Girl without a sword

[Loxuru]

How few steps do I have still,
on the soil of this earth?

All the winding paths of my fate
they lead to this moment
The beating of my heart
counting down
to the blow of the hammer...

It already looks like, as if this fate was inevitable, that everything before, a whole life, was destined to this moment.

 

[phlebas]

A hard road leads to a gentle stream

"I should like,
if it's allowed,
to wash myself,
here in the stream,
before I take my punishment."

They are unsure
They have no trust
I trust you, I will be your guarantor
"I will keep a hold of her."

So simple a request
So easily granted
First I must tend to harder matters
These two lads, strong, willing
Will gather the material
We will need later, I need not worry
I can concentrate on your needs

Come now, to the water
Cool yourself, wash away
The road dirt, the blood
Unbind your hair, arms up again
Hands behind your head
You look so young again
Fresh, clean, sleek as an otter
Plunging in, it is safe
I have your cord, you cannot drown
Though my feet get wet
The price to see you happy

Take my hand, it is time
Up, out of the water
What's this?
My feet are muddy, of course
Oh Gods you stoop to clean them
Your beautiful hair enfolds my feet
Hands lovingly work away the dirt
It takes my breath away, and then
Face hidden behind hair
Your lips on my foot

As I lead you up the bank
You have eyes only for your cross
I wonder if you know
The struggle inside
Your kiss has ignited

Hips swaying you approach
No longer weighed down
Now it will bear you
Smooth leg extends, foot touches
Girl flesh on worked wood
Does it feel welcoming?
Does it feel more inviting
Than my arms?

It is time girl
Lie down upon it
Instictively you mirror its shape
I correct you
No, your hands must go here, and here
You will not last, with your arms stretched
As if you were a cross of wood
A woman embraces her cross
Like so, my hands guide yours
To the right place
Hold your wrist firm
Search for the place between bone and sinew
The place for your nail

"So this is the right way? you ... you've done this before?"
Your voice, soft, like a breath of wind
How can I reassure you?
"I know about nails and wood and I can feel ... where it needs to go.
Actually, it's the first time I'm doing this"
Believe me, I feel where it needs to go
When the time comes, I will pierce you
Feel you thrash beneath me
I would trust no other with this
We will find the path together

The lads come now, one for each hand
Hold it in place, push the shoulder
You slip lower on the beam, arms up
Skin stretched over ribs, belly flat
I take your feet
Place them on the beam,
Below your arse
Admire the curve of your thigh
Backs of fingers brush your flesh

You ask, is this right?
You will see, you must trust
All is as it should be
Mark the place where hands and feet go
Girl shaped. You know what comes
Time for the nails
Time to know them, feel them
I wait for the first one
But you don't release it
Place it against your wrist
Lock eyes with me

My hand closes over yours
Guides the point to the place
You feel it, don't you?
Pressing that place between
Hands together on the iron
Yours and mine
But it is my hand that wields the hammer

I find courage and steady myself
Strike!
Your free hand grips harder, trembling
Mine holds the doomed wrist in place
Mouth open in a silent scream
Feet go wide looking for support
Eyes so wide, still on me
Stay with me, girl
We have just begun
Strike
Through your wrist, now the wood
Solid and thick, it takes work
Your breath now in short gasps
Letting go the nail
The free hand grips mine
Seeking an anchor
I am here
I will guide you
We can do this, together


(From a picture by Andyman)

 

[malins]

It already looks like, as if this fate was inevitable, that everything before, a whole life, was destined to this moment.

So it seems ... maybe also that's a way for me r to make sense of it, that it's an unavoidable destiny following from my nature, perhaps that makes it easier to submit, than holding on to the thought, it's a harsh punishment for a few bad choices? Accepting it as destiny maybe can give me the strength to face it ,,,

 

[malins]

You feel it, don't you?

Oh yes I do.

I can feel it.

You guide my hand that grasps the nail
so that the tip rests just right.

There, between the bones.
The tip sinks in, quite deep,
my skin folds, just before breaking

Pressure on the point,
my fingers curl and twitch, on their own accord.
A tingle up beyond my elbow,
coldness in the fingertips.

The hammer raised,
my eyes disconnect and follow,
but then I return to keep your gaze.
Time has run down,
Let me draw
one more breath.

You need that too.
Draw yourself together,
determined,

and ...

my body jerks and cramps,
before I can process
open mouthed, gasping like a fish out of water
voice strangled, scream silenced.

The dull thud of impact in my ears
the strange sense of intrusion,
bones forced apart.

the nail almost through,
it's just skin now, between iron and wood

All washed over
by a torrent of pain
cascading sheets of agony, searing fire
racing up through sinew bone and joint
right into my chest,
nearly stopping my heart

My legs kick out, my body convulsing
both my hands though stay where they are
one fixed, clawed in on itself,
the other locked vice-like round the nail-shaft.

A scream fights its way out,
I feel its hoarseness in my throat
but the sound is far away

the second blow comes out of time with my breath
making me gasp wheeze and sputter
I feel the iron slide deeper
in between the clenched grasp
of the hand I still have

gods ... it's through!
Iron bites into wood.
Fibers split and yield.

I take a deep breath,
and then
I can scream, and scream, and scream,

My remaining hand releases
flails about
makes a fist
and pounds against me

I scream at the pain
scream at the world
scream at you
You did this!
You hurt me like never before!
... But you had to
because it's me ...

I clasp my hand round yours,
fingernails dig in,
I pull you close
face to face
Moaning, I rest my head against yours
my wet hair draping over the scene of agony

I go wild again,
grit my teeth
strain against the nail,
pulling open the wound

I would have guessed,
just a red wetness
But there is little blood, instead
things not meant to be seen, yellowish,

A wave of nausea overwhelms me,
I flop back, onto the cross
my loose hand draped over my face,
panting in cold sweat.

Breathe deep and steady now
I feel like I could throw up all over myself
that would not be good
don't faint now
Only two strikes of the hammer
and I'm swooning...

Your hand caresses my brow
I gather my will
grasp the nail-shaft sticking out,
wrap around, hold firm,
And you drive it in.

Hammer on nail,
it sounds different now
A bright metallic ring
as it drives into wood
instead of the dull thud
of sinking into flesh

The pain now just bearable,
if I grit my teeth hard,
more a feeling of strangeness,
vibrations propagating up through numbness

I feel iron go in between my fingers
peeling away one after the other, as the nail head comes closer
It sinks in more quickly now
the spike must be out the other side of the beam.

Sinks in until there's no more room,
My fingers release,
I clasp my wrist,
as you carefully tap
making sure
you bring the nail-head
right up against the skin,
but not to crush any further.

There it is
You lift the hammer away
My fingertips explore

That metal knob,
That hand, curled in,

a little feeling in some places
but mostly, it is otherness
Warm, but still, ... just meat
more like touching something freshly dead
It belongs to someone else.

Someone who's ahead of me,
on the way
where I am going.

Because when it is finished,
Nailed by hand and feet,
having hung under sun and moon,
By tomorrow, same time

All of me will be like that.

The first nail surely hurts the most,
I tell myself.
Choose the second.

I resolve again,
to place it myself.

I'll pursue this path to the very end
go down the whole length of it.

I place my left foot firmly,
and, twisting, half sitting up,
with my free hand reaching between my legs,
I manage to place the nail against the top of it.

Quickly,
it's a straining pose,
You know what I want now,
give it to me!

 

[phlebas]

Scream, girl
Release the hurt
I am here
Pulled close, heads touching
Smell of your hair distracts
I must not lose myself
You thrash, tear at the wound
Bring me back to reality

The wood is hard, steady
The nail bites firm
Clean, I feel it
Through the wood, into air
Fixing you, unmoving
Your free hand explores
Touches the damaged place

There is something I must do
The stream washed you
Washed the nails, too
But more is needed
As you lie back, panting
I take my flask, one sip, and another
I need settling too!
Pour some of the liquid on your wrist
Over the nail, into the wound
It will do you good
And the nails, each one
Must be christened so
before they enter you

Look at you
Chest heaving
Wild eyed, determined
You should be scared of me
Not I of you!
So strong
You take the next nail
Raise yourself
One wrist fixed
One foot on the beam
Reach between your legs
Offer the nail

Gods I love you at that moment!
But no, we must do one more thing
Here is a cord, soft yet strong
Wound around your feet, each one
Under the heels and around the ankles
Behind the beam, securely bound
I trust you, I know you submit
This is for your good, and mine
It keeps you from kicking me
When the nails go in
It gives you support
Do you want to stand on nails alone?

Lean forward again
Straining
Nail pressed to your foot
Let me guide you, again
Here is the place
Here will fix you
Break no bones, hold you firm
Here is the place, have you a firm hold?
Lad, you there
Come, hold her legs steady
I want a clean strike, a clean wound

Ready? I see it in your eyes
My hand closes on yours, steadies the nail
A clean strike, flesh parts, blood spurts
You thrash, hips rising off the wood
Head working from side to side, a keening cry
Pierces me, but I finish the job
Drive the nail, steady strokes
Your free hand, released, strikes the ground
Again and again
Your other foot, toes curled in sympathy
Bound in place, helpless

I pause now, wipe my brow
You are sweating freely
Squirming in place, whimpering
Your hand feels between your breasts
Still two nails, half way there.
Take a breath, rest a moment
You are truly committed now

So am I

 

[malins]

Phlebas has added a few images, which may go unnoticed as they're further back...

I need to tie up my hair so I can't hide myself from view...

The cord holding my hair came loose again later on during my walk with the cross...
... and I had to fix my hair while balancing the cross on my shoulder, not so easy at all ...
... there's I'm afraid no image of that anywhere in the crux-world

Usually victims get tied or held down at both their wrists for the nailing,
... not me ... (I alwas wan to be special, maybe that's what gets me in trouble !?!)

At first I held the nail while it was driven in but when it got too much I gripped my pain-stricken wrist

That is something that has shown up in Andyman's drawings.

(From a picture by Andyman)

and that, my journey,
from proud thief of the sacred relic,
to offering it up in submission to my captor,
to my presentation to the townspeople...

 

[malins]

Gods I love you at that moment!

Isn't it strange? Under what other conditions could you have loved me...?

As I lay, tense for what's coming next,
I feel you pass rope round my ankles,
under my heels, and secure me against the post.
I relax, let my hand with the second nail slip away,
wait for you to finish.

You saw how wildly I kicked when the first one went in,
some things I can control and others not

I'll offer myself but I can't keep all still.
but you did always say, you won't ask what I can't give.
One of the lads now, you get him to help,
first he's almost shy of touching me,
but yes, that's good, hold me down, I need it now!

I wouldn't want to hit you with my wild thrashing,
it's better now to be bound.

You tell me also it will help me later...
Don't,
I can't be thinking of later

I need to go through this moment by moment!

later means
... my limbs all nailed
later means
... lifting me up to hang
later means
... trembling, gasping, dying

let's think of only now,
get through what's next!

All of time is just a few heartbeats!

You strike down hard this time
My foot, that is more to get through
tougher substance to pierce
than the bare inch inside my wrist

Gods ... thank you for binding me tight!
I thrash and cry,
You drive the nail with a steady rhythm
Inside my foot, I feel things shift, give and pop

The nail-shaft wants its room,
my flesh must give way.

It hurts the most coming out the sole
nothing like the quickly pierced,
tender skin of the wrist

Within the arch of my foot,
I feel my skin lift away from the inside,
delaminate from the muscle,

the nail pitches my skin out like a tent,
presses it against the wood,
comes through from the inside,
breaks out, and then the skin slowly draws back

A ghastly shudder but then...
Oh oh yes.
I've made it!

Thick and hard and cold
inside my hot pulsating flesh
I feel the shaft slip through
as the tip works into the wood
The nail-head flush, it's done!

Quick now, my other foot.
I know how it feels.
Do it the same, do it quick, then I can take it.

I should be ashamed, I should be afraid,
but ... I feel proud!
I didn't throw up, I didn't piss myself,
I screamed but I didn't curse.

Can you see, people?
Remember me not for my crime!
... but for how well I took my punishment.
I vow so long as I have a hand I will help with it!

Again I twist and bend forward, hold the next nail in place
Fight my way through the throbbing pain
as tissue swells up round the iron.

The hammer pounds, the pain sears up my shin
After the first blow I let go of the nail, fall back

This time -- I am silent
my free hand digging into my thigh,
eyes shut,
teeth grit so hard one of them crumbles
that makes me wince and cry

With the blows of the hammer,
the twitching and jerking of my legs
slowly drives me up the post
till my head goes over the crossbar,
hanging back, gazing into the sky
Swallows dart about, careless clouds and crystal blue.

Deep breaths again, bathed in sweat
A wind is picking up cold on my skin

One nail only
now rests between my breasts
All I can do is to pull it from the cord,
place my arm,
cradle it between my fingers,
and point the tip against my wrist.

One last time, do your work upon me.
Then I belong to the cross, fully,

As I should.

 

[phlebas]

One nail remains
Feet fixed to the wood
You have done so well,
Brave and strong
It fills my heart

Place your hand on the beam
Find the mark, position it so
One nail remains
You cannot hold it firm,
Your fingers struggle,
I must take it
Ask a young man to hold your arm
Only to help
I don't doubt your commitment
It must stay steady
For a clean strike
A neat job
(how I resent his flesh on yours)

Your eyes flick
Between mine and the nail
Last moments of freedom
Last chance for regret
Hold the nail against your wrist
Your fingers so close
Brush the back of my hand
A deep breath, chest rising
Nipples hard against a cool wind
Eyes on mine, signal acceptance

I tell myself
This is justice
And I am its instrument
How true is this?
Do I not enjoy you
here, naked, in my power?
And yet, your submission
Your strength
Has almost taken this out of my hands
Am I no longer the instrument of justice,
But your instrument?

Steady, hands, take a breath
Strike the nail
You stiffen, what more can you do?
A strangled scream escapes your lips
The lad holds you firm, as I hold the nail
In it drives, through flesh and sinew
I avoid the bone, look for smooth passage
Then into the wood once more
Fixing you hard, unyielding
It is a long nail
So many blows
Bury it deep in the wood of your cross

Your cross
You and it bound together
It holds you fast, an intimate embrace
Lucky cross, pressed against you
As you are spread
Open and helpless against it
You are still keening softly
The throb in your wrist fresh
The invasion of your body unbearable
Yet you bear it
What more can you do?
Rest a moment

Let me admire you
before the raising
Before the struggle truly begins
Beautiful in your submission
Strong in your determination
Stretched on the wood
As if waiting for a lover
Sweet cunt visible
Between sweating thighs
Limbs trembling with shock
Eyes closed, anticipating

Are you ready?
I brush the hair from your face
Run my hand over your arm
Trace the curve that finds your breast
No more, not now
Now is duty
Now is pain
"Lads" I call
"It is time"
One man for each arm
Of the cross, to raise it
And I at the base, to guide it to the hole
They are strong, and eager
Never seen a woman hoist on a cross
Naked, shapely
Nor have I
But I have patience

I tie a strap around the base
Giving leverage to hoist
Guide shaft to the hole
There it is, a little more
Find the right spot and
There! Let it slide in
Keep a steady hold, boys
In it goes

You look startled
Rising so quickly
So steeply, your body comes upright
The beam jerks, slides
Suddenly, reaching the bottom
Stops! You continue
Until nails bring halt
Tearing, unyielding
You scream then, body jerked forward
Gravity your enemy
Before, they pierced you
Now, they hold you

Now, you begin to know
The true nature of the cross
A constant struggle
Hang from your wrists
Chest constricted
Stand on your nails
Fight for breath
Now you appreciate the cord I wound beneath your heels
Load bearing, mercy giving
Take some weight, not all
There is still a price to pay

I watch the flex of thigh
The tightened arms
Belly tremble
Tits sway
Curved back
Arse pressed to wood
And your face, fierce despite tears
Not giving in
Never giving in

A woman crucified



Illustration from a render by Noone

 

[malins]

Getting hot!

 

[Loxuru]

Isn't it strange? Under what other conditions could you have loved me...?

Pygmalion? The executioner falls in love with his crucified creation? Or the reverse, the Stockholm Syndrome?

Can you see, people?
Remember me not for my crime!
... but for how well I took my punishment.
I vow so long as I have a hand I will help with it!

Remarkable philosophy:
Lived all the way in crime, not thinking "If I'll ever be crucified!?"
But : "When I'll ever get crucified!"

The nail-shaft wants its room,
my flesh must give way.

Crucifixion in slow-motion.

One last time, do your work upon me.
Then I belong to the cross, fully,

Arrived at her destination, finally?

 

[malins]

Pygmalion? The executioner falls in love with his crucified creation? Or the reverse, the Stockholm Syndrome?

A bit of both.
And there'll have to be a purpose to it.

Perhaps by crucifying me he has indeed created something, or someone, new.
What can be done with it?
(and for how long?)

Crucifixion in slow-motion.

If you have a nail that is not all too extremely sharp,
and pound it in not all too extremely fast,
there will be opportunity for various tissue structures (tendons or bundles of nerves or blood vessels)
to sort of roll aside a bit, if they aren't hit dead center, instead of being cut right through
- things in the body are an't set as firmly as parts of a machine
sets of muscle fibers can be pushed apart etc.

It's a discomfiting feeling to sense such things going on inside myself,
but it may make for a longer and more rewarding crucifixion!

Arrived at her destination, finally?

It's not over yet, not nearly! in fact the hardest work now begins!

 

[Jollyrei]

Getting hot!

I don't know what you mean, "getting". This story started almost as a poem, a reflection, and there it was hot. At this moment, it is scorching, so close I am standing by the stream, feeling the hammer's haft, cringing at your every twist against wood and iron. This is potentially the best crucifixion story I have read, and I've written a few.
I hate commenting, because it seems sacrilege to interrupt.

 

[malins]

This is potentially the best crucifixion story I have read, and I've written a few.

thanks
It is a bit different perhap than strictly Roman originalist scens, by at the same time shamelessly eroticizing and romanticizing but also mixing in some realism of experience ... maybe some people know that experience of seeing something inside a wound that just looks 'not right to see' and basically fainting from that, etc... (Nothign against realistic Roman stories, I do enjoy reading a well written one but can't do them myself)

I hate commenting, because it seems sacrilege to interrupt.

hmmm ...
this isn't something that's written for purpopse of harvesting comments or likes -- but there's always the questions which things stay inside one's head, which stay strictly in PM, and which make it into a forum thread.

If there's something you like, please do try commenting...

... when one is putting out some more individual aspects of a fantasy, there is always that aspect of insecurity, whether it's just an entirely self-centered thing or it's interesting for a few others also. So if something pretty much drops dead into a well of silence, it's not possible to tell over this medium, whether that is a 'respectful silence of an onlooker' or just, silence. And whatever was in it, is more likely to get filtered out in the future.

 

[Loxuru]

... when one is putting out some more individual aspects of a fantasy, there is always that aspect of insecurity, whether it's just an entirely self-centered thing or it's interesting for a few others also.

I recognise this sort of a dilemma.

 

[malins]

On Friday, @jucundus posted this amazing image of a condemned one on her final walk.

of course it has nothing to do with this story (and I was also carrying a whole cross though a slim one, instead of a heavy patibulum) but a lot of it fits!

... if you wonder about the defiant look on her face, that it perhaps doesn't fit my character here ...

... even in acceptance of my fate, there is defiance against other things ...

well damn I'll show you lot!

... for instance that, ... defiance against the expectation among the onlookers, that I would fail to bear my cross to the suffering-ground.

... or defiance against against one's own weakness, that instinct that says, 'give up, drop it, curl up on the ground and let them whip you to death if that's what they want to do'

 

[Loxuru]

of course it has nothing to do with this story (and I was also carrying a whole cross though a slim one, instead of a heavy patibulum) but a lot of it fits!

... if you wonder about the defiant look on her face, that it perhaps doesn't fit my character here ...

... even in acceptance of my fate, there is defiance against other things ...

There is indeed rather anger in her face, hardly any acceptance.

Yet, the look also carries the message : "You can nail me, but you will not break me!"

And "One day, revenge will come for this!"

 

[malins]

Your eyes flick
Between mine and the nail
...
Your fingers so close
Brush the back of my hand

Our eyes meet once again
Our fingers, fleeting touch

I have been all yours ... but now the time is near
where you must let go,
give me away to my cross,
who'll carry me to darkness.
Forget my name!

(It should be easy.)​

(You never asked.)​

(and that is good.)​

The work is quickly done,
I'm pinned, I'm pierced,
my last free limb, my right hand,
with which I've done most all in life,
the good and bad, (guess of which more,)
the hand that stole the sword,
it's firmly fixed to the wood.

My toes curl, my hips thrown out,
my hair flies, still wet and heavy from the stream
spraying about wetness, on you and the assistant.

What is pain heaped upon pain,
how does it add up?
I can say now, it's all very different.

From my feet,
a deep throbbing pulse, and ice rising up my shins
prickling jabs where the nail exits my sole,
and blood, yes, there has been blood.

As you see, I can still curl my toes though,
There, I feel everything.
Even the iron nails' heads
cold against the instep of my feet.

My wrists though, for all I know,
end in burning stumps of pain.
My fingers distant twitching things - numb meat.

(Is that not what they called,)​

(in ancient days, in ancient tongue,)​

(one who did such deeds ... Meatmaker?)​

Underneath it all, there are still
welts and whip-marks,
tender and sore upon the wood,
Rope burns, chafed skin, strains and sprains
buried, almost forgotten,
but sometimes making themselves remembered.

And another pain, a more familiar one,
deep and low in my belly
a sting, this time on the right side,
then a slow hot blooming, dissipating.
Why now?
Because it's time.

It is time.
There is more, so much more,
to be piled on top of this.

There is nothing more I can do, of my own will.

I have been under my cross,
now I'm on it,
next I'll hang.

I know the hardest is yet to come.
They spoke the sentence,
to be nailed by hands and feet
to hang under sun and moon
until I'm forgotten.
I will suffer days and nights , they'll have to make sure of that
the law is the law!
Suffer till I find release at last.

This is for me to bear.
But, it will have an end.

You, I realize, bear the heavier load.
You've dared to look me in the eye,
you never wore a hangman's hood,
for that is not what you are.

You dared to look me in the eye,
I saw myself reflected there.

Years past the last beat of my heart,
I will linger on in your mind,
my name unknown but my memory still living.

Forever crucified,
by your hand,
I'll be with you.

That is the greater load you bear,
and you shouldered it,
to fulfill my wish,
to redeem myself.

Who could comprehend but the two of us,
and to whom could you confess when I'm gone?

I'm sure you have a faithful wife,
perhaps she'll wonder, weeks from now,
why sometimes you take her so much more forcefully,
arms pinned down spread wide.

But could you tell her of what was between us?
Could she understand what even I cannot?

Me splayed out shamelessly,
As you gently run your hand over me,
caress my hair, oh, toward my breast ...

I arch my back,
I lust, I ache
to feel your touch,
yes to have you inside me,

but that you will not give,
For I am Bride of the Cross
You knew it from the start did you not?

Still I lust, I need, I offer myself
That need being denied ... only made more urgent!

I'm helpless in the throes of this strange desire...

"it is time"

I rise, the cross slanting
sliding downwards,
Frantic, I raise myself up
straighten myself as the cross sways a bit,
a moment's fighting
the men quickly shifting their grip to steady it,
up up up UUUUUP with me!!! Push, heave!
you guiding the sharpened stake-point into the hole

Everything changes as we go past halfways
I fall forwards, my arms stretched
I tense my muscles
I understand what's coming
as the cross suddenly slips in, I push up,
try to take the shock into my knees,
can't ...

Wild agony as the nails in my wrist tear at me
While I thrash,
wedges are pounded in and stones heaved into place
Secure the cross.
To which secured am I.

I am ... Crucified.

That is now my world.

I hang low, my arms outstretched,
knees like jelly, thighs quivering
My shoulders torn my breastbone feels like it'll come apart
I try to raise my head but hardly can
Panting I look up along my arm to the nail.

Crucified.
my head goes down again, I slump forward.
Like this, my hair falls to my knees
Hiding me.
Part my legs, look down
I see my feet.
Nails.
Crucified.

The ground, so close,
if my feet were free, I could just stand up.
I will never touch that ground again,
not so long my heart beats.

I do know I won't be let to rot here,
a carcass poisoning nearby waters? No.

When my limbs have shivered the last and gone still,
my voice silent and the light fled from my eye,
then I shall be taken down.

I hope you'll be there, when the moment comes,
your hand upon my chest, sensing for my heartbeat,
feeling it stumble and falter
wait until you're sure,
the faithless soul is banished

then and not one moment sooner
nails wrested out
the body rid of ill spirit,
dumped and dragged away.

I see the ground so close,
hear the whisper of the stream
the crowd hushed
not so long my heart beats will I touch that ground again.

My breath is short and fast.
An instinct grabs hold of me,
as if drowning
must go up,
break the surface,
catch a deep breath

My thighs twitch but I can't rise like this.
I have to pull myself up by my arms first
It hurts so bad... but then I can work with my legs.

I press my big toes firmly against the post,
the outer toes wrapping around each side of it, and ... up I go.
I desperately want to lock my knees,
so I can stand without strain,
but my feet are flat against the post.

I have to hang far forward,
my arms way back, almost torn out of the sockets.
I can't hold and sink again.

Try again. Must go up.
Up flat along the post, back arched, buttocks pressed against.
My feet nailed right beside each other, I have no balance,
and it hurts so bad to push,
I bend sideways, my hips besides the post,
shoulders jammed under one side of the crossbeam,
I slump, in terrible pain but going nowhere.
My desperate cry, you step up
give my arse a gentle shove
out, and up...

And I'm over the top.
So high suddenly!

Arms quivering
but deep full breaths fill my lungs.
I throw back my head,
my still-wet hair spraying in a great arc

I laugh.

Crucified!

My legs are beginning to cramp, can't stay up long.
But it feels exhilarating.
Right now I've pushed through all the pain.
Just this moment.
On top of the world, like floating with clouds.

The crowd is quiet, ceremonial, almost devout
Now is not the moment for jeering,
... that will surely come

My eyes survey the spectators, I pick out a couple.
My gaze, I can still point to where I want...

You there. I'm looking at you.
The wife huddled
under her tall husband's arm,
close for protection.

What is it you fear, I can't hurt you.
I see her shudder as my gaze finds her.
Do you fear, what you feel inside?
That it could have been you?
What it would be like to be me?

And you there, strong man,
your expression is strangely distant
As you shield your wife from the tempest within
Chin hard, jaw clenched,
as if you, indeed,
were facing a storm.

Am I a storm?

I am ... crucified!

I look to my side, where you stand.
Your face upturned,
because now, I'm up high,
ascendant.

I have to come down again.
I'm afraid.
Another deep breath ...
I purse my lips, let the air escape slowly
Try to settle gradually, not crash down

My legs come apart as I settle,
Tension released, a deep moan escapes me.
I'm low now,
The crowd no longer awed by my ascension.

"The cross is fucking her good and hard!"
"Gods! what a disgusting slut! Look at her! Listen to her! Shameless whore!"

I hang low again,
Looking up at you.
It's hard though craning my neck like that,
between my outstretched arms.

My head sinks again,
I sob softly.
This is how it will be,
until the end.

Crucified.

 

[phlebas]

The struggle begins
A body has needs
Shock has winded you, now
You fight for breath
It comes short, fast
Not enough for your need
Your eyes show the moment
Understanding comes
You must rise, lift your body
Against the nails, defy the pain

Like one learning to walk anew
You test your limbs
Find a way to raise yourself
Not easy, nailed like this
No easy way, feet flat
Hands useless
Thighs take a terrible strain
Wrists were not meant to support
The weight of a woman pinned by nails
You slump forward, arms stretched beyond bearing
Then push, but it does not work
Your body is out of line
Slips sideways, beside the cross
Crying out in pain and distress

Let me take your weight
Steady you
A firm hand on your arse
Soft, round, an easy burden
Shove out, and up you go
Taking control
Standing tall
Sucking breath, chest expanding
And can it be?
A faint laugh, my heart goes out
You find triumph in such degradation

I want to hold you

There you are
Wet hair streaming
Gaze unwavering
Fixed on the bystanders
Who witness your punishment
Uneasy under the stare
Of a woman certain of her place
Who sees the future
And embraces it with courage

Now you turn, look at me
I hold your gaze, steady
No bystander, but with you in this
What do you see in my upturned face?
What secrets does it betray?

You cannot stand long
Gravity has its way
And as you descend
The voices start, cruel, mocking
"The cross is fucking her good and hard!"
Cruel, but true
And I, the one who put you there

Your wet hair is a mess
It does not need to be so
I gave you a cord before, to tie it back
Enjoyed the sight of your arms, raised
Now those arms cannot help
Those hands unable to touch your hair
I can

You wonder why I approach
So close, right in front of you
"Let me help" I say
Taking your hair in hand
Binding it behind your head
(As I once bound your wrists, so long ago)
Revealing your face for the world
To me
How I want to lean those few inches
Plant my lips on yours
I must be content
With your face so near mine
Your breasts brushing my chest
The feel of your hair in my hands
It is finished, all too soon

Many in the crowd still mock
others watch silently
Stunned by the brutality
Of what we have done
(what I have done)
Or enjoying the sight
Of a naked woman
Struggling for life in front of them
Arms stretched
Knees slightly parted
The natural slump of an exhausted body
"Show us yer cunt" shouts one
"I bet she's wet" cries another

"Would you like to see?" I ask him
"Come, find out for yourself
Put your finger in and tell us"
He starts forward, then stops
Sees danger in my eyes
Anger in my stance
"No need, good sir" he says carefully
"I will watch from here"

 

[malins]

Me hanging low, you come close
- the brush of rough fabric against my nipples,
trembling, needing, I raise myself against you,
lift my eyes to yours, searching.

You cradle my tear-stained face,
brush my hair aside, strands sticking.
Then you lift and tie it up again.

Recall when I went into the stream,
that last moment of near-freedom,
I'd let my hair go wild,
pulled away the cord, tossed it aside on the bank.

I would like that little freedom.

Hands and feet fixed to the cross,
my body governed by its cruel logic,
moving my head is the last thing I can do...
...throw around my hair, or hide behind it for a while.

You all will see everything of me, anyway.
Everything, all that should be hidden,
where even beasts withdraw
into cave or woods
things like dying.
Or anything else...

You will see me go through all of it.

The crowd wants to see too, maybe more than just see...
but you keep them at bay.

"Disgusting slut!"
"Shameless whore"
"Show us yer cunt" ... I am ... aren't I?
"I bet she's wet" ... I am ...
(It hurts when people say nasty things about me and I have to admit they're right ...)

Soon I'll need to pull up again.

I remember carrying the cross, how it hurt on my shoulder...
(how bad it seemed then and how inconsequential now)
How I had to shift it from one side to the other ...
the pressure becoming unbearable more quickly each time.

This, the rising and falling, is so much worse.
But I understand, how it will wear me down,
each time I will exhaust more quickly,
I understand how I will be dying.

The cross is cruel,
While doing nothing - it rapes me to death!

Dying is all my work,
Suffering all my fault,

The crime of living causes my pain.
Could I tell my heart: Stop, silly thing,
Could I say: I give up, I'll go,
agree - yes I'll be meat,
open my lips and puff out my soul,
Then it could be over.

But I'll have to work for it, to the end.

I need to pull up again.
Now.
I comprehend,
what you said earlier,
when you tied the rope round my ankles,
bound them to the post,

"Do you want to stand on nails alone?"

Thank you,
I understand how much those bindings help,
you've fashioned them like stirrups,
taking a good part of the weight as I push up.

I've been learning.
I'm more focused, I know how to go up,
How to not fall forward,
not have my shoulders almost torn from the sockets,
how to tense so I don't go sideways at the waist.
I am learning to obey,
to conform to my cross.

But as I push up, there's a little of my own will.
I look up to the sky,
and press the back of my head against the post,
so, while rising, there's friction,
against my bound hair, pulling at the cord.
It loosens a little.

How often, I wonder, will I have to do this,
until I gain myself that tiny freedom?
Three, four, five times?
It gives me something to hold on to, a goal to work toward.
Will you notice I'm doing this on purpose?
Will you punish me? Whip me?

I make it all the way to the top,
my forearms parallel to the crossbeam,
my shoulders over it

Gods how I feel ... it's ... beautiful...

The light has been changing.
Long shadows, softer glow,

A cooling gust, from across the stream
I'm thankful,
I've been sweating hard,
the evening wind makes me shiver all over
but it's a blessing.

As I went into the stream,
a butterfly had settled on my shoulder,
drawn by the salt of my sweat,
Turning my head, I can see them still
Butterflies,
dancing in golden shafts of light.

I'd taken a few sips of the cold, clear water
while bathing in the stream
I came out fresh and clean,
now I'm slick with sweat again,
Goosebumps all over as the cool breeze caresses me.
Stay up, stay up, it's so good.
Up is so good.

Could you believe it, I feel strong, and proud!

You people!

Just mock me.
Right now, it doesn't touch.

So I'm naked, so I'm squirming, arching my back.
So my nipples stand out hard and my legs part to balance me and you can see everything.
So I am wet all over,
wet and heavy my hair,
wet and cold my chest,
wet pulsing and hot between the legs.
And you see everything.
So ... what?

I'm crucified!

You people, do you know what that means?
You can't of course! You have no idea!
Anyone of you. There could still be room for you, on the backside of this cross.
What would anyone of you be like?

Crucified!

I shout it out loud! Out to the world, to the sky, to anyone who might hear!

Gods oh gods I'm crucified!

The tremble and spasm in my thighs is something other now than just exhaustion.
I bite my lip and sink down rapidly,
going to the side of the post,
pressing my hips against it,
my thighs together,
until the silent shudder of release.

Pelted with mockery and taunts,
I'm shamed and humbled,
how can this happen to me!
A desperate howl, cut short by lack of air.
They were right,
... the cross has fucked me good and hard ...
what a wretched thing I am.

Hanging low, my breath is short,
I'm panting, my throat is dry.
My eyes return to you.
Water, please...

 

[Loxuru]

These intense changes of mood….
Crucifixion as a defiant, almost provocating performance.. and then, falling back by exhausture and pain.
Well written and moving!