Zephirantes
Magistrate
A crux vignette smeared in white
The sun was scorching as it beat down on my naked body, sweat running in rivulets down my chest, pooling in the creases of my skin. I could feel the heat of it, mixing with the pounding of my heart, my pulse loud in my ears. The crowd was watching—hundreds of eyes on us, on me—and I could barely catch my breath.
Lucius and Darius were already being hoisted onto their crosses, their toned bodies stretched out, trembling, glistening under the weight of their suffering. And yet, through their gasps and moans, something else was clear: they were still hard. Their cocks stood erect, throbbing despite the pain, despite the certainty of their slow, brutal deaths. I could feel it too—that strange, electric thrill building in my gut, my own cock stiffening as I watched them nailed in place, exposed for all to see.
“Gods,” I muttered to myself, glancing down at my own body, my erection already pulsing with heat. “Look at us... still fucking hard.”
A soldier grabbed me roughly, forcing me to the ground, my back pressed against the rough wood of my own cross. My heart raced, and I couldn't stop my eyes from flickering over to Darius, already writhing on his cross, his face twisted in pain, but his cock still hard, twitching with every gasp.
I couldn’t help it. I was next, and I knew I’d suffer—knew the nails would tear through my flesh, knew I’d hang there for days, naked and broken. But in that moment, the thrill of being watched, of knowing that every single person here would see everything... it was overwhelming.
My hand found its way down to my cock, fingers wrapping around my shaft, slick with sweat. I felt the rush of it immediately, the heat rising in my chest as I stroked myself, slow at first, just trying to savor the feeling before the nails would pierce through me. I wasn’t just a prisoner anymore, wasn’t just a man waiting to die—I was putting on a fucking show.
“They’re watching us, Lucius,” I groaned, my breath quickening as I worked my cock harder, faster. “Watching every inch of us. Naked, dying... and still hard. Fucking still hard.”
I could feel the pressure building, my body trembling under the weight of my own arousal. My breath hitched, and I looked up at Lucius as they nailed him to his cross. His body jerked with every strike of the hammer, but even then, his cock remained stiff, throbbing in the sunlight.
“Marcellus, what are you doing?” Lucius gasped through the pain, his voice strained, but his eyes wide as he saw what I was doing—what I was about to do.
I groaned, my hand pumping faster now, the crowd watching, silent, fixated. The soldiers didn’t even care. I was about to be crucified, and here I was, jerking myself off in front of all of them. I didn’t care. I wanted them to see. I wanted them to watch me cum, to watch me spill my seed before they nailed me up like the rest.
“I can’t... I can’t help it!” I gasped, feeling the heat rising to a fever pitch. “Look at us! They’re watching everything! I want them to see this!”
And then it hit me—hard, fast, a rush of pleasure so intense I almost blacked out. My body jerked, muscles tightening, and with a final, desperate groan, I came. Hot, thick cum spurted across my chest, streaking down my belly, glistening in the sun. I gasped for breath, my cock still throbbing in my hand as I milked the last of it, my body trembling with the aftershocks of my orgasm.
I looked down at myself, covered in my own cum, my chest heaving, and I laughed. It was a weak, hoarse sound, but I laughed anyway. “They’ll remember this,” I whispered to myself. “They’ll remember me like this. Naked, hard... covered in my own cum.”
But the moment was short-lived. The soldiers grabbed me, forcing my arms back against the wood. My wrists burned as they pulled them tight, and before I could even catch my breath, I felt the cold metal of the nail pressing against my skin. I tensed, every muscle in my body screaming in anticipation, my chest still streaked with the evidence of my pleasure.
“Fuck,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “This is it.”
The hammer came down, and the pain was immediate, sharp and brutal as the nail drove through my wrist. I screamed, my body arching against the wood, but even then, my cock remained half-hard, twitching as the agony ripped through me. The soldiers paid no mind to the cum still glistening on my skin, their focus only on fastening me to the cross, making sure I would stay up there for days, suffering.
Another nail through my other wrist, and I thought I’d pass out from the pain. My body convulsed, jerking against the cross as I tried to breathe through the shock of it. But I couldn’t. My chest heaved, my legs kicking as they lifted me up, my arms stretching painfully as they raised the cross into place. My feet were nailed last, the final burst of agony searing through me, and all I could do was hang there, gasping, my body twitching involuntarily with the pain.
And yet... through it all, I could still feel it. The arousal. The thrill of being seen. The crowd watched, their eyes drinking in every inch of my exposed, broken body. My chest, still marked with the remnants of my orgasm, my cock twitching as I hung there, nailed and helpless.
“They’re watching... they’re still watching,” I muttered to myself, barely able to form the words. “They’ll remember this... they’ll remember me.”
Beside me, Lucius groaned in his own pain, his body trembling as he hung on his cross. “You... you fucking did it, didn’t you?” he gasped, his voice hoarse. “You came before they nailed you up.”
I managed a weak smile, my head lolling to the side as I stared at him. “Yeah... yeah, I did. They’ll see it all. My pain... my cum... everything.”
Lucius shook his head, grimacing through the pain, but there was a strange look of understanding in his eyes. “We’re giving them a fucking show, Marcellus. They’ll never forget.”
And he was right. They wouldn’t. We’d die here, slowly, agonizingly, but they’d remember us—naked, hard, covered in cum, suffering, but still alive in those final, twisted moments.
I closed my eyes, the pain overwhelming, but in the back of my mind, that thrill remained. I was exposed, nailed, and on display for all to see, and a small part of me reveled in it. I’d die like this—hard, broken, but seen.
And in the end, maybe that’s all I ever wanted.
-
The sun beats down on my body, scorching my skin as I hang here, exposed for everyone to see. My chest is still slick with cum, my own fucking cum, and I can hear them—the crowd. They're pointing, laughing. Someone shouts, "Look at him! Cum-streaked like a death-slut!" The words hit me, but I don’t even care anymore. Hell, maybe I am a death-slut. Naked, hanging up here for everyone to gawk at while I slowly die. And the worst part? I liked it. I still like it.
Darius and Lucius are beside me, their bodies trembling on their own crosses. Darius, always the joker, even now manages to laugh, his voice rough and strained. "Did you really... jerk off to us suffering? You little pervert!" I can’t help but grin, despite the pain shooting through my wrists, through every inch of me. Yeah, I did. I got off to their suffering, and now I’m the one suffering. The irony isn't lost on me.
Lucius joins in, his voice hoarse from the strain. "You came watching us squirm... and you're the one they call the death-slut!"
I laugh, even though it hurts. "I couldn’t help it," I manage to say through the pain, still grinning. "You guys looked so... fucking hot up there, dying like that." And it’s true. The sight of their naked bodies, writhing in agony, their cocks hard even as they were being nailed up—it did something to me. I don’t know why, but I got off on it. Watching them suffer, knowing I’d be next... it made me want to cum.
Lucius groans, but there's a smile on his face too. "What a fucking show, huh? Three guys hanging naked, hard, and dying. The crowd's getting their money’s worth today."
Yeah, the crowd. I can feel their eyes on me, on us. They're watching every little detail—my cum-smeared chest, my cock still twitching, Darius gasping for breath, Lucius's body jerking every time he shifts. We’re giving them a fucking performance, a spectacle they’ll never forget. And somehow, knowing that just makes me feel... I don’t know. Alive, in a fucked-up kind of way.
Then, from somewhere in the crowd, someone shouts, "Impale them! Stick wooden poles right up their asses!"
The words send a cold shiver through me. I mean, the nails are bad enough—every breath is agony, every second a new wave of pain. But being impaled? Right through the ass? I should be terrified, and I am, but... there’s something else. A weird, sick thrill. My mind, twisted as it is, goes there immediately. If they shove a stake up my ass, deep enough to hit my prostate... will it make me cum again?
I can feel my pulse quickening at the thought. My mouth is dry, but I manage to whisper, "Do you think... the stake will make me cum again?" I know it's a messed-up thing to ask, but fuck it, I’m already hanging here, dying in front of everyone. What’s one more twisted thought?
Darius, despite everything, laughs. "Fuck, Marcellus... only you would wonder if getting impaled would get you off." He’s right, of course. I’m the one who came in front of everyone, the one who couldn’t wait to get nailed up before I blew my load.
Lucius shakes his head, but he’s grinning through the pain. "You really are a death-slut."
Maybe I am. I’ve accepted it now. I’m hanging here, exposed, broken, but still... part of me wants more. The thought of a wooden stake forcing its way into me, pounding my prostate, making me cum again right here, in front of everyone... the idea twists my stomach, but at the same time, it sends a jolt of excitement through me. I want it. I want to feel that last rush of pleasure before everything fades away.
I let out a shaky breath, my chest still burning with every movement. "Maybe... they'll give me that stake," I whisper, half to myself. It’s a fucked-up thought, but it’s the only thing I can cling to right now. One last chance to feel alive, to turn this agony into something else. Something I can own, just like I did when I came in front of everyone.
through the pain, that strange, twisted excitement still lingers. The thought of being impaled, of a thick wooden pole being shoved deep inside me, hitting all the right spots... it keeps my mind from slipping away completely.
I can hear the crowd still talking, still throwing insults and suggestions. They’re watching everything—my naked body, the sweat and cum still clinging to my skin, the way I tremble in pain, and they want more. They want to see us suffer in ways even I didn’t imagine when I got here.
Lucius coughs beside me, his body jerking from the strain, but he’s still got that smirk on his face. “You really think they’ll do it, Marcellus? Shove that stake up your ass?” His voice is rough, strained, but there’s a hint of dark amusement there. “Wouldn’t surprise me. You’d probably cum again, wouldn’t you?”
I let out a weak laugh, even though it feels like my lungs are on fire. “I don’t know,” I rasp, my voice barely above a whisper. “But if they do... I hope it’s a hard one. Maybe it’ll hit something inside me. Give me one last good fuck before I’m done.”
Darius grins through his pain, shaking his head. “You really are something else, Marcellus. Here we are, dying slow, painful deaths, and all you can think about is whether you’ll get off again.”
I don’t even deny it. “What else is there, Darius?” I manage, the words catching in my throat. “We’re already fucked. Might as well enjoy the ride, right?”
And in a way, I believe that. There’s no escaping this—no quick death, no mercy. Just pain, exposure, and the eyes of the crowd fixed on me, waiting for something even more twisted to happen. The stake, the impaling—it’s just another part of the show. Another way to stretch out our suffering, to make it something unforgettable. And if it happens, if they shove that pole deep inside me... maybe I’ll find some sick satisfaction in it. Maybe I’ll cum again, in front of everyone, marking myself one last time before the end.
I look out at the crowd, seeing their eager faces, their hungry eyes devouring every moment of our agony. “Maybe... maybe this is what I’m meant for,” I whisper to myself, my vision blurring slightly from the heat and the pain. “To die like this. To give them a fucking show.”
Lucius lets out a pained groan, his head lolling to the side as he looks at me. “We’re all part of the show, Marcellus. That’s the point. They came to see us die.” He grits his teeth, wincing as he shifts his weight on the cross. “Might as well give them what they want.”
I nod, my body trembling. He’s right. We’re here to die, to suffer, to be put on display. And in that twisted, agonizing reality, I find a strange kind of peace. Maybe I’ll get impaled, maybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll cum again, maybe I won’t. But no matter what, the crowd will remember me—us—naked, exposed, dying, and still clinging to the last shreds of pleasure even as the pain takes us over.
-
As I hang there, my body trembling from the strain of the nails and the weight of my own flesh, I barely notice the guards approaching. My mind is spinning with pain and that strange, erotic thrill. But then I feel it—a sharp, cold pressure against my ass. My heart races, my breath catching in my throat as the reality of it hits me. They’re really going to do it.
The crowd’s murmurs grow louder, a mix of shock, excitement, and cruel curiosity. My muscles tense involuntarily as the tip of the wooden stake presses against my sphincter. It’s gentle at first, almost teasing, but it sends a jolt through my body that makes my cock twitch. "Fuck," I gasp, my voice barely audible as I hang there, helpless. I’m not sure if it's fear or anticipation—or both—but I can feel my pulse pounding in my ears as the guards start to push.
Slowly, carefully, they impale me. The stake pushes deeper into my ass, inch by inch, and I can feel every bit of it. My body arches involuntarily as it stretches me, filling me in a way that’s almost unbearable. But I don’t scream. I don’t beg. Instead, my breathing grows heavier, ragged, as they begin to fuck me with it—slowly at first, sliding the rough wood in and out of my tight hole. The crowd cheers as they watch, eager for every thrust.
"They're... they're fucking your ass, Marcellus," Darius groans from his cross, his voice thick with arousal despite the agony etched on his face. I glance over at him and Lucius, both of them watching intently as the guards pound my prostate with the stake. Their bodies shudder with excitement, their cocks twitching in response to the brutal display in front of them.
I can feel it now—every movement of the stake rubbing against my prostate, each thrust sending shockwaves through my body. My cock, still hard despite everything, twitches with every stroke. I bite my lip, trying to hold back the moan building in my throat, but I can’t. "Fuck... fuck..." I groan, my voice breaking. It feels too good, even through the pain. It’s like my body is betraying me, clinging to pleasure even in the face of death.
The guards pick up their pace, pushing the stake deeper, harder, fucking me relentlessly. My body jerks with every thrust, my muscles tight, my heart racing as that familiar pressure builds inside me again. I can't believe it, but I know what’s coming—what’s about to happen.
My cock throbs painfully, still rock hard, and I feel the pleasure rising, overwhelming the agony. "Fuck, I’m gonna..." I whisper to myself, barely able to get the words out as the guards fuck my ass harder, slamming the stake into my prostate. And then it hits me—hard. My cock spasms, and with a desperate groan, I cum again, spurting thick ropes of cum all over my chest, streaking my belly once more.
For a brief, glorious moment, I feel... proud. Proud that I could still find that twisted pleasure, that I could cum one last time, even as I’m being tortured, impaled, and dying. The crowd roars with approval, their cheers deafening as they watch me shoot my load all over myself, naked, broken, but still somehow owning the moment.
But before I can even catch my breath, the guards move quickly. One of them grabs my still-cum-stained scrotum, and I feel the sharp, cold press of a nail against the tender skin of my balls. "No... no..." I mutter weakly, but they don't stop. The hammer comes down, driving the nail through my scrotum with brutal efficiency.
The pain is blinding. I scream this time, my voice hoarse and broken, my body jerking violently on the cross. But even through the haze of agony, I feel my cock still twitching, still hard, still coated in my own cum. The nail through my balls feels like a final farewell—a cruel, twisted gift as I hang there, exposed, dying, but still alive in some sick way.
I’m bleeding, my body broken and cum-streaked, but my cock stands erect, proof that I’m still having some kind of fucked-up fun on my way out. My chest heaves with shallow breaths, my vision swimming, but I can’t help but feel... sexy. My toned body, glistening with sweat and cum, stretched out for all to see. I’m suffering, I’m dying, but I’m still putting on a show. And the crowd? They’re eating it up.
As the pain pulls me deeper into darkness, I smile weakly. My beautiful, toned body, dying, exposed, covered in my own cum. Is it the final performance I always secretly craved?
The sun was scorching as it beat down on my naked body, sweat running in rivulets down my chest, pooling in the creases of my skin. I could feel the heat of it, mixing with the pounding of my heart, my pulse loud in my ears. The crowd was watching—hundreds of eyes on us, on me—and I could barely catch my breath.
Lucius and Darius were already being hoisted onto their crosses, their toned bodies stretched out, trembling, glistening under the weight of their suffering. And yet, through their gasps and moans, something else was clear: they were still hard. Their cocks stood erect, throbbing despite the pain, despite the certainty of their slow, brutal deaths. I could feel it too—that strange, electric thrill building in my gut, my own cock stiffening as I watched them nailed in place, exposed for all to see.
“Gods,” I muttered to myself, glancing down at my own body, my erection already pulsing with heat. “Look at us... still fucking hard.”
A soldier grabbed me roughly, forcing me to the ground, my back pressed against the rough wood of my own cross. My heart raced, and I couldn't stop my eyes from flickering over to Darius, already writhing on his cross, his face twisted in pain, but his cock still hard, twitching with every gasp.
I couldn’t help it. I was next, and I knew I’d suffer—knew the nails would tear through my flesh, knew I’d hang there for days, naked and broken. But in that moment, the thrill of being watched, of knowing that every single person here would see everything... it was overwhelming.
My hand found its way down to my cock, fingers wrapping around my shaft, slick with sweat. I felt the rush of it immediately, the heat rising in my chest as I stroked myself, slow at first, just trying to savor the feeling before the nails would pierce through me. I wasn’t just a prisoner anymore, wasn’t just a man waiting to die—I was putting on a fucking show.
“They’re watching us, Lucius,” I groaned, my breath quickening as I worked my cock harder, faster. “Watching every inch of us. Naked, dying... and still hard. Fucking still hard.”
I could feel the pressure building, my body trembling under the weight of my own arousal. My breath hitched, and I looked up at Lucius as they nailed him to his cross. His body jerked with every strike of the hammer, but even then, his cock remained stiff, throbbing in the sunlight.
“Marcellus, what are you doing?” Lucius gasped through the pain, his voice strained, but his eyes wide as he saw what I was doing—what I was about to do.
I groaned, my hand pumping faster now, the crowd watching, silent, fixated. The soldiers didn’t even care. I was about to be crucified, and here I was, jerking myself off in front of all of them. I didn’t care. I wanted them to see. I wanted them to watch me cum, to watch me spill my seed before they nailed me up like the rest.
“I can’t... I can’t help it!” I gasped, feeling the heat rising to a fever pitch. “Look at us! They’re watching everything! I want them to see this!”
And then it hit me—hard, fast, a rush of pleasure so intense I almost blacked out. My body jerked, muscles tightening, and with a final, desperate groan, I came. Hot, thick cum spurted across my chest, streaking down my belly, glistening in the sun. I gasped for breath, my cock still throbbing in my hand as I milked the last of it, my body trembling with the aftershocks of my orgasm.
I looked down at myself, covered in my own cum, my chest heaving, and I laughed. It was a weak, hoarse sound, but I laughed anyway. “They’ll remember this,” I whispered to myself. “They’ll remember me like this. Naked, hard... covered in my own cum.”
But the moment was short-lived. The soldiers grabbed me, forcing my arms back against the wood. My wrists burned as they pulled them tight, and before I could even catch my breath, I felt the cold metal of the nail pressing against my skin. I tensed, every muscle in my body screaming in anticipation, my chest still streaked with the evidence of my pleasure.
“Fuck,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “This is it.”
The hammer came down, and the pain was immediate, sharp and brutal as the nail drove through my wrist. I screamed, my body arching against the wood, but even then, my cock remained half-hard, twitching as the agony ripped through me. The soldiers paid no mind to the cum still glistening on my skin, their focus only on fastening me to the cross, making sure I would stay up there for days, suffering.
Another nail through my other wrist, and I thought I’d pass out from the pain. My body convulsed, jerking against the cross as I tried to breathe through the shock of it. But I couldn’t. My chest heaved, my legs kicking as they lifted me up, my arms stretching painfully as they raised the cross into place. My feet were nailed last, the final burst of agony searing through me, and all I could do was hang there, gasping, my body twitching involuntarily with the pain.
And yet... through it all, I could still feel it. The arousal. The thrill of being seen. The crowd watched, their eyes drinking in every inch of my exposed, broken body. My chest, still marked with the remnants of my orgasm, my cock twitching as I hung there, nailed and helpless.
“They’re watching... they’re still watching,” I muttered to myself, barely able to form the words. “They’ll remember this... they’ll remember me.”
Beside me, Lucius groaned in his own pain, his body trembling as he hung on his cross. “You... you fucking did it, didn’t you?” he gasped, his voice hoarse. “You came before they nailed you up.”
I managed a weak smile, my head lolling to the side as I stared at him. “Yeah... yeah, I did. They’ll see it all. My pain... my cum... everything.”
Lucius shook his head, grimacing through the pain, but there was a strange look of understanding in his eyes. “We’re giving them a fucking show, Marcellus. They’ll never forget.”
And he was right. They wouldn’t. We’d die here, slowly, agonizingly, but they’d remember us—naked, hard, covered in cum, suffering, but still alive in those final, twisted moments.
I closed my eyes, the pain overwhelming, but in the back of my mind, that thrill remained. I was exposed, nailed, and on display for all to see, and a small part of me reveled in it. I’d die like this—hard, broken, but seen.
And in the end, maybe that’s all I ever wanted.
-
The sun beats down on my body, scorching my skin as I hang here, exposed for everyone to see. My chest is still slick with cum, my own fucking cum, and I can hear them—the crowd. They're pointing, laughing. Someone shouts, "Look at him! Cum-streaked like a death-slut!" The words hit me, but I don’t even care anymore. Hell, maybe I am a death-slut. Naked, hanging up here for everyone to gawk at while I slowly die. And the worst part? I liked it. I still like it.
Darius and Lucius are beside me, their bodies trembling on their own crosses. Darius, always the joker, even now manages to laugh, his voice rough and strained. "Did you really... jerk off to us suffering? You little pervert!" I can’t help but grin, despite the pain shooting through my wrists, through every inch of me. Yeah, I did. I got off to their suffering, and now I’m the one suffering. The irony isn't lost on me.
Lucius joins in, his voice hoarse from the strain. "You came watching us squirm... and you're the one they call the death-slut!"
I laugh, even though it hurts. "I couldn’t help it," I manage to say through the pain, still grinning. "You guys looked so... fucking hot up there, dying like that." And it’s true. The sight of their naked bodies, writhing in agony, their cocks hard even as they were being nailed up—it did something to me. I don’t know why, but I got off on it. Watching them suffer, knowing I’d be next... it made me want to cum.
Lucius groans, but there's a smile on his face too. "What a fucking show, huh? Three guys hanging naked, hard, and dying. The crowd's getting their money’s worth today."
Yeah, the crowd. I can feel their eyes on me, on us. They're watching every little detail—my cum-smeared chest, my cock still twitching, Darius gasping for breath, Lucius's body jerking every time he shifts. We’re giving them a fucking performance, a spectacle they’ll never forget. And somehow, knowing that just makes me feel... I don’t know. Alive, in a fucked-up kind of way.
Then, from somewhere in the crowd, someone shouts, "Impale them! Stick wooden poles right up their asses!"
The words send a cold shiver through me. I mean, the nails are bad enough—every breath is agony, every second a new wave of pain. But being impaled? Right through the ass? I should be terrified, and I am, but... there’s something else. A weird, sick thrill. My mind, twisted as it is, goes there immediately. If they shove a stake up my ass, deep enough to hit my prostate... will it make me cum again?
I can feel my pulse quickening at the thought. My mouth is dry, but I manage to whisper, "Do you think... the stake will make me cum again?" I know it's a messed-up thing to ask, but fuck it, I’m already hanging here, dying in front of everyone. What’s one more twisted thought?
Darius, despite everything, laughs. "Fuck, Marcellus... only you would wonder if getting impaled would get you off." He’s right, of course. I’m the one who came in front of everyone, the one who couldn’t wait to get nailed up before I blew my load.
Lucius shakes his head, but he’s grinning through the pain. "You really are a death-slut."
Maybe I am. I’ve accepted it now. I’m hanging here, exposed, broken, but still... part of me wants more. The thought of a wooden stake forcing its way into me, pounding my prostate, making me cum again right here, in front of everyone... the idea twists my stomach, but at the same time, it sends a jolt of excitement through me. I want it. I want to feel that last rush of pleasure before everything fades away.
I let out a shaky breath, my chest still burning with every movement. "Maybe... they'll give me that stake," I whisper, half to myself. It’s a fucked-up thought, but it’s the only thing I can cling to right now. One last chance to feel alive, to turn this agony into something else. Something I can own, just like I did when I came in front of everyone.
through the pain, that strange, twisted excitement still lingers. The thought of being impaled, of a thick wooden pole being shoved deep inside me, hitting all the right spots... it keeps my mind from slipping away completely.
I can hear the crowd still talking, still throwing insults and suggestions. They’re watching everything—my naked body, the sweat and cum still clinging to my skin, the way I tremble in pain, and they want more. They want to see us suffer in ways even I didn’t imagine when I got here.
Lucius coughs beside me, his body jerking from the strain, but he’s still got that smirk on his face. “You really think they’ll do it, Marcellus? Shove that stake up your ass?” His voice is rough, strained, but there’s a hint of dark amusement there. “Wouldn’t surprise me. You’d probably cum again, wouldn’t you?”
I let out a weak laugh, even though it feels like my lungs are on fire. “I don’t know,” I rasp, my voice barely above a whisper. “But if they do... I hope it’s a hard one. Maybe it’ll hit something inside me. Give me one last good fuck before I’m done.”
Darius grins through his pain, shaking his head. “You really are something else, Marcellus. Here we are, dying slow, painful deaths, and all you can think about is whether you’ll get off again.”
I don’t even deny it. “What else is there, Darius?” I manage, the words catching in my throat. “We’re already fucked. Might as well enjoy the ride, right?”
And in a way, I believe that. There’s no escaping this—no quick death, no mercy. Just pain, exposure, and the eyes of the crowd fixed on me, waiting for something even more twisted to happen. The stake, the impaling—it’s just another part of the show. Another way to stretch out our suffering, to make it something unforgettable. And if it happens, if they shove that pole deep inside me... maybe I’ll find some sick satisfaction in it. Maybe I’ll cum again, in front of everyone, marking myself one last time before the end.
I look out at the crowd, seeing their eager faces, their hungry eyes devouring every moment of our agony. “Maybe... maybe this is what I’m meant for,” I whisper to myself, my vision blurring slightly from the heat and the pain. “To die like this. To give them a fucking show.”
Lucius lets out a pained groan, his head lolling to the side as he looks at me. “We’re all part of the show, Marcellus. That’s the point. They came to see us die.” He grits his teeth, wincing as he shifts his weight on the cross. “Might as well give them what they want.”
I nod, my body trembling. He’s right. We’re here to die, to suffer, to be put on display. And in that twisted, agonizing reality, I find a strange kind of peace. Maybe I’ll get impaled, maybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll cum again, maybe I won’t. But no matter what, the crowd will remember me—us—naked, exposed, dying, and still clinging to the last shreds of pleasure even as the pain takes us over.
-
As I hang there, my body trembling from the strain of the nails and the weight of my own flesh, I barely notice the guards approaching. My mind is spinning with pain and that strange, erotic thrill. But then I feel it—a sharp, cold pressure against my ass. My heart races, my breath catching in my throat as the reality of it hits me. They’re really going to do it.
The crowd’s murmurs grow louder, a mix of shock, excitement, and cruel curiosity. My muscles tense involuntarily as the tip of the wooden stake presses against my sphincter. It’s gentle at first, almost teasing, but it sends a jolt through my body that makes my cock twitch. "Fuck," I gasp, my voice barely audible as I hang there, helpless. I’m not sure if it's fear or anticipation—or both—but I can feel my pulse pounding in my ears as the guards start to push.
Slowly, carefully, they impale me. The stake pushes deeper into my ass, inch by inch, and I can feel every bit of it. My body arches involuntarily as it stretches me, filling me in a way that’s almost unbearable. But I don’t scream. I don’t beg. Instead, my breathing grows heavier, ragged, as they begin to fuck me with it—slowly at first, sliding the rough wood in and out of my tight hole. The crowd cheers as they watch, eager for every thrust.
"They're... they're fucking your ass, Marcellus," Darius groans from his cross, his voice thick with arousal despite the agony etched on his face. I glance over at him and Lucius, both of them watching intently as the guards pound my prostate with the stake. Their bodies shudder with excitement, their cocks twitching in response to the brutal display in front of them.
I can feel it now—every movement of the stake rubbing against my prostate, each thrust sending shockwaves through my body. My cock, still hard despite everything, twitches with every stroke. I bite my lip, trying to hold back the moan building in my throat, but I can’t. "Fuck... fuck..." I groan, my voice breaking. It feels too good, even through the pain. It’s like my body is betraying me, clinging to pleasure even in the face of death.
The guards pick up their pace, pushing the stake deeper, harder, fucking me relentlessly. My body jerks with every thrust, my muscles tight, my heart racing as that familiar pressure builds inside me again. I can't believe it, but I know what’s coming—what’s about to happen.
My cock throbs painfully, still rock hard, and I feel the pleasure rising, overwhelming the agony. "Fuck, I’m gonna..." I whisper to myself, barely able to get the words out as the guards fuck my ass harder, slamming the stake into my prostate. And then it hits me—hard. My cock spasms, and with a desperate groan, I cum again, spurting thick ropes of cum all over my chest, streaking my belly once more.
For a brief, glorious moment, I feel... proud. Proud that I could still find that twisted pleasure, that I could cum one last time, even as I’m being tortured, impaled, and dying. The crowd roars with approval, their cheers deafening as they watch me shoot my load all over myself, naked, broken, but still somehow owning the moment.
But before I can even catch my breath, the guards move quickly. One of them grabs my still-cum-stained scrotum, and I feel the sharp, cold press of a nail against the tender skin of my balls. "No... no..." I mutter weakly, but they don't stop. The hammer comes down, driving the nail through my scrotum with brutal efficiency.
The pain is blinding. I scream this time, my voice hoarse and broken, my body jerking violently on the cross. But even through the haze of agony, I feel my cock still twitching, still hard, still coated in my own cum. The nail through my balls feels like a final farewell—a cruel, twisted gift as I hang there, exposed, dying, but still alive in some sick way.
I’m bleeding, my body broken and cum-streaked, but my cock stands erect, proof that I’m still having some kind of fucked-up fun on my way out. My chest heaves with shallow breaths, my vision swimming, but I can’t help but feel... sexy. My toned body, glistening with sweat and cum, stretched out for all to see. I’m suffering, I’m dying, but I’m still putting on a show. And the crowd? They’re eating it up.
As the pain pulls me deeper into darkness, I smile weakly. My beautiful, toned body, dying, exposed, covered in my own cum. Is it the final performance I always secretly craved?