connoisseurs
Senator
It looks like the condemned has also been to the eye doctor. She has very dilated eyes
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Jastrow's Pic of the Day
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It looks like the condemned has also been to the eye doctor. She has very dilated eyes
You are correct. But it could simply be due to what medical science calls the "scared shitless reflex."
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Jastrow
Imperator
Tuesday, October 30, 2018–Day 298. "There’s just no telling who (or what) you might meet while hanging on the cross–particularly at midnight when the ghosts and other creatures of the night awaken. Don’t worry, my dear, you’ll be one of them in the very near future..." From 2014 and entitled "Halloween Night on the Cross".
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You’ve got a winner, Jas. A skeleton/urine-free version would be welcome, especially with that intense eye contact face.
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Jolly and company love the holiday....
Anklebiter
Magistrate
EXCELLENT! Thank you so much, Bobinder!
Jastrow
Imperator
Wednesday, October 31, 2018–Day 299. Here’s a new Halloween treat for today, called "Halloween Witch". "She had never believed in witches–that is, until they came for her. They said that she had been see by many in the village trafficking with known witches and demons. Despite her protestations of her innocence, under intense and brutal torture she had ‘confessed’ to her crime and had been sentenced to die on a cross. She accepted her grim fate and had been stripped, raped beaten and nailed to the cross. Still, even in her agony, she did not believe that there really were such things as witches. That is, until she heard a terrifying laugh and looked up and saw her twin sister riding a broomstick across the night sky, silhouetted against the glowing harvest moon. Clearly a case of mistaken identity...."
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Jastrow
Imperator
Thursday, November 1, 2018–Day 305. (I discovered I'd apparently gotten off in my numbering of the days of the year in my earlier posts. 305 is correct for today.) Here’s one from 2012 called "In the Early Morning Pain". ('Pain' not 'Rain' for all you aging folkies out there....)
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Never did much like that Lightfoot song. But that poor child’s face moves me to paraphrase a line from another of his.
"Does anyone know where the love of God goes, when the pain turns the minutes to hours?"
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Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
After all the Halloween nightmares, it finally gets morning again.
In the chill mist, she wakes up. Trembling from cold, she realises that one thing from the nightmares is real : she got really crucified!
Jade
Onlooker
Jade
Onlooker
Would like to see this one turned into a series of images before, during, and after. The skeleton in front needs to jerk her head around and force her to kiss him (or her?)
Their faces are expressive, their bodies are hot.
This one gets three
s, and a hearty 
. Way to go, Jas.
Jastrow
Imperator
Saturday, November 3, 2018–Day 307. Here’s a new one for today called "Gravity Wins".
"It was the sense of falling that was perhaps most disconcerting. Every day of our lives we fight a war against the incessant pull of gravity. Usually our feet safely support us, our hands reach out to steady us and keep us safe. But now on the cross, her feet and hands were useless. They only held her mid-fall–helpless and terribly frightened. More than that, however, her hands and feet had become the focus of her agony. She had screamed and nearly passed as each thick iron spike had been driven into her flesh of her feet and wrists leaving terrible wounds that normally would be treated with care and mercy. The wounds would be cleaned, treated with ointments, wrapped in gauzes to protect them from infection and further injury. Now, however, they were inflamed with pain. The slightest movement, shift, twist, turn of her body–even each tortured breath-- sent fresh waves of agony through her injured limbs. Gravity pulled her body painfully against these open wounds and produced inescapable pain. She had once been a proud woman–a wife, a mother, a lover–now she was nothing more than a grunting, moaning, sobbing doomed animal–filthy, reeking of sweat, shit, and piss pleading for some end to her unimaginable anguish. She felt shame. Her body’s most intimate secrets were on display for all to see. The cruel nails allowed her no escape–no cover. She could hear two men coming down the path. Would they stop to cruelly comment on her nakedness and shame? Would they taunt her or otherwise molest her? She knew enough to expect no mercy from them. She was only there for their abuse. At first she’d held some foolish hope that this would end–that the torment would end–that she’d be rescued, taken down from the wooden cross and be allowed to heal. Now she knew that it was only a mirage, a delusion–that the only thing that awaited her was death. In despair she realized that it was still a long ways off–that there was more agony ahead of her–that it wouldn’t end until the circling birds had feasted on her naked flesh. It wouldn’t end until her lifeless body crashed to the ground one final time. In the end, gravity always wins..."
"It was the sense of falling that was perhaps most disconcerting. Every day of our lives we fight a war against the incessant pull of gravity. Usually our feet safely support us, our hands reach out to steady us and keep us safe. But now on the cross, her feet and hands were useless. They only held her mid-fall–helpless and terribly frightened. More than that, however, her hands and feet had become the focus of her agony. She had screamed and nearly passed as each thick iron spike had been driven into her flesh of her feet and wrists leaving terrible wounds that normally would be treated with care and mercy. The wounds would be cleaned, treated with ointments, wrapped in gauzes to protect them from infection and further injury. Now, however, they were inflamed with pain. The slightest movement, shift, twist, turn of her body–even each tortured breath-- sent fresh waves of agony through her injured limbs. Gravity pulled her body painfully against these open wounds and produced inescapable pain. She had once been a proud woman–a wife, a mother, a lover–now she was nothing more than a grunting, moaning, sobbing doomed animal–filthy, reeking of sweat, shit, and piss pleading for some end to her unimaginable anguish. She felt shame. Her body’s most intimate secrets were on display for all to see. The cruel nails allowed her no escape–no cover. She could hear two men coming down the path. Would they stop to cruelly comment on her nakedness and shame? Would they taunt her or otherwise molest her? She knew enough to expect no mercy from them. She was only there for their abuse. At first she’d held some foolish hope that this would end–that the torment would end–that she’d be rescued, taken down from the wooden cross and be allowed to heal. Now she knew that it was only a mirage, a delusion–that the only thing that awaited her was death. In despair she realized that it was still a long ways off–that there was more agony ahead of her–that it wouldn’t end until the circling birds had feasted on her naked flesh. It wouldn’t end until her lifeless body crashed to the ground one final time. In the end, gravity always wins..."
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A compelling description of the sheer hellish cruelty of crucifixion. And she’s certainly a far more likely sight that a circa 60 CE passerby would see beside the Roman road. But the truth is I’m a lookist on top of being a crux perv, and I really do prefer them to be pretty.
Shallow of me.
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Jastrow
Imperator
Sunday, November 4, 2018–Day 308. A long and lingering death on the cross, every minute filled with agony, or being savagely ripped to pieces by the big cats...? Your fate, your choice... I really don’t think the crowd in the arena cares all that much one way or the other. Originally done for The Lyre in 2011 and somewhat humorously called, "Cat Chow".
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I remember that one, Jas. I thought she should be tied to a stake or something, but maybe the mob would have found her being run down and devoured more entertaining.
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Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
I think the record shows that true crucifixions rarely occurred in the arena. Too slow for a afternoon crowd anxious to get to the neighborhood bar/pub after the show to bullship with friends and watch Sunday night ball on the Telly.
Torn by beasts or sliced and diced by an expert knifeman was more the speed the producers aimed for.