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Innocence lost

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"Whats your name?" I asked my new helper.

"You're an escaped slave aren't you?" came her reply. "Hell, you escaped crucifixion!" She yelled. "What the hell are you doing here, you fucking bitch? Don't you care that you could get us all killed?"

A tug on my tits and a whip to her ass silenced her. I was thinking about the 40 year old woman whose name I did not know and wanted to not add one more unknown person to my list of suffers. The unknown middle aged woman was most likely already on her cross. I had only been away for a long afternoon before I was captured.

Soon the hill came into view with its grotesque scenes of the crucified. The hill became more difficult to climb, not because of it grade, but because I knew that my torment would soon resume. I began baulking but my helper was being whipped from behind while my tits were being pulled up the hill. Gawkers were already enjoying my over inflated tits and the young shapely woman in toil with me. She had enough fight in her to lash out against the men and women leering at her virgin body for what good it did.

I thought how much better off she was not having cum escaping every hole in her body. At least she was spared that humiliation.
My heels were futily digging in as we reached the spot where my first nail was driven into me, but we could not stop the advancement. We were made to sit while our captors talked among themselves.

We were still tied together when my helper spoke up and said, "Priscilla."

"What?" I asked.

"My name is Priscilla." She said. "Does it hurt" she asked.

"Does what hurt?" I asked.

"The whipping," she continued.

"Yes of course it hurt, but your mind only registers a certain amount then shuts the pain off."

" Whats your name?" She asked.

"Olivia," I replied.

"This place is horrible," she stated. "I can't blame you for running away. I'm afraid Olivia! I'm so afraid!"

But her words were cut off by a powerful man of authority riding up on his horse. He was extremely angry at our captors and was yelling and hitting at them. Then he walked over to us and yelled at me, "Do you know the trouble you have caused me you stupid slave?"

"Forgive me your highness for running away from your justice but I'm INNOCENT! She's Innocent also you pompous asshole!" I screamed at him.

It felt good to at least fight back even if it bought me more suffering.

"Innocent, Innocent!" He snapped back. "See those men? Each of them have watched friends die on a sword They were innocent but gave up their young lives so you could live in your pampered security! Innocent?! Wasn't your God innocent but died this death for your freedom and a place with Him?! Innocent? You fool! Do you not know that if we hadn't caught you these men, myself, and our families would all be crucified? Innocent, do you not know that your mistress, her family, and all her slaves would have been crucified because you broke her promise to Rome? The reason I am here is to try to stop another mass blood letting because of you," he concluded.

I had no response to his argument, but continued to fight. "That all sounds so noble," I quipped, "but why the abuse? Why the rape? Why the humiliation? How many of those men have been raped and had their bodies filled with someone else's cum?!"

"Oh you poor princess," he snapped back. "So innocent and mistreated. Do you think we love this job? This duty is the lowest a warrior can draw. They are the dregs of the military and when you're the lowest you look for something, someone, lower than you are. Do you think it's all about you, that they hate you? Why do people swash a bug that's not bothering them? Why do they take pleasure in watching a harmless insect suffer? It's that just for a moment they can feel a little bigger."

Suddenly, junebugs flying impaled with straws and a little girl giggling at them was envisioned by my memory. "My God!" I thought, "I am no better than these brutes." In a moment, by a junebug, my innocence was lost.

But he was not finished with me. "Tell you what, Princess, you've been so mistreated, then leave. Walk away, and let others die your death for you."

Something had changed in me. When presented with the chance to run, I knew that I must stay.

"And another thing, you poor mistreated soul," he continued, "because of you I must choose someone to die in hoping avoid a bloodbath. You caused this disaster, you choose! Who will it be?" I felt emotions welling up inside me and ready to explode, destroying this island of isolation I once occupied.

With tears blurring my vision and my heart breaking I mutter, "Priscilla."

She let out a scream and I felt our beam making erratic movements fueled by her fear. "No not me! Not me! I'm innocent!" she cried.

"You deaf fool!" I shouted back, "have you not heard a word he said? Who would you have me choose? Tell me, and I'll choose them."

Her cries changed to whimpers as her eyes filled with tears and she said..."Pricilla."

We cried together, but as fear turned to courage inside me, I called out to the legionnaire again. "Sir," I called out, "May I ask one request of you?"

"Ask!" He ordered.

I looked away from him as all women tend to do and then back at him with my head down and my eyes lifted, "Would you drive the final nail into my wrist?"

He knelt on one knee before me, brushed my hair back, and said, "I wish one of these fools had your courage."

Then he stood up and shouted, "Sergeant! Bring me a nail and hammer!"

"Sir," he replied, "We can take care of her."

"Perhaps you want to be crucified you lazy cretin!" The legionnaire said. "I'm not giving you another chance to fuck this up again! Now get these sluts untied and let's get a move on. We are behind."

Our ropes were cut loose and the legionary ordered that they carefully lay down my beam and that Priscilla be bound to the stipe. As the beam was let down I laid back with it looking at my family laboring on their crosses and knowing that I would soon join them. I stretched my right arm out on the beam and one of the brutes grabbed onto it to hold me still.

The legionnaire hit him squarely in the jaw, knocking him off me. "She doesn't need your help!" he shouted at him. "She's the daughter of the most high God and He will help her like His Son."
 
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Well now.

I have spent quite a while on this story this evening, and I sincerely hope that @Indianaguy doesn't mind.

I know I corrected a couple of typos yesterday but I didn't really get chance to read the story - tbh I used the 'find' function to identify the text that needed correcting. :oops:

So I looked a bit harder today, and what I have found is a story that has been poured out of the depths of Indianaguy's soul. This story of a slave girl who is selected by decimation to pay for a crime committed by someone she hated is brilliant enough to start with, but then when she gets up with her wrist nailed to the timber, is kicked back down again, and then nevertheless struggles back to her feet, the story becomes compelling.

It is a story of contrasts. The will to live, the hope of love and happiness in a world of savage brutality and casual rape and killing. The contentment of home - even the home of a slave - contrasted with a nightmarish execution ground. The hope of new life snuffed out with contemptuous indifference. The contemplation of the future - even a future carrying a rapist's child - only to be dragged back by her breasts to the bleak finality of that awful hill. I agree with @thecuriousone - It is a very, very good story, and it deserves a bit of time spent editing out some typos and laying out the paragraphs!

I look forward to the continuation.
 
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Wragg said:
Well now.

I have spent quite a while on this story this evening, and I sincerely hope that @Indianaguy doesn't mind.

I know I corrected a couple of typos yesterday but I didn't really get chance to read the story - tbh I used the 'find' function to identify the text that needed correcting. :oops:

So I looked a bit harder today, and what I have found is a story that has been poured out of the depths of Indianaguy's soul. This story of a slave girl who is selected by decimation to pay for a crime committed by someone she hated is brilliant enough to start with, but then when she gets up with her wrist nailed to the timber, is kicked back down again, and then nevertheless struggles back to her feet, the story becomes compelling.

It is a story of contrasts. The will to live, the hope of love and happiness in a world of savage brutality and casual rape and killing. The contentment of home - even the home of a slave - contrasted with a nightmarish execution ground. The hope of new life snuffed out with contemptuous indifference. The contemplation of the future - even a future carrying a rapist's child - only to be dragged back by her breasts to the bleak finality of that awful hill. I agree with @thecuriousone - It is a very, very good story, and it deserves a bit of time spent editing out some typos and laying out the paragraphs!

I look forward to the continuation.
Click to expand...
I love good crux stories
 
Wragg said:
Well now.

I have spent quite a while on this story this evening, and I sincerely hope that @Indianaguy doesn't mind.

I know I corrected a couple of typos yesterday but I didn't really get chance to read the story - tbh I used the 'find' function to identify the text that needed correcting. :oops:

So I looked a bit harder today, and what I have found is a story that has been poured out of the depths of Indianaguy's soul. This story of a slave girl who is selected by decimation to pay for a crime committed by someone she hated is brilliant enough to start with, but then when she gets up with her wrist nailed to the timber, is kicked back down again, and then nevertheless struggles back to her feet, the story becomes compelling.

It is a story of contrasts. The will to live, the hope of love and happiness in a world of savage brutality and casual rape and killing. The contentment of home - even the home of a slave - contrasted with a nightmarish execution ground. The hope of new life snuffed out with contemptuous indifference. The contemplation of the future - even a future carrying a rapist's child - only to be dragged back by her breasts to the bleak finality of that awful hill. I agree with @thecuriousone - It is a very, very good story, and it deserves a bit of time spent editing out some typos and laying out the paragraphs!

I look forward to the continuation.
Click to expand...
I apreciate your work and comments, and i apologize for the rough draft nature of my posts. I'm typing it out on my phone between the gaps of my to do list. Very good edits.
Your comments are very encouraging. All though I am a bit of a free lance gramarrian and creative speller, I love painting pictures with words.
 
Indianaguy said:
I apreciate your work and comments, and i apologize for the rough draft nature of my posts. I'm typing it out on my phone between the gaps of my to do list
Click to expand...
That sounds familiar! But the compelling story shines through!
Indianaguy said:
. Very good edits.
Your comments are very encouraging. All though I am a bit of a free lance gramarrian and creative speller,
Click to expand...
Ha ha, love that description!
Indianaguy said:
I love painting pictures with words.
Click to expand...
And you paint an original image, I’ve loved your inventiveness! I greatly admire your effort and enthusiasm!
 
Indianaguy said:
I apreciate your work and comments, and i apologize for the rough draft nature of my posts. I'm typing it out on my phone between the gaps of my to do list. Very good edits.
Your comments are very encouraging. All though I am a bit of a free lance gramarrian and creative speller, I love painting pictures with words.
Click to expand...
I can say one thing for sure: there's no way that this story was produced by Chat CBT! :)
 
My heart, whose beats were numbered, was racing in my chest while my breasts raised and lowered with my rapid breathing.

I was afraid, very afraid. I looked over at the brutes dragging the kicking and screaming Priscilla to the stipe and, for the first time ever, I sensed the fear and duty they must feel on the battle field. Women understand their emotions, but I wonder if these men even knew they had emotions. For me, I had the ability to escape. The Legionnaire gave me the opportunity to leave, but for the sake of others I am going forward to my crucifixtion just as these men go forward in battle.

"Is my arm in the right place?" I ask my legionnaire. He looks across my bound tits to my left arm and says, "It will do." I must admit, when he locked across me I moved my tits to catch his attention. Bound as they were they made a seductive picture that even I found enticing. He was such an attractive man that despite my fear I felt myself getting wet. His smell, his muscles, his confidence, the way he was dominating me, had me feeling an unexpected arousal. I wanted him inside me.

Then a loud clink of steel on steel, the dull thud of wood, and a reverberating pain originating in my wrist broke my trance. My feet dug in as my back raised to the sound of my screaming. I looked to my right arm with a huge nail through it and several inches above it. My mind trief to move my left hand to comfort my right hand, but it did not follow.

I watched the hammer hit the nail again and it sank in a little deeper. Strike followed strike until the nail head was at my wrist. I looked to the left and to the right several times and tested the nails only to find that they held me tight.

I laid my head back in the realization that this was happening to me. I was going to die.

I raised my head and lookef at the brutes who were tying Priscilla to the stipe. I wondered if what I was feeling was what they feel on the battle field when a sword is plunged into vital organs bringing a realization that they will die. I saw that I had more in common with them than not. Their lives are expendable on the battle field for the good of others. My life is expendable on a hill. Neither of us want to die, but all of us will lay our dead bodies in the dirt for others. I looked at the brutes...the men...taking their lewd pleasure in Priscilla and realized that we are the same except today is my day to die. Their day will come.

Priscilla begging for mercy interrupted my ponderings. I could tell her that her pleas were oil to their fire, but she would soon learn. The men left her tied to the stipe with her arms wrapped around it and over her head. She was pulled up to her tip toes and tears rolled down her cheeks. Fear gripped her.

She kept asking what they were doing, but her heart knew what her mind could not acknowledge. As she turned her head to look behind her, her eyes could not deny that whips were being prepared for her. She turn her face to the post as the first whip was unfurled. Then I heard the whooshing sound and the snap of of leather against flesh. I looked as the straps were hanging on her back and heard her whimpering just as his strong arms pulled back on the whip. Her skin began following the straps and her voice became a scream and her flesh tore open.

As the first whip fell free, a second was in the air and ripped into her flesh. Those on the nearest crosses were watching Proscilla's back being opened up and like me reliving their own scourging, but like me they were now occupied by new and more intense pain. Stroke after stroke landed from her shoulders to her knees until her flesh was hanging open and blood splattered around her.

In the midst of her suffering, a large horse fly landed on my over inflated tit near my puffy nipple. The only defense I had was blowing at it, but it was unmoved. As I blew and shook my tits, the fly began biting me. I screamed and begged someone to get it off me, but no one cared. I finally quit trying and let the fly take what part of me it wanted. I laid my head back in degrgation that a fly could suck its fill of my blood, but I was unable to even touch it. An insect had more right to my body than I did.

But why not? I tormented insects for my fun but this insect's tormenting was driven by an instinct for life. I looked again at this fly breastfeeding on my swollen tit and thought of it flying away to freedom nursed by me and carrying a tiny portion of my life inside its body. I know it's pathetic, but I found some comfort in that something living would be nutured by my breast.

Suddenly there was a heavy metal slap to my boob. One of the brutes had taken the side of his sword and killed the fly leaving two bloody lines from his sword and a smashed insect on my tit.

I looked up at him with a white hot rage, but he leant down and said, "your lover boy has left, but don't worry, we'll take care of you." His large hand fondled my swollen tits then he sucked my erect nipple into his mouth. With my tit in this man's mouth, I felt as if I was cheating on my legionnaire. If it was his hands and mouth on my breast my body would be raising up to meet his manhood and take him into me. This brute made me feel dirty and humiliated and I wanted him off me, but I couldn't chase a fly away.

Suddenly he bit hard into my nipple while I screamed and struggled on the ground unable to escape his bite. " My mother always told me that I was a biter," he laughed. I looked at my boob with bloody teeth marks and realized that he had nearly bit through it. It was impossible for me to move a hand to my injured nipple, and I thought how my injury would surely draw the attention of the gawkers and flies when I labored on my cross towards death.

I heard one of the brutes say, "We have no patibulums." As I watched new lines of blood flow down my round tit, I thought, "What does their problem have to do with me?"

It will.
 
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I layed in the dust securely attached to my crossbeam. Crucifixions are carried out on the shoulders of the road and, being incapable of moving, I watched the sandals as they passed by stirring up dust that settled on my sweat. The dirt was grinding into my wounded back as I lay there, but my beam held me tight to the ground. I lay naked with my bound tits bleeding, exposed, swollen twice their size, and turning purple. Some of the passers by would stop to gawk lusting my ravished body or jealous of my youthful form .

Among the crowd appeared the jackal (my apologies to all jackals) who had kicked the beam off me when i first tried to stand during my escape. "I see you found your courage," I quipped at him in reference to how he fled from me as I was trudging towards home. "You're not going anywhere this time," he said as he put his foot on my beam and began rocking it. As much as I wanted to deny him the pleasure of my pain, I could only wither and cry in the pain he was causing me. I feared how much greater that pain would become when I was hung on my cross, but I wished these brutes would finish their duty so I could get busy with my duty of dying. The only way I was going to escape now was through joining my family in the dance of the crucified. "What is taking them so long?" I wondered

I looked over and saw Priscella hanging limp in her bondage as the brutes were arguing among themselves. I knew it had something to do with the lack of a patibulum, but again, what was that to me?

Then I felt someone speading my legs open and looked up to see a disgusting man with his cock out. He was totalky unkept and dirty everywhere including his rough clothes. He smiled through rotted teeth, and despite all the abuse I had suffered the night before, this feral man disgusted me more than a leper. His disgusting and deseased looking cock was headed toward my pussy and I was powerless to stop him. I tried closing my legs, but he was already between them.

Suddenly one of the brutes shouted at the man to get away from me. "That's our whore and if you want a piece of it you need to pay!" Shouted the brute. His words echoed in my soul. Less than a day ago I was a virgin with a future of making babies for my husband and master. Now I was a whore being pimped out by these brutes. Yet my soul told me he was right, willingly or not, I was their whore. I had most likely been filled with more cocks last night than the biggest whore has taken on in a month. Although I was not leaking as much cum, I knew that every hole in me and the deepest parts of my womanhood was filled with cum like the whore I am.

The disgusting man jumped up at the shout of the brute and ran away looking like a rat. I was grateful that I would not be carrying his cum in me to the cross, but then I watched a short, fat, and balding man approach the brute and hand him a some coins. The brute motioned him toward me, and the little man stood at my feet, raised his tunic, and revealed a hard cock as short as he was. My body had been sold. Tears came to my eyes as I opened up my knees to let the little man have what he had bought. Once again as he pushed his cock inside me I felt the reality that I did not own my body. It was sold, but profitted me nothing.

As I laid in the dust with my knees open and hoping that the little man would finish soon, I saw another man stand behind him. As soon as the little man finished in me the next man took his place and a new cock was at work in me. Two more men appeared then a third and I quit counting as I felt more cum enter me and an unwilling orgasim building. As empty cocks left me and new ones filled me I experienced a series of unwanted orgasms. I didn't want orgasms, I wanted to die. Then between my legs the Jackal who tormented me appeared. The one man I found more disgusting than the dirty rat man was between my legs and raising his tunic. I thought he would surely have a tiny cock to match his stature, but when it was revealed I could only stare at it with awe and fear. His cock was as big and as long as my forearm, and its massive head was pushing against my opening. I struggled to get away but with my arms pinned I had no real options but to take his horse cock on. It filled me to splitting and I could feel it in me so deep it felt like it was in my stomach. It was hurting me horribly as its length pushed into my cervix, but after several strokes I felt it getting smaller. Then he pulled it out and to his shame it hung limp.

In all the pain and abuse I had suffered in the last day and with what awaited me, I didn't know that I could still laugh, but laugh I did. This jackal's limp piece of manhood that intended to take its pleasure from me and leave me dripping in pain and humiliation was useless. And to his humiliation even some women who were watching his intended abuse, and perhaps fantazing about taking my place, began pointing and laughing at him.

We mockingly laughed at him and could see his anger beginning to boil. His embarassment and anger only fueled more laughter from us until he exploded in an anger that turned on me. The jackal pounced upon me taking the nipple of my uninjured tit into his mouth and bit down hard on my puffy nipple. My laughter turned into a scream of pain while by reflex my arms pulled against my nailed wrists. "Get off me you limp dicked jackal!" I screamed. That only served to anger him more. He grabbed my throat with his hands and began choking thr life out of me. My vision was turning dark when a booted foot landed against the jackal's head and sent him rolling. "This one is to die on a cross, fool!" Came a brute's voice, "Or do you want to take her place?" The jackal scurried off down the same trail as the rat man as another man pushed his cock inside me.

The brutes returned to their arguing which was background noise as looked at my newly injured tit while my pussy serviced the the line of men waiting to add their cum to me, the whore. Then I heard the alpha brute say, "There's our patibulum you fools." He said. "She's only using the one side." Suddenly what I thought had nothing to do with me became one more problem for me. The brutes pulled my latest cum donor off me and pushed the others away as I felt my all to familiar fear and terror rise up in me again.

Two of the brutes grabbed my beam by each end and began lifting it. As I followed it up I felt my weight hanging from it for the first time. It was a prelude to what I would feel when I hung from my cross. My spread arms pulled at my joints causing a great pain in my shoulders which competed with the pain of the nails in my wrists. My legs scurried on the ground to keep up with the beam and I wondered how I would tolerate this pain when my feet would leave the ground for the last time.

I was brought up to my knees then thrown face first into the dust as my beam landed in the dirt above my head. My bloodied and swollen tits pressed into the dust but lifted my ravaged back as my weight could only press my tits far into the dust.

Then I heard Priscilla screaming in protest and terror as the brutes dragged closer to me. Her meaningless cries for mercy and pleas of innocence were becoming more of an agitation to me than the nails in my wrists. As they laid her on top of me, ravaged back to ravaged back, I wondered how long it will take her to understand that for our world there is no innocence, there is no mercy. As I felt the brutes stretch her arms out on our beam, I knew that as the nails pierced her wrist she would come to the realization of the finality of her life as I and every other crucified person has when the nails entered our bodies. The beam that Priscilla and I carried to this place together will together carry us to eternity.
 
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Indianaguy said:
Was working on the next installment and lost it.
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If you like you can type it into a convo with me - CFs will retain what you've typed even if you lose your connection.

Then I can correct your typos and you can copy and paste them here.

The only thing is, I shall be away June 9-18 and might not be online much between those dates.
 
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