile, enjoying the sight of Cara's naked body. He would have her remove her final piece of jewelry herself.

“Time to take off that crown, queen,” he said, and she did not respond.

But as he reached up to remove her ornate golden headband, he noticed the enormous bun of thick, blonde hair that was held in place by the headband. Gaius had seen a few blonde women before, but he had never seen such a massive bun of hair. It was almost as wide as her head, and it shined radiantly in the morning sun. Gaius hesitated for a moment, wondering if he should leave the headband in place to preserve the beauty of Cara's hair. He knew that she would be required to wear her hair in a ponytail for the crucifixion anyways, and he didn't want to ruin the impressive bun that she had created. But then he remembered that he was the chief executioner, and that he could do as he pleased, hair and nails were just part of the show. He reached up to remove the headband.

Cara recoiled backwards, suddenly resisting far more to this final debasement than any previous stripping. "Please, Gaius," she pleaded, "I'll cooperate, do anything you want, if you just leave the headband in. My bun won't last if it's not secured tightly, and I don't want my long, thick hair cascading down my back and preventing my back from being exposed for the whip." She hoped that he enjoyed that thought.

Gaius raised an eyebrow, a sly smile spreading across his face. "Anything I want, you say?" he purred, his eyes running over her body with a lecherous gaze. "Well, I do have one request. Wrap that beautiful hair of yours around my cock to please me, and I'll leave the headband in."

Cara's eyes widened in shock and disgust. "I-I can't do that," she stammered. But she knew she had to keep her ability to tether back. "Please, Gaius, I'm begging you. Just let me keep the headband in. I promise I'll be cooperative, and take my punishment willingly."

But Gaius was not swayed by her pleas. "No, no, no. You must pay the price for your crimes," he said, the cruel glint in his eye shining. "And if that means using your hair to appease me, then so be it. Make your choice, Cara. I take the crown, or your bun belongs to me."

Cara's eyes widen in horror as Gaius makes his suggestion. She had heard stories of the depraved acts that the Roman guards were capable of, and she had hoped that she would be spared such treatment. But now it seemed that she would experience every single degradation the soldiers could dream up. Cara's stomach churned at the thought of being at the mercy of this cruel man. She knew that she had no choice but to comply, and with tears streaming down her face, she reluctantly nodded her head, and knelt on the ground, bowing her head to present her bun in the air.

As Gaius took in the beauty of her hair, Cara closed her eyes and tried to block out the sensation of his rough hands on her hair, pulling and tugging at her bun. She couldn't believe that she was being humiliated like this, but she knew that she had to endure it if she wanted to survive the crucifixion. The crowd laughed and guffawed at the bizarre development. They really were putting on a show with her.

As Gaius grabbed ahold of Cara's bun, removing her ornate headpiece he couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement and arousal. He had always been a fan of long hair, and the sight of Cara's massive blonde bun was almost too much for him to handle. He grasped and squeezed the bun tightly, feeling the soft, silky strands between his fingers. He then pressed his cock against the bun, causing Cara to gasp in surprise. Cara realizes now in totality what he was asking of her. She could feel his cock pressing against her soft bun hole, and she knew that she had no choice but to comply.

She felt a pressure on the back of her head. “You know, I was taught that a whore only had three holes.” Gaius grasped her neck and thrust her back and forth, enjoying the sensation of her silky tresses on his now fully erect penis. “But working this job long enough you discover something. A whore has as many holes as you give them.” He laughed wickedly at his own joke.

The other soldiers followed suit, pressing their cocks against Cara's cheeks and demanding that she lick and suck on them. She eagerly complied, desperate to please her tormentors. Her mane became a silken scarf wrapped around Gaius' cock, and she could feel the warm load being released into her hair.

As Gaius pulled her bun loose, he took it triumphantly, a symbol of his victory over Cara. The other soldiers began to banter, complaining that the last whore they had whipped was better. But Gaius was having none of it. He ordered them to bring the "golden haired girl" to the whipping post, and they reluctantly obeyed.

“Finally, it's my turn to treat her right; hurry up with all of the fucking hair stuff,” Licinius said

“Oh Licinius, you have no taste for the finer things, let’s let her pretty herself up before you break that pale skin of hers.”

The soldiers grabbed Cara by her now half-loosened hair and dragged her back to the whipping post, where they ordered her to redo her bun. She couldn't resist their rough hands as they yanked on her hair, pulling her head back and exposing her neck. She tried to stay calm as they forced her to undo her wrap bun, and let her thick, blonde hair fall down her back. Gaius especially took great pleasure in running his fingers through her locks, taunting her with their rough caresses.

Once her hair was completely undone, they grabbed her by the arms and forced her to gather it all together. She tried to resist, but their strong hands were too much for her. She could feel their hot breath on her neck as they leaned in close. She knew that she had no choice but to comply, so she gathered her cum-coated hair together and began to twist and wrap it around itself, creating a new bun.

When she was finished, Gaius ceremoniously handed her the golden headband and ordered her to wrap it around the bun. “A crown for a queen, just like you wanted. For is not a woman’s hair her crown? I’ve just added a few pearls, that's all.”

She did not hesitate, even knowing that this would only make her more vulnerable to their cruel hands. But she knew that she had no choice, this was part of her tether now, it had to go where she went, so she wrapped the headband around the bun, securing it in place. The experience had left her shaken. But she did not dare imagine what a painless experience that was compared to what was to come.

 

[Loxuru]

Well, I do have one request. Wrap that beautiful hair of yours around my cock to please me, and I'll leave the headband in."

Cara's eyes widened in shock and disgust. "I-I can't do that," she stammered

Didn't her previous research foresee that she could be forced to do that?

 

[mp5stab]

Didn't her previous research foresee that she could be forced to do that?

That her executioner would have a hair kink? Unlikely. She knew she would be degraded, but she can't have really found specifics, outside of her previous expeditions into the past. She'd be forced to theorycraft to some extent; but there is quite a serious difference between theory and practice that is often the kryptonite to academics.

 

[Barbaria1]

Wow! That was a bun of a chapter! Magnificent!

 

[mp5stab]

The Flogging​

Cara was bound to the whipping post, her arms stretched high above her head, her naked back exposed to the harsh, unforgiving sun. She closed her eyes tightly, trying to brace herself for what was to come. The lictors pulled up a tally on a table nearby. They would count these out. So would she. She realized that she had no idea how many lashes she was in for, as this was hardly a standard execution. Would it be 39, the traditional number given by lictors, one beneath the maximum? Such a brutal scourging might not even be survivable past a few hours, let alone a few days; she silently pleaded for only a light flogging, praying desperately that it was fewer than she feared.

In the hands of a Roman lictor, the scutica was a fearsome weapon, a short single-tailed whip made from braided leather. It was used to maintain order and discipline in the empire, and its mere sight was enough to make many submit or risk its painful sting upon their backs. Licinius selected such a whip from the collection of instruments at his disposal. He weighed it in his hand, feeling its balance and the weight of the leather tails. With a flick of his wrist, he cracked the whip in the air, making a sharp, crackling sound that echoed through the silent courtyard.

Licinius cracked a smile as Cara flinched at the sound.

He motioned for Gaius to select a similar whip.

“Let’s start slow, sir,” said Licinius “get her warmed up first.”

Suddenly, the first lash struck her ass, and she screamed in agony, her body shuddering from the fiery pain, as she collapsed to her knees. That was one. It stung, she could feel the warm welt on her ass. She took a deep breath. Only several more to go.

The second lash was just as brutal, landing across her shoulders, leaving a searing trail of pain in its wake. Her breath escaped her. The third and fourth lashes followed, each one striking a little harder, a little deeper, until she was sure she couldn't take anymore. She screamed and cried out, begging for mercy, but the two Roman Lictors, Licinius and Gaius, showed no mercy. She could feel that one of them was on her left, and one on her right, they were skilled; masters of inflicting this sentence. They would make sure it was a most terrible torture.

With each new lash, Cara felt her strength slipping away, and her body becoming weaker. The fifth lash landed just below her left shoulder blade, sending a searing wave of pain through her entire body. The sixth lash struck the back of her right thigh, and the seventh landed across her butt dimples, leaving a deep, red welt in its wake.

Cara cried out in agony with each new lash, her screams echoing through the streets. The eighth lash hit the small of her back, making her scream even louder. The ninth lash was just as brutal, striking her lower back with a vengeance. The tenth lash landed across her hips, making her scream with pain, and the eleventh and twelfth lashes followed in quick succession, hitting her two ass cheeks.

And then… they blurred together. Should have counted, but could hardly do much more. Was she screaming? It felt like it. The next set of lashes, from the thirteenth to the eighteenth, landed in a haphazard pattern across her back, from bottom to top, the tip of the lash wrapping around and hitting her breasts, her hips, and her waist. Cara was beyond the point of feeling anything, she was just in a state of pure, unending pain.

But there was a tool for that as well.

The Flagrum, also known to the Romans as the "scorpio," was a different type of whip altogether. It was made from multiple leather straps, each one tipped with a small metal weight or spiked ball. Unlike the Scutica, which was designed to inflict pain but leave no lasting marks, the Flagrum was designed to tear the flesh and leave deep, bloody wounds. The Flagrum was not meant to be used lightly. It was reserved for the most serious of crimes, and its use was a sure sign that the person being punished was seen as a threat to the stability of the empire.

Cara’s chest heaved as she recovered from the whipping she had just endured. But little did she know that the lictors were simply switching their tools.

“Okay, is she warm enough for you, Licinius?” Cara could hear them behind her, it sounded like they were at a table. See breathed a sigh of relief as she heard the two men drop their whips.

The first strike of the scorpio came completely by surprise to the poor blonde who shrieked in wide eyed terror as the lead tails of the whip embedded themselves into her upper back, and tore through the skin. She immediately collapsed.

Licinius laughed, “That bitch is warm now… let’s scourge her for the last 10 strikes, each, wake her up a little.”

Cara's skin was now shredded by the relentless strikes of the flagrum, instead of just the scutica. Each hit tore at her once milky white skin, breaking it open and causing her blood to run down her back and buttocks. The pain was unbearable and Cara found herself slipping in and out of consciousness with each stroke. Her breasts bounced with each strike, adding to her humiliation and increasing the sadistic pleasure of the guards and the crowd. Her screams of pain and terror echoed through the square as the lictors continued their punishment, whipping her mercilessly.

This smaller “Scorpio” flagrum, typically used only for women, didn't rip muscle or bone, as was commonly falsely stated, but its every strike was a test of Cara's endurance. She was being stripped of her pride and dignity with each strike, her once beautiful skin now marred by welts and bruises. The jeers of the crowd and the delight of the sadistic guards only added to her torment.

“Make her bleed!” a cruel voice from the crowd cried out.

Her vision grew dim and tunneled around the edges. Each strike was a new wave of stinging suffering that jolted her deeper into a near-catatonic response. In that moment, Cara's world was reduced to nothing but agony and pain. The whipping had taken everything from her, leaving her with nothing but scars and bruises to remember her punishment by. The crowd's cheers faded into the distance as Cara's consciousness slipped away, her last thoughts consumed by the memory of the relentless scourge of the flagrum.

The whipping only concluded when both of the lictors decided that it had been roughly around ten strikes from each whip from both of them. Cara was left gasping for air, her back and buttocks shredded and bleeding. The crowd jeered and cheered as the lictors finished their work, leaving Cara's broken and defeated body hanging from the whipping post.

Finally.

Finally, the scourging was over, and Cara was untied from the post by Licinius. She simply collapsed downward, into a crumpled heap of half-consciousness. After a few minutes to recover in a small pool of her own blood, the two lictors hooked under her armpits with their hands and dragged her to her knees, and then she was left to stumble over to the cross, completely defeated. The weight of it was crushing, but she somehow managed to pick it up and begin her journey, the long, slow walk towards her ultimate fate. There were no thoughts or plans to be had. There was no deeper intellectual understanding of the process. She was just an anima in pain.

She took a deep breath and started walking.

 

[Barbaria1]

That was both realistic and brutal. I feel exhausted after reading it.

 

[Loxuru]

The Flogging

Great chapter, I agree with Barb!

Cara was bound to the whipping post, her arms stretched high above her head, her naked back exposed to the harsh, unforgiving sun. She closed her eyes tightly, trying to brace herself for what was to come. The lictors pulled up a tally on a table nearby. They would count these out. So would she. She realized that she had no idea how many lashes she was in for, as this was hardly a standard execution. Would it be 39, the traditional number given by lictors, one beneath the maximum? Such a brutal scourging might not even be survivable past a few hours, let alone a few days; she silently pleaded for only a light flogging, praying desperately that it was fewer than she feared.

The scientist subjected to the research she is carrying out! A particular experience!

 

[Blue]

The Flogging​

Cara was bound to the whipping post, her arms stretched high above her head, her naked back exposed to the harsh, unforgiving sun. She closed her eyes tightly, trying to brace herself for what was to come. The lictors pulled up a tally on a table nearby. They would count these out. So would she. She realized that she had no idea how many lashes she was in for, as this was hardly a standard execution. Would it be 39, the traditional number given by lictors, one beneath the maximum? Such a brutal scourging might not even be survivable past a few hours, let alone a few days; she silently pleaded for only a light flogging, praying desperately that it was fewer than she feared.

In the hands of a Roman lictor, the scutica was a fearsome weapon, a short single-tailed whip made from braided leather. It was used to maintain order and discipline in the empire, and its mere sight was enough to make many submit or risk its painful sting upon their backs. Licinius selected such a whip from the collection of instruments at his disposal. He weighed it in his hand, feeling its balance and the weight of the leather tails. With a flick of his wrist, he cracked the whip in the air, making a sharp, crackling sound that echoed through the silent courtyard.

Licinius cracked a smile as Cara flinched at the sound.

He motioned for Gaius to select a similar whip.

“Let’s start slow, sir,” said Licinius “get her warmed up first.”

Suddenly, the first lash struck her ass, and she screamed in agony, her body shuddering from the fiery pain, as she collapsed to her knees. That was one. It stung, she could feel the warm welt on her ass. She took a deep breath. Only several more to go.

The second lash was just as brutal, landing across her shoulders, leaving a searing trail of pain in its wake. Her breath escaped her. The third and fourth lashes followed, each one striking a little harder, a little deeper, until she was sure she couldn't take anymore. She screamed and cried out, begging for mercy, but the two Roman Lictors, Licinius and Gaius, showed no mercy. She could feel that one of them was on her left, and one on her right, they were skilled; masters of inflicting this sentence. They would make sure it was a most terrible torture.

With each new lash, Cara felt her strength slipping away, and her body becoming weaker. The fifth lash landed just below her left shoulder blade, sending a searing wave of pain through her entire body. The sixth lash struck the back of her right thigh, and the seventh landed across her butt dimples, leaving a deep, red welt in its wake.

Cara cried out in agony with each new lash, her screams echoing through the streets. The eighth lash hit the small of her back, making her scream even louder. The ninth lash was just as brutal, striking her lower back with a vengeance. The tenth lash landed across her hips, making her scream with pain, and the eleventh and twelfth lashes followed in quick succession, hitting her two ass cheeks.

And then… they blurred together. Should have counted, but could hardly do much more. Was she screaming? It felt like it. The next set of lashes, from the thirteenth to the eighteenth, landed in a haphazard pattern across her back, from bottom to top, the tip of the lash wrapping around and hitting her breasts, her hips, and her waist. Cara was beyond the point of feeling anything, she was just in a state of pure, unending pain.

But there was a tool for that as well.

The Flagrum, also known to the Romans as the "scorpio," was a different type of whip altogether. It was made from multiple leather straps, each one tipped with a small metal weight or spiked ball. Unlike the Scutica, which was designed to inflict pain but leave no lasting marks, the Flagrum was designed to tear the flesh and leave deep, bloody wounds. The Flagrum was not meant to be used lightly. It was reserved for the most serious of crimes, and its use was a sure sign that the person being punished was seen as a threat to the stability of the empire.

Cara’s chest heaved as she recovered from the whipping she had just endured. But little did she know that the lictors were simply switching their tools.

“Okay, is she warm enough for you, Licinius?” Cara could hear them behind her, it sounded like they were at a table. See breathed a sigh of relief as she heard the two men drop their whips.

The first strike of the scorpio came completely by surprise to the poor blonde who shrieked in wide eyed terror as the lead tails of the whip embedded themselves into her upper back, and tore through the skin. She immediately collapsed.

Licinius laughed, “That bitch is warm now… let’s scourge her for the last 10 strikes, each, wake her up a little.”

Cara's skin was now shredded by the relentless strikes of the flagrum, instead of just the scutica. Each hit tore at her once milky white skin, breaking it open and causing her blood to run down her back and buttocks. The pain was unbearable and Cara found herself slipping in and out of consciousness with each stroke. Her breasts bounced with each strike, adding to her humiliation and increasing the sadistic pleasure of the guards and the crowd. Her screams of pain and terror echoed through the square as the lictors continued their punishment, whipping her mercilessly.

This smaller “Scorpio” flagrum, typically used only for women, didn't rip muscle or bone, as was commonly falsely stated, but its every strike was a test of Cara's endurance. She was being stripped of her pride and dignity with each strike, her once beautiful skin now marred by welts and bruises. The jeers of the crowd and the delight of the sadistic guards only added to her torment.

“Make her bleed!” a cruel voice from the crowd cried out.

Her vision grew dim and tunneled around the edges. Each strike was a new wave of stinging suffering that jolted her deeper into a near-catatonic response. In that moment, Cara's world was reduced to nothing but agony and pain. The whipping had taken everything from her, leaving her with nothing but scars and bruises to remember her punishment by. The crowd's cheers faded into the distance as Cara's consciousness slipped away, her last thoughts consumed by the memory of the relentless scourge of the flagrum.

The whipping only concluded when both of the lictors decided that it had been roughly around ten strikes from each whip from both of them. Cara was left gasping for air, her back and buttocks shredded and bleeding. The crowd jeered and cheered as the lictors finished their work, leaving Cara's broken and defeated body hanging from the whipping post.

Finally.

Finally, the scourging was over, and Cara was untied from the post by Licinius. She simply collapsed downward, into a crumpled heap of half-consciousness. After a few minutes to recover in a small pool of her own blood, the two lictors hooked under her armpits with their hands and dragged her to her knees, and then she was left to stumble over to the cross, completely defeated. The weight of it was crushing, but she somehow managed to pick it up and begin her journey, the long, slow walk towards her ultimate fate. There were no thoughts or plans to be had. There was no deeper intellectual understanding of the process. She was just an anima in pain.

She took a deep breath and started walking.

A great episode: outstanding description and pacing make it stand out! Looking forward to the subsequent episodes.

 

[mp5stab]

Against my better judgement I have expanded out the last three paragraph of "The Flogging" into another page.

The Cross​

Finally.

Finally, the scourging was over, and Cara was untied from the post by Licinius. She simply collapsed downward, into a crumpled heap of half-consciousness. After a few minutes she recovered in a small pool of her own blood.

Cara slowly came back to consciousness, her body wracked with pain. The first thing she felt was the searing burn of the wounds on her back and buttocks, the sensation so intense that she immediately grimaced in pain and nearly cried out from the intensity of the sensation. The second thing she noticed was that she was no longer at the whipping post. She had been dragged over to the cross, which was lying on the ground in the courtyard.

Cara was barely lucid, her mind and body still in shock from the brutal flogging she had just undergone. It felt like a nightmare, she was face down on the floor next to a massive wooden beam. But despite her haze, she found herself reaching out to the cross, caressing it, getting to know its texture, as her naked body rested on it. The sight of it was horrifying and imposing, the instrument of her eventual death, and she recoiled from it.

Rejecting the cross, she curled up in the fetal position next to it, trying to escape the reality of what was to come. But her respite was short-lived, as the soldiers noticed that she was not moving and began lashing her with switches. The pain was almost nothing to her at this point, a battered and beaten body covered in blood and bruised. She curled up tighter into her ball as she cried voicelessly.

In that moment, as the pathetic girl was rained down on with switches as she hugged her knees, Cara made an internal choice, she would do it, whatever it took to experience crucifixion, she would do it. She knew that it would bring even more suffering and pain, but she felt that it was the only way to truly understand the agony that women like Yalizah had experienced. And so, with a deep breath, she decided to carry the cross.

Trying to pick it up, she found that she was too weak. Her body was battered and bruised from the flogging, and she could barely stand, let alone lift the heavy wooden cross. But she refused to give up. Gritting her teeth, she succeeded in uprighting the cross, just a naked girl with two big pieces of wood. The sight was pitiful, but Cara was determined to carry it, to carry the weight of her own sacrifice.

She took a deep breath and started walking.

 

[mp5stab]

That was both realistic and brutal. I feel exhausted after reading it.

High praise, although it's the first time I think anyone has told a writer that they "feel exhausted after reading" what they wrote as a compliment, hahahaha. I totally get what you mean thos,that flogging was a process. It took something out of me, too!

Great chapter, I agree with Barb!

Thanks, I'm glad you also find my writing exhausting.

A great episode: outstanding description and pacing make it stand out! Looking forward to the subsequent episodes.

Thank you! Hopefully I've killed the pacing dead with my new addition.

 

[phlebas]

The other soldiers followed suit, pressing their cocks against Cara's cheeks and demanding that she lick and suck on them. She eagerly complied, desperate to please her tormentors. Her mane became a silken scarf wrapped around Gaius' cock, and she could feel the warm load being released into her hair.

I do believe this is a first in a CF crux story, am I wrong?

“hurry up with all of the fucking hair stuff,” Licinius said

or hair-fucking stuff?

But despite her haze, she found herself reaching out to the cross, caressing it, getting to know its texture, as her naked body rested on it. The sight of it was horrifying and imposing, the instrument of her eventual death, and she recoiled from it.

She is naturally conflicted, yet she cannot resist, from deep down inside she is drawn to it, and she knows it will embrace her soon enough, it will caress every one of those whip wounds, it will hold her lovingly until her last shuddering breath.

 

[Iconoclast12]

Amazing work!

 

[xso]

Against my better judgement I have expanded out the last three paragraph of "The Flogging" into another page.

The Cross​

Finally.

Finally, the scourging was over, and Cara was untied from the post by Licinius. She simply collapsed downward, into a crumpled heap of half-consciousness. After a few minutes she recovered in a small pool of her own blood.

Cara slowly came back to consciousness, her body wracked with pain. The first thing she felt was the searing burn of the wounds on her back and buttocks, the sensation so intense that she immediately grimaced in pain and nearly cried out from the intensity of the sensation. The second thing she noticed was that she was no longer at the whipping post. She had been dragged over to the cross, which was lying on the ground in the courtyard.

Cara was barely lucid, her mind and body still in shock from the brutal flogging she had just undergone. It felt like a nightmare, she was face down on the floor next to a massive wooden beam. But despite her haze, she found herself reaching out to the cross, caressing it, getting to know its texture, as her naked body rested on it. The sight of it was horrifying and imposing, the instrument of her eventual death, and she recoiled from it.

Rejecting the cross, she curled up in the fetal position next to it, trying to escape the reality of what was to come. But her respite was short-lived, as the soldiers noticed that she was not moving and began lashing her with switches. The pain was almost nothing to her at this point, a battered and beaten body covered in blood and bruised. She curled up tighter into her ball as she cried voicelessly.

In that moment, as the pathetic girl was rained down on with switches as she hugged her knees, Cara made an internal choice, she would do it, whatever it took to experience crucifixion, she would do it. She knew that it would bring even more suffering and pain, but she felt that it was the only way to truly understand the agony that women like Yalizah had experienced. And so, with a deep breath, she decided to carry the cross.

Trying to pick it up, she found that she was too weak. Her body was battered and bruised from the flogging, and she could barely stand, let alone lift the heavy wooden cross. But she refused to give up. Gritting her teeth, she succeeded in uprighting the cross, just a naked girl with two big pieces of wood. The sight was pitiful, but Cara was determined to carry it, to carry the weight of her own sacrifice.

She took a deep breath and started walking.

Yet another exciting chapter, thanks! Love Cara's dedication to the crucifixion process. Despite her horrific whipping torture, she is determined to experience the full horrors of the cross! (Well, I guess at this point she does not have much of a choice... ) Great job MP5, please continue!

 

[xso]

The Golden Headband​

It was inevitable. How could it not be? Her path was set, her mind had been made before she had even started the journey.

It was Thursday, a few hours before noon. A few hours before her crucifixion. But it felt like her plan was no longer her own, like she had been swept away in the uncaring waves of fate. Everything she had done yesterday and the day before had led up to this. The crowd that had gathered to witness her execution was much larger than the paltry show that professor Moore had suggested. There must have been thousands of them. And they all would remember this, every one of them with a clear story of what happened, so her chances of returning home shrunk smaller with each moment.

“Hail Yalizah, the Prophetess Queen of Antioch!” the Prelate declared from his grand balcony overlooking the island on the Orontes. The crowd booed. They had come to see blood, or tits, or both. She was going to be the main event, Cara Castanga was going to be crucified.

“She is not our queen, and she is no prophet!” A man from the crowd hissed. They were more correct than they could’ve known. She was just playing the prophetess’ part. As long as she followed through with Yalizah’s journey step by step, no massive changes would be made to the flow of history, and survival was still possible.

But Thursday? It was still far too soon in the week to be nailed to the cross, much sooner than she had originally planned. Her ability to last four whole days on a cross would determine if the tether would pull her back… her chances of surviving the ordeal were just continuing to narrow.

There were many inevitabilities and many chances. Cara however was a woman who rejected all of her chances of escape, a woman who pursued a terrible end without a single hesitation. She had sealed her fate.

“Crucify her!” The crowd roared. “Crucify her!” The venomous bloodlust filled the air.

Cara was dragged into the center of the Prelate’s insula by the soldiers, her feet stumbling over the rough ground as she tried to keep up with their quick pace. She was wearing a long white toga, adorned with gold trim and intricate designs. Her blonde hair, a rare sight in the city, was styled in a thick bun held in place by a golden headband. It was just like the hairstyle she had worn when she had first arrived in the city on Monday, except she now had blunt bangs. The soldiers leered at her, taking in her expensive robes and jewelry, commenting on her rare beauty.

"Look at this one, Gaius," one of the soldiers called out to the chief executioner. "A real prize for the whipping post. I bet she's worth a pretty penny."

Gaius, a burly man with a cruel glint in his eye, approached Cara and inspected her closely. "She's a rare one, all right, Licinius," he said, running his hand over her bound golden locks. "But we can't sell her off, not when she's been sentenced to the cross. She's a traitor, you know. Conspiring against the empire."

The soldiers jeered and taunted her, calling her names like “fool’s gold” and “cumrag” and making lewd gestures. They surrounded her, their faces twisted into grotesque masks of sadistic glee and contempt. In the midst of this frenzy of cruelty, one figure stood out - a tall, muscular man, clean shaven, with thick hair that was graying on the temples, that same sadism within his eyes. Licinius. He was the lictor, and he had been tasked with flogging Cara before her crucifixion, a task he was most eager to undertake.

The soldiers began to strip Cara of her robes, tearing them from her body with rough, calloused hands. They pull off her outer tunic, revealing her thin, pale undergarments. The loincloth and the breastcloth. After a moment of mocking for not wearing a more modest stola, they tore those away as well, leaving her naked and exposed before the jeering crowd. Cara tried to cover herself with her arms, but the soldiers grabbed her wrists and tied them behind her back. The crowd whistled and catcalled as her firm breasts dropped from underneath her tunic.

Gaius, the chief executioner, approached Cara with a sly smile on his face as he examined her expensive white robes, toga, and jewelry. He knew that he would receive a good payout for the coding on these items, and he was already anticipating the thrill of stripping Cara of her fineries. “Everything, boys. But I want to see it, no nicking anything pricey.”

This was part of her plan. The inevitable began with a stripping. None of these clothes were her own, she had taken care of that. Her original clothing had all been burnt, so that not a single piece would be left in the past. Well, almost every piece; the golden headband couldn’t be burnt. Ironically, the one item of clothing that had given her the most trouble was the one that was meant to keep her safe. She knew now the true purpose hidden inside the intricate gold leaf and soft white fabric. For this reason alone she would have to find a way to keep it on her or near her.

As the soldiers continued to strip Cara, they took care to remove all of Yalizah’s jewelry - her earrings, her bracelets, her necklace, her anklets. They even removed her sandals, leaving her barefoot and vulnerable. The executioner Gauis watched with a twisted, lecherous smile, enjoying the sight of Cara's naked body. He would have her remove her final piece of jewelry herself.

“Time to take off that crown, queen,” he said, and she did not respond.

But as he reached up to remove her ornate golden headband, he noticed the enormous bun of thick, blonde hair that was held in place by the headband. Gaius had seen a few blonde women before, but he had never seen such a massive bun of hair. It was almost as wide as her head, and it shined radiantly in the morning sun. Gaius hesitated for a moment, wondering if he should leave the headband in place to preserve the beauty of Cara's hair. He knew that she would be required to wear her hair in a ponytail for the crucifixion anyways, and he didn't want to ruin the impressive bun that she had created. But then he remembered that he was the chief executioner, and that he could do as he pleased, hair and nails were just part of the show. He reached up to remove the headband.

Cara recoiled backwards, suddenly resisting far more to this final debasement than any previous stripping. "Please, Gaius," she pleaded, "I'll cooperate, do anything you want, if you just leave the headband in. My bun won't last if it's not secured tightly, and I don't want my long, thick hair cascading down my back and preventing my back from being exposed for the whip." She hoped that he enjoyed that thought.

Gaius raised an eyebrow, a sly smile spreading across his face. "Anything I want, you say?" he purred, his eyes running over her body with a lecherous gaze. "Well, I do have one request. Wrap that beautiful hair of yours around my cock to please me, and I'll leave the headband in."

Cara's eyes widened in shock and disgust. "I-I can't do that," she stammered. But she knew she had to keep her ability to tether back. "Please, Gaius, I'm begging you. Just let me keep the headband in. I promise I'll be cooperative, and take my punishment willingly."

But Gaius was not swayed by her pleas. "No, no, no. You must pay the price for your crimes," he said, the cruel glint in his eye shining. "And if that means using your hair to appease me, then so be it. Make your choice, Cara. I take the crown, or your bun belongs to me."

Cara's eyes widen in horror as Gaius makes his suggestion. She had heard stories of the depraved acts that the Roman guards were capable of, and she had hoped that she would be spared such treatment. But now it seemed that she would experience every single degradation the soldiers could dream up. Cara's stomach churned at the thought of being at the mercy of this cruel man. She knew that she had no choice but to comply, and with tears streaming down her face, she reluctantly nodded her head, and knelt on the ground, bowing her head to present her bun in the air.

As Gaius took in the beauty of her hair, Cara closed her eyes and tried to block out the sensation of his rough hands on her hair, pulling and tugging at her bun. She couldn't believe that she was being humiliated like this, but she knew that she had to endure it if she wanted to survive the crucifixion. The crowd laughed and guffawed at the bizarre development. They really were putting on a show with her.

As Gaius grabbed ahold of Cara's bun, removing her ornate headpiece he couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement and arousal. He had always been a fan of long hair, and the sight of Cara's massive blonde bun was almost too much for him to handle. He grasped and squeezed the bun tightly, feeling the soft, silky strands between his fingers. He then pressed his cock against the bun, causing Cara to gasp in surprise. Cara realizes now in totality what he was asking of her. She could feel his cock pressing against her soft bun hole, and she knew that she had no choice but to comply.

She felt a pressure on the back of her head. “You know, I was taught that a whore only had three holes.” Gaius grasped her neck and thrust her back and forth, enjoying the sensation of her silky tresses on his now fully erect penis. “But working this job long enough you discover something. A whore has as many holes as you give them.” He laughed wickedly at his own joke.

The other soldiers followed suit, pressing their cocks against Cara's cheeks and demanding that she lick and suck on them. She eagerly complied, desperate to please her tormentors. Her mane became a silken scarf wrapped around Gaius' cock, and she could feel the warm load being released into her hair.

As Gaius pulled her bun loose, he took it triumphantly, a symbol of his victory over Cara. The other soldiers began to banter, complaining that the last whore they had whipped was better. But Gaius was having none of it. He ordered them to bring the "golden haired girl" to the whipping post, and they reluctantly obeyed.

“Finally, it's my turn to treat her right; hurry up with all of the fucking hair stuff,” Licinius said

“Oh Licinius, you have no taste for the finer things, let’s let her pretty herself up before you break that pale skin of hers.”

The soldiers grabbed Cara by her now half-loosened hair and dragged her back to the whipping post, where they ordered her to redo her bun. She couldn't resist their rough hands as they yanked on her hair, pulling her head back and exposing her neck. She tried to stay calm as they forced her to undo her wrap bun, and let her thick, blonde hair fall down her back. Gaius especially took great pleasure in running his fingers through her locks, taunting her with their rough caresses.

Once her hair was completely undone, they grabbed her by the arms and forced her to gather it all together. She tried to resist, but their strong hands were too much for her. She could feel their hot breath on her neck as they leaned in close. She knew that she had no choice but to comply, so she gathered her cum-coated hair together and began to twist and wrap it around itself, creating a new bun.

When she was finished, Gaius ceremoniously handed her the golden headband and ordered her to wrap it around the bun. “A crown for a queen, just like you wanted. For is not a woman’s hair her crown? I’ve just added a few pearls, that's all.”

She did not hesitate, even knowing that this would only make her more vulnerable to their cruel hands. But she knew that she had no choice, this was part of her tether now, it had to go where she went, so she wrapped the headband around the bun, securing it in place. The experience had left her shaken. But she did not dare imagine what a painless experience that was compared to what was to come.

Brilliant, liked this chapter very much! I think it must be the first hair kink related whipping description ever on CF? Keep the hair kink when it comes to the crucifixion episodes please!

 

[Kathy]

The Flogging​

Cara was bound to the whipping post, her arms stretched high above her head, her naked back exposed to the harsh, unforgiving sun. She closed her eyes tightly, trying to brace herself for what was to come. The lictors pulled up a tally on a table nearby. They would count these out. So would she. She realized that she had no idea how many lashes she was in for, as this was hardly a standard execution. Would it be 39, the traditional number given by lictors, one beneath the maximum? Such a brutal scourging might not even be survivable past a few hours, let alone a few days; she silently pleaded for only a light flogging, praying desperately that it was fewer than she feared.

In the hands of a Roman lictor, the scutica was a fearsome weapon, a short single-tailed whip made from braided leather. It was used to maintain order and discipline in the empire, and its mere sight was enough to make many submit or risk its painful sting upon their backs. Licinius selected such a whip from the collection of instruments at his disposal. He weighed it in his hand, feeling its balance and the weight of the leather tails. With a flick of his wrist, he cracked the whip in the air, making a sharp, crackling sound that echoed through the silent courtyard.

Licinius cracked a smile as Cara flinched at the sound.

He motioned for Gaius to select a similar whip.

“Let’s start slow, sir,” said Licinius “get her warmed up first.”

Suddenly, the first lash struck her ass, and she screamed in agony, her body shuddering from the fiery pain, as she collapsed to her knees. That was one. It stung, she could feel the warm welt on her ass. She took a deep breath. Only several more to go.

The second lash was just as brutal, landing across her shoulders, leaving a searing trail of pain in its wake. Her breath escaped her. The third and fourth lashes followed, each one striking a little harder, a little deeper, until she was sure she couldn't take anymore. She screamed and cried out, begging for mercy, but the two Roman Lictors, Licinius and Gaius, showed no mercy. She could feel that one of them was on her left, and one on her right, they were skilled; masters of inflicting this sentence. They would make sure it was a most terrible torture.

With each new lash, Cara felt her strength slipping away, and her body becoming weaker. The fifth lash landed just below her left shoulder blade, sending a searing wave of pain through her entire body. The sixth lash struck the back of her right thigh, and the seventh landed across her butt dimples, leaving a deep, red welt in its wake.

Cara cried out in agony with each new lash, her screams echoing through the streets. The eighth lash hit the small of her back, making her scream even louder. The ninth lash was just as brutal, striking her lower back with a vengeance. The tenth lash landed across her hips, making her scream with pain, and the eleventh and twelfth lashes followed in quick succession, hitting her two ass cheeks.

And then… they blurred together. Should have counted, but could hardly do much more. Was she screaming? It felt like it. The next set of lashes, from the thirteenth to the eighteenth, landed in a haphazard pattern across her back, from bottom to top, the tip of the lash wrapping around and hitting her breasts, her hips, and her waist. Cara was beyond the point of feeling anything, she was just in a state of pure, unending pain.

But there was a tool for that as well.

The Flagrum, also known to the Romans as the "scorpio," was a different type of whip altogether. It was made from multiple leather straps, each one tipped with a small metal weight or spiked ball. Unlike the Scutica, which was designed to inflict pain but leave no lasting marks, the Flagrum was designed to tear the flesh and leave deep, bloody wounds. The Flagrum was not meant to be used lightly. It was reserved for the most serious of crimes, and its use was a sure sign that the person being punished was seen as a threat to the stability of the empire.

Cara’s chest heaved as she recovered from the whipping she had just endured. But little did she know that the lictors were simply switching their tools.

“Okay, is she warm enough for you, Licinius?” Cara could hear them behind her, it sounded like they were at a table. See breathed a sigh of relief as she heard the two men drop their whips.

The first strike of the scorpio came completely by surprise to the poor blonde who shrieked in wide eyed terror as the lead tails of the whip embedded themselves into her upper back, and tore through the skin. She immediately collapsed.

Licinius laughed, “That bitch is warm now… let’s scourge her for the last 10 strikes, each, wake her up a little.”

Cara's skin was now shredded by the relentless strikes of the flagrum, instead of just the scutica. Each hit tore at her once milky white skin, breaking it open and causing her blood to run down her back and buttocks. The pain was unbearable and Cara found herself slipping in and out of consciousness with each stroke. Her breasts bounced with each strike, adding to her humiliation and increasing the sadistic pleasure of the guards and the crowd. Her screams of pain and terror echoed through the square as the lictors continued their punishment, whipping her mercilessly.

This smaller “Scorpio” flagrum, typically used only for women, didn't rip muscle or bone, as was commonly falsely stated, but its every strike was a test of Cara's endurance. She was being stripped of her pride and dignity with each strike, her once beautiful skin now marred by welts and bruises. The jeers of the crowd and the delight of the sadistic guards only added to her torment.

“Make her bleed!” a cruel voice from the crowd cried out.

Her vision grew dim and tunneled around the edges. Each strike was a new wave of stinging suffering that jolted her deeper into a near-catatonic response. In that moment, Cara's world was reduced to nothing but agony and pain. The whipping had taken everything from her, leaving her with nothing but scars and bruises to remember her punishment by. The crowd's cheers faded into the distance as Cara's consciousness slipped away, her last thoughts consumed by the memory of the relentless scourge of the flagrum.

The whipping only concluded when both of the lictors decided that it had been roughly around ten strikes from each whip from both of them. Cara was left gasping for air, her back and buttocks shredded and bleeding. The crowd jeered and cheered as the lictors finished their work, leaving Cara's broken and defeated body hanging from the whipping post.

Finally.

Finally, the scourging was over, and Cara was untied from the post by Licinius. She simply collapsed downward, into a crumpled heap of half-consciousness. After a few minutes to recover in a small pool of her own blood, the two lictors hooked under her armpits with their hands and dragged her to her knees, and then she was left to stumble over to the cross, completely defeated. The weight of it was crushing, but she somehow managed to pick it up and begin her journey, the long, slow walk towards her ultimate fate. There were no thoughts or plans to be had. There was no deeper intellectual understanding of the process. She was just an anima in pain.

She took a deep breath and started walking.

Well done

 

[prtn]

She was just playing the prophetess’ part. As long as she followed through with Yalizah’s journey step by step, no massive changes would be made to the flow of history, and survival was still possible.

This lines are surely what I would use in a google search to find stories like this one. I did't see this plot setting coming,. It is simply a brilliant idea!

The flogging and the cross chapters seems very short though, (haven't read those yet)

 

[cynthia the inocent]

The Golden Headband​

It was inevitable. How could it not be? Her path was set, her mind had been made before she had even started the journey.

It was Thursday, a few hours before noon. A few hours before her crucifixion. But it felt like her plan was no longer her own, like she had been swept away in the uncaring waves of fate. Everything she had done yesterday and the day before had led up to this. The crowd that had gathered to witness her execution was much larger than the paltry show that professor Moore had suggested. There must have been thousands of them. And they all would remember this, every one of them with a clear story of what happened, so her chances of returning home shrunk smaller with each moment.

“Hail Yalizah, the Prophetess Queen of Antioch!” the Prelate declared from his grand balcony overlooking the island on the Orontes. The crowd booed. They had come to see blood, or tits, or both. She was going to be the main event, Cara Castanga was going to be crucified.

“She is not our queen, and she is no prophet!” A man from the crowd hissed. They were more correct than they could’ve known. She was just playing the prophetess’ part. As long as she followed through with Yalizah’s journey step by step, no massive changes would be made to the flow of history, and survival was still possible.

But Thursday? It was still far too soon in the week to be nailed to the cross, much sooner than she had originally planned. Her ability to last four whole days on a cross would determine if the tether would pull her back… her chances of surviving the ordeal were just continuing to narrow.

There were many inevitabilities and many chances. Cara however was a woman who rejected all of her chances of escape, a woman who pursued a terrible end without a single hesitation. She had sealed her fate.

“Crucify her!” The crowd roared. “Crucify her!” The venomous bloodlust filled the air.

Cara was dragged into the center of the Prelate’s insula by the soldiers, her feet stumbling over the rough ground as she tried to keep up with their quick pace. She was wearing a long white toga, adorned with gold trim and intricate designs. Her blonde hair, a rare sight in the city, was styled in a thick bun held in place by a golden headband. It was just like the hairstyle she had worn when she had first arrived in the city on Monday, except she now had blunt bangs. The soldiers leered at her, taking in her expensive robes and jewelry, commenting on her rare beauty.

"Look at this one, Gaius," one of the soldiers called out to the chief executioner. "A real prize for the whipping post. I bet she's worth a pretty penny."

Gaius, a burly man with a cruel glint in his eye, approached Cara and inspected her closely. "She's a rare one, all right, Licinius," he said, running his hand over her bound golden locks. "But we can't sell her off, not when she's been sentenced to the cross. She's a traitor, you know. Conspiring against the empire."

The soldiers jeered and taunted her, calling her names like “fool’s gold” and “cumrag” and making lewd gestures. They surrounded her, their faces twisted into grotesque masks of sadistic glee and contempt. In the midst of this frenzy of cruelty, one figure stood out - a tall, muscular man, clean shaven, with thick hair that was graying on the temples, that same sadism within his eyes. Licinius. He was the lictor, and he had been tasked with flogging Cara before her crucifixion, a task he was most eager to undertake.

The soldiers began to strip Cara of her robes, tearing them from her body with rough, calloused hands. They pull off her outer tunic, revealing her thin, pale undergarments. The loincloth and the breastcloth. After a moment of mocking for not wearing a more modest stola, they tore those away as well, leaving her naked and exposed before the jeering crowd. Cara tried to cover herself with her arms, but the soldiers grabbed her wrists and tied them behind her back. The crowd whistled and catcalled as her firm breasts dropped from underneath her tunic.

Gaius, the chief executioner, approached Cara with a sly smile on his face as he examined her expensive white robes, toga, and jewelry. He knew that he would receive a good payout for the coding on these items, and he was already anticipating the thrill of stripping Cara of her fineries. “Everything, boys. But I want to see it, no nicking anything pricey.”

This was part of her plan. The inevitable began with a stripping. None of these clothes were her own, she had taken care of that. Her original clothing had all been burnt, so that not a single piece would be left in the past. Well, almost every piece; the golden headband couldn’t be burnt. Ironically, the one item of clothing that had given her the most trouble was the one that was meant to keep her safe. She knew now the true purpose hidden inside the intricate gold leaf and soft white fabric. For this reason alone she would have to find a way to keep it on her or near her.

As the soldiers continued to strip Cara, they took care to remove all of Yalizah’s jewelry - her earrings, her bracelets, her necklace, her anklets. They even removed her sandals, leaving her barefoot and vulnerable. The executioner Gauis watched with a twisted, lecherous smile, enjoying the sight of Cara's naked body. He would have her remove her final piece of jewelry herself.

“Time to take off that crown, queen,” he said, and she did not respond.

But as he reached up to remove her ornate golden headband, he noticed the enormous bun of thick, blonde hair that was held in place by the headband. Gaius had seen a few blonde women before, but he had never seen such a massive bun of hair. It was almost as wide as her head, and it shined radiantly in the morning sun. Gaius hesitated for a moment, wondering if he should leave the headband in place to preserve the beauty of Cara's hair. He knew that she would be required to wear her hair in a ponytail for the crucifixion anyways, and he didn't want to ruin the impressive bun that she had created. But then he remembered that he was the chief executioner, and that he could do as he pleased, hair and nails were just part of the show. He reached up to remove the headband.

Cara recoiled backwards, suddenly resisting far more to this final debasement than any previous stripping. "Please, Gaius," she pleaded, "I'll cooperate, do anything you want, if you just leave the headband in. My bun won't last if it's not secured tightly, and I don't want my long, thick hair cascading down my back and preventing my back from being exposed for the whip." She hoped that he enjoyed that thought.

Gaius raised an eyebrow, a sly smile spreading across his face. "Anything I want, you say?" he purred, his eyes running over her body with a lecherous gaze. "Well, I do have one request. Wrap that beautiful hair of yours around my cock to please me, and I'll leave the headband in."

Cara's eyes widened in shock and disgust. "I-I can't do that," she stammered. But she knew she had to keep her ability to tether back. "Please, Gaius, I'm begging you. Just let me keep the headband in. I promise I'll be cooperative, and take my punishment willingly."

But Gaius was not swayed by her pleas. "No, no, no. You must pay the price for your crimes," he said, the cruel glint in his eye shining. "And if that means using your hair to appease me, then so be it. Make your choice, Cara. I take the crown, or your bun belongs to me."

Cara's eyes widen in horror as Gaius makes his suggestion. She had heard stories of the depraved acts that the Roman guards were capable of, and she had hoped that she would be spared such treatment. But now it seemed that she would experience every single degradation the soldiers could dream up. Cara's stomach churned at the thought of being at the mercy of this cruel man. She knew that she had no choice but to comply, and with tears streaming down her face, she reluctantly nodded her head, and knelt on the ground, bowing her head to present her bun in the air.

As Gaius took in the beauty of her hair, Cara closed her eyes and tried to block out the sensation of his rough hands on her hair, pulling and tugging at her bun. She couldn't believe that she was being humiliated like this, but she knew that she had to endure it if she wanted to survive the crucifixion. The crowd laughed and guffawed at the bizarre development. They really were putting on a show with her.

As Gaius grabbed ahold of Cara's bun, removing her ornate headpiece he couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement and arousal. He had always been a fan of long hair, and the sight of Cara's massive blonde bun was almost too much for him to handle. He grasped and squeezed the bun tightly, feeling the soft, silky strands between his fingers. He then pressed his cock against the bun, causing Cara to gasp in surprise. Cara realizes now in totality what he was asking of her. She could feel his cock pressing against her soft bun hole, and she knew that she had no choice but to comply.

She felt a pressure on the back of her head. “You know, I was taught that a whore only had three holes.” Gaius grasped her neck and thrust her back and forth, enjoying the sensation of her silky tresses on his now fully erect penis. “But working this job long enough you discover something. A whore has as many holes as you give them.” He laughed wickedly at his own joke.

The other soldiers followed suit, pressing their cocks against Cara's cheeks and demanding that she lick and suck on them. She eagerly complied, desperate to please her tormentors. Her mane became a silken scarf wrapped around Gaius' cock, and she could feel the warm load being released into her hair.

As Gaius pulled her bun loose, he took it triumphantly, a symbol of his victory over Cara. The other soldiers began to banter, complaining that the last whore they had whipped was better. But Gaius was having none of it. He ordered them to bring the "golden haired girl" to the whipping post, and they reluctantly obeyed.

“Finally, it's my turn to treat her right; hurry up with all of the fucking hair stuff,” Licinius said

“Oh Licinius, you have no taste for the finer things, let’s let her pretty herself up before you break that pale skin of hers.”

The soldiers grabbed Cara by her now half-loosened hair and dragged her back to the whipping post, where they ordered her to redo her bun. She couldn't resist their rough hands as they yanked on her hair, pulling her head back and exposing her neck. She tried to stay calm as they forced her to undo her wrap bun, and let her thick, blonde hair fall down her back. Gaius especially took great pleasure in running his fingers through her locks, taunting her with their rough caresses.

Once her hair was completely undone, they grabbed her by the arms and forced her to gather it all together. She tried to resist, but their strong hands were too much for her. She could feel their hot breath on her neck as they leaned in close. She knew that she had no choice but to comply, so she gathered her cum-coated hair together and began to twist and wrap it around itself, creating a new bun.

When she was finished, Gaius ceremoniously handed her the golden headband and ordered her to wrap it around the bun. “A crown for a queen, just like you wanted. For is not a woman’s hair her crown? I’ve just added a few pearls, that's all.”

She did not hesitate, even knowing that this would only make her more vulnerable to their cruel hands. But she knew that she had no choice, this was part of her tether now, it had to go where she went, so she wrapped the headband around the bun, securing it in place. The experience had left her shaken. But she did not dare imagine what a painless experience that was compared to what was to come.

you can buy her if you offer enough money

 

[mp5stab]

The flogging and the cross chapters seems very short though, (haven't read those yet)

Well, the cross chapter is literally just her picking up her cross for the first time.

you can buy her if you offer enough money

They would think that, wouldn’t they?

 

[thehangingtree]

Well told and written!!!

 

[mp5stab]

Here's an updated version of that chapter, with some editing, added detail, and cleaning up. I'm actually starting to fall behind on my quota of writing, so I might space out the chapter drops a bit more. I was editing and revising the chapter right up until I posted it. Think I should've given it more time to breathe. It's always hard to make that call. The "written" part of the story is now about 44 pages in total, and I have gone through about half of those pages. I still want to see if I can end this story by the end of February, but that's looking increasingly unlikely. Anyways, here is the "corrected" version of the last chapter.

The Via Triumphalis​

Cara trudged down the colonnaded streets of Antioch, her bare feet slapping against the rough stone pavement. The weight of the heavy wooden cross seemed to pull her down with each step, and she struggled to keep it upright. The sun beat down mercilessly, baking her skin and highlighting her nudity. All around her, a jeering crowd taunted and humiliated her, treating her as the prophetess Yalizah, who had been accused of plotting against the Romans.

As she made her way through the city, Cara passed by the towering temples to Jupiter and Daphne, their gleaming marble columns and ornate carvings mocking her in her weakness. The Ceasaruem loomed ahead, a symbol of Roman power, and the crowd grew denser and more boisterous as she approached it. The Historian in her would have been stirred by such a sight, but she was now a condemned criminal, and the majesty of the buildings was now deeply imposing.

Despite her despair, Cara pressed on, following the via Triumphalis, the main street of Antioch, as it wound its way south towards the Daphne gate. The victory parade route. The irony was not lost on her. The lictors, led by Licinius, walked alongside her, occasionally striking her with their rods to keep her moving.

The city itself was laid out beautifully, it was the jewel of the Roman East. After a contentious few years, a the new emperor Vespasian had finally regained some proper control after Nero’s hasty suicide and the two years of chaos that followed that. The reforms had not made it back into this part of the empire in their totality, but the newfound stability had a positive effect. This was Roman Antioch at close to its wealthiest.

As she stumbled down the street, Cara was surrounded by the towering buildings of the city, their balconies and windows filled with onlookers. Some jeered and hurled insults, while others simply watched in silent disgust. But she kept her head down, focusing only on putting one foot in front of the other.

"Look at that traitor whore! Deserves to be crucified for her crimes!" a woman shouted from one of the balconies.

“Jewish witch! Not even worth the denari as a comfort slave!” another yelled

The Jewish Rebellion was at its height, and Antioch was only truly safe for those who were Hellenized. The Jews blended in as best as they could, but their strict dress and stricter law kept them separate in the minds of the Greek-speaking elites. Word of the Jewish prophetess had spread, and while not fitting the traditional role of the Mosiach, the man from the Line of David who would defeat the Romans, and be anointed king, most of the citizens viewed the mystery cult of Yalizah as a threat to the stability that had been so hard fought for. On her way to the Daphne gate, she had to walk past one of the Jewish neighborhoods.

“She is no Jew!” a voice from the crowd yelled.

“Look at her, a whore for lesser gods, consorting with orcales. She should suffer for her sins!” another said. Rejected by her own people, cast aside as a scapegoat.
The atmosphere in Antioch was tense and dangerous, as the Jews were seen by many as supporters of the rebellion and targets for retaliation. Anti-Jewish sentiment was rampant. But this hardly mattered to Cara now, she was just going to be another anonymous Jewish woman crucified during this war.

The weight of the cross seemed to increase with each step. Cara was nearly broken, but she pushed on, driven by some base instinct to… just move forward. And as she finally passed through the Daphne gate, she, for the briefest moment, looked back at the city one last time, a fitful glance with her head, her heart heavy with despair. She would not survive four days, 32 separate watches. Even with her neural lace keeping her conscious, she did not think it was possible. As she made her way down the road, the crowds gradually increased, eager to see the woman in agony. She was exhausted, both physically and emotionally, and her heart felt heavy with the weight of her journey.

As the sun stretched towards its noonday height, Cara struggled up the rocky Achewood hill, just beyond the gate of Daphne, her bare feet stumbling on the rough terrain. This was just beyond where she had met Agatha in her final hours. Her only garment was a golden headband that was holding her enormous chestnut bun, which was tied tightly and neatly on top of her head as her bangs whipped about her face as she walked. The golden headband glimmered in the sunlight, providing a stark contrast to the stark, rocky landscape.


"Hey, is that a gold headband in her hair? How vain!" a woman jeered. “I’m glad they are showing that little whore some Roman justice.”
“Hellenized bitch! You couldn’t even show that jewelry off if you were wearing a proper hair covering.” Another added.

She was dragging her cross behind her, the rough wooden beam scraping along the gravel as she climbed. The weight of the cross was heavy, and she could feel her arms straining as she lugged it up the hill. Her hair was a mess, covered in cum, and already loosened from the journey, and her body was slick with sweat.

As she finally crested the hill, she saw two women already crucified at the top. The young redhead on the left cross was a vision of beauty, with fiery curls that bounced and rippled with each shallow breath she took. Her hair was a deep, vibrant red, like a fiery sunset, and it looked soft and silky to the touch. It was tied into a long ponytail with white twine, and it cascaded down her back in a wave of shimmering red.

It was that redhead. The thief at the market. Cara had, in some small way, done this to her. She shivered at the thought. Cara was finally able to let out a long, ragged sigh, so this is what happened. This was her fate.

The brunette on the right was a more voluptuous woman, with full breasts and with curvy hips. Her long, flowing locks tumbled down her shoulders to the top of her butt dimples also in a thick ponytail tied with white twine. Her hair was a rich, dark brown, with hints of gold and red shining through in the sunlight. It looked thick and healthy, with a natural wave that gave it a voluminous and sensual appearance.

Cara struggled to lug her cross upward as she approached the top of the hill, gazing towards them in terror. It was a sight from the past of her future. Her desires had led her right to this horror. They were both secured to T-shaped crosses that held their bodies up only a few feet from the dirt. The redhead was slender and petite, with a delicate figure and a soft, feminine grace. She was in agony, tears streaming down her face as she cried out in pain on her cross. The brunette was more stoic, gritting her teeth and groaning on the cross. Her curves were generous, her breasts full, and her body was slick with sweat. She was the picture of strength and resilience, even as she was crucified and suffering.

She couldn’t carry the heavy cross any more, and she collapsed, her cross falling down beside her. As she lay there, Cara felt a strange sense of comfort as she looked at the two women, who were so different yet so alike in their agony. She understood their pain, for she too was about to experience it for herself. She stood there for a moment, basking in the sun and taking in the sight of the two crucified women. They were a symbol of the horrors of this time and place, and yet they were also a symbol of strength and resilience.
The guards approached with whips, but they knew she wasn’t about to resist. With a deep breath, Cara picked up her cross again and prepared to join the women on the hill, to endure the same suffering that they were undergoing. She was ready for her own crucifixion, and she was ready to embrace the pain and the beauty of it all. She was a gnostic Simon of Cyrene, taking the place of a phony prophet, stumbling helplessly towards a painful death. But she had chosen this.