Cycle
Guard
Confessions
by Cycle
Finally, a day off and the sun is actually shining. I don’t get too many of these, days off with sunshine. When I do get one, I like my time on the deck. Thanks to the trees, I can enjoy that deck time with my favorite, au natural, sunshine attire. I love living in the modern, digital world. But sometimes I think I’d rather have lived in the day when clothing was truly optional.
Sitting here, I look down at my pale, pathetically thin arms. I look at my hands and wonder what it would feel like with a nail driven through my wrists and into a cross. I then look down at my thin legs and my long, narrow feet. I put one foot over the other, like they would be before they’d be nailed to a cross.
As I look at my wrists and my feet, my mind wanders back to the day someone like me looked up at the same sun I was looking at. While I’m looking at the sun shining down on my pale, pathetically thin body, I realize that same pale, pathetically thin person was looking at their wrists too. Only they were looking at their wrists in horror, the moment before a nail penetrated the flesh just below the heel of the hand. The years and miles melt away …
Laying on my back, I already feel my skin begin to sizzle in the noon day sun. A guard, three times my size is sitting on my chest. I can’t move. I can barely breath. Looking to my right, I watch as my arm is stretched along a heavy plank of wood. A gloved hand presses my hand firmly against the wood. Another hand positions a heavy, iron nail just above the heel of my hand.
I’d seen crucifixion before. I knew what would be next.
I look away just as the heavy mallet connects with the head of the nail. I’d often wondered what it would feel like as the nail entered my flesh. The answer came as swift as a lightning bolt. The most intense pain I’d ever felt shot up my arm, then down my spine to my to that magic spot between my legs. Looking down, I was shocked, then embarrassed to see myself aroused as the torture that would lead to my death began. The pain quickly traveled back up my spine to my brain which exploded in white hot stars.
I must have passed out, because I never felt the nail going into my other wrist. The next thing I knew, I my body was rising into the air. I opened my eyes. A small group of onlookers was watching as I rose. Was I already dead? Was I ascending to heaven? That wasn’t so bad I thought to myself. Looking out, the small crowd’s heads continues to rise as my body ascended to the clouds.
Then I stopped. I looked out at the crowd. Everyone was holding their breath. I suddenly felt my body begin to drop. Had I been rejected by God? Was I being sent to Hell? The trip down was a lot shorter than my trip up. After just a few seconds I knew I wasn’t in heaven or hell. The guards were only hauling my body to the top of the post to drop the cross plank into place.
Every joint in my body snapped violently as my nailed wrists took the full force of my body’s downward momentum. Pain shot through my arms and stabbed my shoulders and chest. As my chin snapped against my chest, I saw my legs kicking from side to side, looking for anything to stand on. To my shame, the last bit of dirty cloth that covered my body remained stiffly horizontal as I was still very much aroused by the torturous death I had begun.
The guards left me to hang by my wrists as they attended to another victim. I was desperate to receive the pressure on my wrists and shoulders. Almost immediately, I felt my chest tightening as simple breathing became difficult. Looking down, I spread my knees trying to place my feet on either side of the post. Pushing hard against the wood, I felt my body rise just an inch or two. The pain in my wrists subsided just a bit as I took deep breaths. But no sooner than I felt my body rise up, then my feet began slipping. This time, I only fell an inch or so, but pain in my wrists and shoulders was just as intense as before.
My feet kicked the empty air for a while, but I gave up on trying to raise myself again. All I could do is hang there and endure the pain. Looking down, I saw my body was covered with sweat. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest. I tried to breath, but could only exhale half of the bad air in my lungs. A light fog crept into my brain as I continued to try to breath.
I was about to pass out when I felt someone grab my feet and firmly press them against the hard wood of the post. Opening my eyes, I saw the guards had returned. They had grabbed my ankles and pushed them up until my knees were pushed apart. One foot was positioned above the other. Another guard positioned a nail above my feet and began pounding. The nail went into both feet into the wood with the first hit of the mallet. It took only four hits before the guards started walking away. I screamed in pain until I felt myself pass out.
I was awakened by a new sensation of pain. This was like nothing I’d ever felt. It was as if the guards had set fire to that sensitive part of my body between my legs. When my vision cleared, I looked down to see that the guards had removed the last shred of clothing I wore. I was still aroused and it appeared that my so-called pleasure at being tortured to death had amused one of the guards. Looking down, I saw they had inserted one of the large, iron nails into my erect penis. Looking up, one of the guards smiled at me and gave the nail one more tap, sending lightning bolts of white, hot pain shooting between my legs, up my spine and into my already tortured brain.
I apparently passed out, because the sun was setting when I awoke. The sweat that had covered my body had long since dried. My lips were parched and my throat was dry. I looked over and saw my pale, thin arm stretched to it’s limit. A black nail stuck out of my wrist. My fingers were like the claws of a beast. I tried to straighten them, but they wouldn’t move.
Looking beyond my claw-like fingers, I saw a line of other crosses. Several other men hung as I did. Looking down, I saw the nail kept me aroused. But none of the other men had suffered the same sexual torment that I had. A few of the men still wore shreds of clothing. All were moving slightly from side to side or up and down, trying to relieve the pain they suffered.
A few women were also hanging from crosses. They had all been brutally raped before we made our journey from the prison to the hill outside of town. Blood and semen ran down the insides of the women’s legs. Everyone’s hands were shaped like claws. Everyone’s head hung between their arms, except one woman.
She hung from a cross near the end. As I looked up and down her fine body, I saw her skin was golden brown. There weren’t any of the lines from the sun that came from clothing. This woman was probably a slave. She had never worn clothing in her life. Unlike the other women and some of the men, she had strong arms.
Barely aware of the pain throbbing through my own arms and legs, I watched as she held her head back, trying to breath as deeply as possible. After a while, I saw the muscles in her legs tense as she began pushing against the spike holding her feet to the cross. Sweat broke out from every part of her dark body as she rose just a few inches in the air. But it was enough for her to relive the pressure on her arms and breath deeper than before.
Suddenly, white hot pain shot through my own body. It had started between my legs and I looked down to see the woman on the cross had aroused me again. As I grew, spurs from the rusty nail dug into the soft flesh surrounding it. The pain only made me grow more and I began screaming in agony as I reached full erection. I felt pressure building between my legs, but there was nothing I could do. I hung from my cross, screaming in agony until I passed out.
Hours later, I regained enough of my strength to raise my head. It was dark, but the guards had built fires around the crosses. It would be a cool night and they didn’t want any of their prisoners to die just yet.
My vision was beginning to blur. My mouth was dry and my lips were badly cracked. I looked down to see the nail and my legs were covered with blood. One of the guards walked over and slapped the nail once. Pain shot through my body, but it wasn’t as bad as before. I hoped that meant that some of my nerves had begun to die, sparing me anymore searing agony. The guard was talking to me, but I couldn’t understand many of his words. He slapped the nail again and walked away laughing.
I looked down the line of crosses. The beautiful woman at the end was still alive, but her head hung low on her chest. He breathing had become shallow. Her long, black hair was matted against her face and shoulders. After a few moments, her head tiled up and she looked my way. Her eyes were as black as her hair, but her skin was still golden brown. She managed a slight smile before he head plunged back down against her chest.
My mouth was still dry, so I looked down at my half empty glass of dark ale. I took a drink and realized my pale skin was beginning to burn. Looking out from my 3rd floor apartment, I wondered how I could sense every detail of this gruesome execution. I wondered how I could remember every line on that beautiful woman’s face. How long her legs were. How small her breasts were. How beautifully she smiled at me.
I’d hung by my own make-shift cross by ropes a few times. Twice, I had let things get a little out of control. One time, I was close to not being able to escape from my own self crucifixion. So I had known some of the pain, but never the pain of having nails driven through my flesh. I had known the panic of a session that had gotten too far out of control. And as the sun went down, I knew, as I have all along … that I’d been on a cross before.
by Cycle
Finally, a day off and the sun is actually shining. I don’t get too many of these, days off with sunshine. When I do get one, I like my time on the deck. Thanks to the trees, I can enjoy that deck time with my favorite, au natural, sunshine attire. I love living in the modern, digital world. But sometimes I think I’d rather have lived in the day when clothing was truly optional.
Sitting here, I look down at my pale, pathetically thin arms. I look at my hands and wonder what it would feel like with a nail driven through my wrists and into a cross. I then look down at my thin legs and my long, narrow feet. I put one foot over the other, like they would be before they’d be nailed to a cross.
As I look at my wrists and my feet, my mind wanders back to the day someone like me looked up at the same sun I was looking at. While I’m looking at the sun shining down on my pale, pathetically thin body, I realize that same pale, pathetically thin person was looking at their wrists too. Only they were looking at their wrists in horror, the moment before a nail penetrated the flesh just below the heel of the hand. The years and miles melt away …
Laying on my back, I already feel my skin begin to sizzle in the noon day sun. A guard, three times my size is sitting on my chest. I can’t move. I can barely breath. Looking to my right, I watch as my arm is stretched along a heavy plank of wood. A gloved hand presses my hand firmly against the wood. Another hand positions a heavy, iron nail just above the heel of my hand.
I’d seen crucifixion before. I knew what would be next.
I look away just as the heavy mallet connects with the head of the nail. I’d often wondered what it would feel like as the nail entered my flesh. The answer came as swift as a lightning bolt. The most intense pain I’d ever felt shot up my arm, then down my spine to my to that magic spot between my legs. Looking down, I was shocked, then embarrassed to see myself aroused as the torture that would lead to my death began. The pain quickly traveled back up my spine to my brain which exploded in white hot stars.
I must have passed out, because I never felt the nail going into my other wrist. The next thing I knew, I my body was rising into the air. I opened my eyes. A small group of onlookers was watching as I rose. Was I already dead? Was I ascending to heaven? That wasn’t so bad I thought to myself. Looking out, the small crowd’s heads continues to rise as my body ascended to the clouds.
Then I stopped. I looked out at the crowd. Everyone was holding their breath. I suddenly felt my body begin to drop. Had I been rejected by God? Was I being sent to Hell? The trip down was a lot shorter than my trip up. After just a few seconds I knew I wasn’t in heaven or hell. The guards were only hauling my body to the top of the post to drop the cross plank into place.
Every joint in my body snapped violently as my nailed wrists took the full force of my body’s downward momentum. Pain shot through my arms and stabbed my shoulders and chest. As my chin snapped against my chest, I saw my legs kicking from side to side, looking for anything to stand on. To my shame, the last bit of dirty cloth that covered my body remained stiffly horizontal as I was still very much aroused by the torturous death I had begun.
The guards left me to hang by my wrists as they attended to another victim. I was desperate to receive the pressure on my wrists and shoulders. Almost immediately, I felt my chest tightening as simple breathing became difficult. Looking down, I spread my knees trying to place my feet on either side of the post. Pushing hard against the wood, I felt my body rise just an inch or two. The pain in my wrists subsided just a bit as I took deep breaths. But no sooner than I felt my body rise up, then my feet began slipping. This time, I only fell an inch or so, but pain in my wrists and shoulders was just as intense as before.
My feet kicked the empty air for a while, but I gave up on trying to raise myself again. All I could do is hang there and endure the pain. Looking down, I saw my body was covered with sweat. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest. I tried to breath, but could only exhale half of the bad air in my lungs. A light fog crept into my brain as I continued to try to breath.
I was about to pass out when I felt someone grab my feet and firmly press them against the hard wood of the post. Opening my eyes, I saw the guards had returned. They had grabbed my ankles and pushed them up until my knees were pushed apart. One foot was positioned above the other. Another guard positioned a nail above my feet and began pounding. The nail went into both feet into the wood with the first hit of the mallet. It took only four hits before the guards started walking away. I screamed in pain until I felt myself pass out.
I was awakened by a new sensation of pain. This was like nothing I’d ever felt. It was as if the guards had set fire to that sensitive part of my body between my legs. When my vision cleared, I looked down to see that the guards had removed the last shred of clothing I wore. I was still aroused and it appeared that my so-called pleasure at being tortured to death had amused one of the guards. Looking down, I saw they had inserted one of the large, iron nails into my erect penis. Looking up, one of the guards smiled at me and gave the nail one more tap, sending lightning bolts of white, hot pain shooting between my legs, up my spine and into my already tortured brain.
I apparently passed out, because the sun was setting when I awoke. The sweat that had covered my body had long since dried. My lips were parched and my throat was dry. I looked over and saw my pale, thin arm stretched to it’s limit. A black nail stuck out of my wrist. My fingers were like the claws of a beast. I tried to straighten them, but they wouldn’t move.
Looking beyond my claw-like fingers, I saw a line of other crosses. Several other men hung as I did. Looking down, I saw the nail kept me aroused. But none of the other men had suffered the same sexual torment that I had. A few of the men still wore shreds of clothing. All were moving slightly from side to side or up and down, trying to relieve the pain they suffered.
A few women were also hanging from crosses. They had all been brutally raped before we made our journey from the prison to the hill outside of town. Blood and semen ran down the insides of the women’s legs. Everyone’s hands were shaped like claws. Everyone’s head hung between their arms, except one woman.
She hung from a cross near the end. As I looked up and down her fine body, I saw her skin was golden brown. There weren’t any of the lines from the sun that came from clothing. This woman was probably a slave. She had never worn clothing in her life. Unlike the other women and some of the men, she had strong arms.
Barely aware of the pain throbbing through my own arms and legs, I watched as she held her head back, trying to breath as deeply as possible. After a while, I saw the muscles in her legs tense as she began pushing against the spike holding her feet to the cross. Sweat broke out from every part of her dark body as she rose just a few inches in the air. But it was enough for her to relive the pressure on her arms and breath deeper than before.
Suddenly, white hot pain shot through my own body. It had started between my legs and I looked down to see the woman on the cross had aroused me again. As I grew, spurs from the rusty nail dug into the soft flesh surrounding it. The pain only made me grow more and I began screaming in agony as I reached full erection. I felt pressure building between my legs, but there was nothing I could do. I hung from my cross, screaming in agony until I passed out.
Hours later, I regained enough of my strength to raise my head. It was dark, but the guards had built fires around the crosses. It would be a cool night and they didn’t want any of their prisoners to die just yet.
My vision was beginning to blur. My mouth was dry and my lips were badly cracked. I looked down to see the nail and my legs were covered with blood. One of the guards walked over and slapped the nail once. Pain shot through my body, but it wasn’t as bad as before. I hoped that meant that some of my nerves had begun to die, sparing me anymore searing agony. The guard was talking to me, but I couldn’t understand many of his words. He slapped the nail again and walked away laughing.
I looked down the line of crosses. The beautiful woman at the end was still alive, but her head hung low on her chest. He breathing had become shallow. Her long, black hair was matted against her face and shoulders. After a few moments, her head tiled up and she looked my way. Her eyes were as black as her hair, but her skin was still golden brown. She managed a slight smile before he head plunged back down against her chest.
My mouth was still dry, so I looked down at my half empty glass of dark ale. I took a drink and realized my pale skin was beginning to burn. Looking out from my 3rd floor apartment, I wondered how I could sense every detail of this gruesome execution. I wondered how I could remember every line on that beautiful woman’s face. How long her legs were. How small her breasts were. How beautifully she smiled at me.
I’d hung by my own make-shift cross by ropes a few times. Twice, I had let things get a little out of control. One time, I was close to not being able to escape from my own self crucifixion. So I had known some of the pain, but never the pain of having nails driven through my flesh. I had known the panic of a session that had gotten too far out of control. And as the sun went down, I knew, as I have all along … that I’d been on a cross before.
