Marcella's Crucifixion

[Cella]

I'm reposting all of the episodes and parts of this story that were originally posted in Hasturan's monumental thread. He provided me many wonderful images over a period of weeks that I wove into this story. Unfortunately, it was rather disjointed and hard to follow.

This is the final, edited form with everything in proper sequence. I'm not looking for a lot of likes. You've read this already. It's my vanity that wants it all pulled together.

So, here I begin.


Marcella’s Crucifixion

Introduction

It is hot summer day in Salona, a city of the Roman province of Dalmatia. Word has spread through the city and a crowd has been gathering outside the city walls since early morning. It seems there’s been a crucifixion at the place where such executions occur. It is not the usual crucifixion. The condemned is an exceptionally beautiful young woman. She has consistently insisted that she is innocent! Even as she hangs on her cross she curses and groans under the relentless, grinding, soul-destroying agony that is crucifixion she screams out her innocence, as though that will get her taken down or even get her any mercy. She knows better. When she was nailed to this cross and raised up she knew that she and the cross would be one until she dies.

The crowd is anxious. There is talk that another woman, equally attractive, will be joining her shortly. And perhaps even a third. Quite a day for Salona. Rarely are three women, beautiful or not, crucified together. This is something to be present for, to witness. So the spectators gather to gawk, to leer, and to humiliate the poor girl who cannot hide her nakedness as she hangs. For her it is hell on earth; for the crowd more of a festival. There vendors of various sorts to provide the crowd with what it needs to last all day should they decide to stay that long. After all, the crucified girl isn’t going anywhere.

Her name is Marcella, but no one in the crowd knows that. Even the soldiers who marched her out to be crucified or the executioners who nailed her to the cross. She is just a condemned bitch, a poor, anonymous person caught up in the wheels of Roman justice during a turbulent time in the province’s history. She is only nineteen years old.


Ch 1: Marcella is Arrested

Marcella was arrested two days ago in one of Salona’s markets by soldiers on police duty. She was identified as a runaway slave who had assaulted her domina. A serious offense indeed -- one worthy of death! The legions had just put down a slave rebellion in this province. Yet, there remained some slave rebelling against their masters and a large number of renegades loose and committing crimes against the local populace

A slave merchant, Gracchus Glabrus, who had visited many of the villas in the district trying to resupply slaves escaped or killed during the rebellion, swore that Marcella was a runaway slave of Gnaeus Claudius Porculus and his wife Hysteria. Porculus, himself, had been killed in the rebellion and Hysteria lived in constant fear of being murdered by her few remaining slaves. While Glabrus was visiting with Hysteria to finalize the purchase of additional slaves to run the estate, he witnessed a viscous attack on Hysteria by one of her remaining female slaves. The slave also assaulted Glabrus as she made her escape, elbowing him in his eye as he tried to help Hysteria. Hysteria was beside herself with rage! She had lost a tooth when the slave girl hit her in the jaw, and was beaten and kicked in the chest and belly by the slave as she laid helpless on the ground. Glabrus promised the beaten and enraged Hysteria that he would return to Salona and alert the authorities in town of the runaway. Though the slave had badly injured Glabrus’s eye, he was sure he could identify her if he ever saw her again. As far as Glabrus was concerned, it only takes one good Roman eye (well, one good for an old man) to identify a slave!

Back in Salona a couple of days later Glabrus reports the incident to the city magistrate’s office and goes about his business. He is headed for the slave market when he decides to visit a good friend of his, a merchant dealing in rare and expensive cloths. On his way he passes other cloth dealer stalls and suddenly sees the slave from Porculus’s estate. The viscous little bitch was clearly trying to blend in with the population to avoid detection! Yes, it’s she; he knows it! He squints with his one good eye to make sure and, yes, by Jupiter’s cock, it’s the fucking bitch herself! And she seems to be in the company of another woman – probably a renegade herself! He immediately seeks out the police patrol, identifies himself, and points out the escaped slave he believes he has found. The three-soldier patrol is under the command of a Decurion, a junior officer in the Roman legion garrisoned in Salona and other nearby towns. The patrol approaches the young woman and places her under arrest.

Marcella's sister, Thessela, is with her but cannot stop her arrest. In her desperate attempt to help or save her sister she strikes one of the arresting soldiers in the head with an iron pan that she grabbed from the adjacent stall of an iron ware dealer. It is a highly impulsive act for Thessela, one that she almost immediately regrets. The soldier drops in a heap, knocked out cold. Thessela stands with the pan in her hand, amazed and terrified at what she has just done. The Decurion looks at her, furious that one of his men has been assaulted.

“Arrest her!” The Decurion orders to his other soldiers.

Thessela, in sudden, utter fear for her own safety, throws the heavy pan at the soldiers as they advance on. She flees.

“Go after her. I want that bitch,” shouts the Decurion. But in the crowd and confusion Thessela manages to evade capture. Marcella is hauled away to prison.

Thessela is twenty-four years old and like her sister is very beautiful. She is slightly shorter, more curvaceous and bustier than her slender young sister. She is very protective of Marcella, who, as a virgin, is not yet wise in the ways of the cruel world. Thessela feels cowardly running away but knows she won’t be able to defend her sister if she too is arrested.

Since it was later in the day, Marcella is simply locked in a cell in the city dungeon, located near the magistrate’s court. She spends the night alone and terrified, not knowing really why she was arrested nor what is likely to happen to her. She misses her sister terribly. The two were rarely apart.

Early in the morning she is dragged before the magistrate. Upon hearing the charges leveled against her, Marcella, of course, declares her innocence. The idea that someone would accuse her of being a renegade slave was incomprehensible to her! But the magistrate is unconvinced the young woman is being truthful. And since she was identified as a runaway by someone of Gracchus Glabrus’s distinction, it was assumed by the magistrate that the young woman was, indeed a slave. And since slaves will lie to save their lives or avoid punishment, the magistrate is left with no recourse but to order that Marcella be delivered to the torturer in order to "loosen her tongue" and thereby arrive at the truth.

Marcella goes white with terror as she hears the magistrate’s order. The torturer! She almost swoons as she is quickly hustled away by the attending guards.

 

[Cella]

Ch 2: The Torturer

Marcella is escorted under guard to a large courtyard behind the dungeons where she spent the night. In a heavily-walled enclosure she is left standing with her arms tied in front of her. A heavy door creaks open and out steps a rather inoffensive looking pudgy man of average height.

He approaches Marcella. “So,” he says in a slightly effeminate voice (Marcella thinks he might be a eunuch), “you are the escaped slave sent to me for questioning.”

Is this the torturer, she wonders? If so, then his capacity for inflicting pain is belied by his mild-mannered appearance. Marcella stands in front of him, trembling with terror.

“Please, sir,” she pleads, “I’m not an escaped slave! Please believe me. This has all been a terrible mistake!” Marcella can only repeat the words she said to the magistrate. What else can she say? She’s in shock that she’s even in this horrible situation. How is it possible?

The torturer looks Marcella up and down. She stares at him in wide-eyed terror. Her chest is heaving and her brow is covered with a sheen of perspiration. He can see her nipples poking into the fabric of her blouse. Yes! She’s terrified! Just the way he likes to start with a woman.

“Strip her,” he orders, almost casually, to his assistants who quickly who immediately carry out the instruction.

Naked and humiliated Marcella tries to cover herself. The torturer approaches.

“Look here, girl,” he says, pointing to a table covered with horrible-looking devices, “if you refuse to give me the information I demand these instruments will be used to loosen your tongue. I hope you understand the amount of pain I can inflict on your tender, sweet body. Do you understand me, girl?”

Marcella is shaking with terror as she looks at the instruments of torture. The torturer was almost like a teacher, patiently and precisely explaining the function and use of each instrument. It reduces her to pitiable crying as he directs her attention to each instrument.

“What do you call that thing?”

“A ‘pear’ you say? It goes where? No! You wouldn't! That is just too terrible a thing to do to a virgin!”

“And the clawed thing? A breast ripper? How horrible! Why would you do that to my breasts? Why?

“You animal! You beast! Why would you torture me like that? I am innocent!

Please, please, I’m only nineteen! Oh why, why, do you intend to hurt me? Why?”

“Oh god, I feel faint!”

“Please, don't describe any further. I don't want to know!

“No, no I am really innocent! I don't deserve any of this! You have the wrong woman! Where is Thessela? I want my sister! She can tell you I'm innocent!

“Let me have my clothes back, please! I'm cold!”

“Oh, please, please, don't pick up those pincers! Wh - wh - what are you going to do with them? Pinch my nipples? Oh no, that's so horrible! Don't, don't do that to me! Please! Why? Why?"

“Sir, you're scaring me so badly! Oh, I have to pee! I really have to pee!”


Ch 3: The Implements of Torture

Marcella stands naked in the courtyard, trembling uncontrollably in the cool morning air, utterly terrified after seeing the instruments of her impending torture. To imagine those horrible things being applied to her body was unimaginable, as though she was trapped in nightmare from which she could not awaken. She is sobbing, the tears running down her cheeks. She would run, but to where? The courtyard is surrounded by a high stone wall. At the far end is a wooden gate, closed and barred. At the other end of the courtyard is the dark entrance leading down to the depths dungeon where she spent the night.

There is no place to run!!! Marcella remains as still as possible, her legs together, one hand covering her crotch and a forearm placed over her breasts. She is desperate to hold onto and shred of dignity. A nearby wooden door, set into the stone of the courtyard wall, opens with a loud creaking sound on its rusted iron hinges. Three men enter the courtyard. They are soldiers. She recognizes the first one as the Decurion who arrested her in the market yesterday. He is accompanied by two subordinates who walk behind him. The men are not in full kit, no shields or helmets, just knee-length tunics and mail body armor. Each has a scabbard and short sword at his waist.

Marcella has never been naked in front of a man, only in the baths with her sister, Thessela, and other females, or in private confines of her home. She turns her back to them, trying to hide her womanly parts from their gazes. She was a proper young lady, brought up to be chaste and pure. The perfect gift for her husband, someday. This is horrible being naked in front of so many strange men! Her face flames bright red in utter embarrassment.

The soldiers walk briskly by her, hardly looking in her direction. The Decurion stops in front of the torturer as he stands beside his table of instruments.

He goes on to speak to the torturer, ignoring Marcella. “News from the magistrate. The legionary assaulted by this girl’s sister has died. Seems when she hit him on the head with a pot – or a pan, I’m not sure, it hardly matters. Whatever, it really scrambled his brains. The medicus reported he was dizzy and nauseous last night. Didn’t turn out for first formation this morning. His mates found him dead in his bunk. The medicus is certain it was due to the blow to his head. Some sort of hemorrhage, he said.”

The Decurion glances back at Marcella. His eyes, at first cold and dark, soften as he stares at her. She blushes, trying to cover her nakedness. She heard what the Decurion had to say about the soldier dying. A dread thought rises within her. Is Thessela in trouble now too? Oh please! No!

The Decurion turns back towards the torturer. “The magistrate wants us to find the sister. She is to be arrested for murder. Do what you must to get any information about her whereabouts from this one.” He points to Marcella.

“Girl,” he addresses Marcella, “if you want to save yourself a lot of pain, be forthcoming with what you know.”

The torturer nods his head. “Please tell his honor that she’ll tell us everything. However, first I require some assistance from your men. Have them assist my men in placing the girl on my table over here.” He points to what appears to be two beams of wood in an X-shape attached to a pedestal. The beams have manacles at their ends for securing wrists and feet so that the victim is spread eagle. The X-beams are attached to the pedestal with a tilt mechanism. The table top X-beams are tilted forward, ready to receive its victim.

Marcella eyes open wide in horror as she looks at the table, desperately trying to comprehend what is about to happen to her.

The Decurion also looks at the torture table. His disgust is evident in his face as he tries to imagine Marcella’s lovely, naked body stretched over it, in preparation for her torturer. He sighs. “Take her,” he commands his soldiers, “and do as he asks.”

Marcella is still in shock at hearing about Thessela. She doesn’t even hear the Decurion’s command. Suddenly, rough hands grab at her arms, pulling them to the side. Her nakedness is fully revealed.

“No,” shouts Marcella, “no, no, please don’t do this.” She screams, twisting in their grasp as the two men drag her toward the torture table. She digs in her heels, and her legs lose their strength. Her body drops to the ground, to her knees. She looks up at them, pleading with them. “Oh please, don’t. I don’t know anything. I can’t tell you anything. Please, please, by all the gods, don’t do this to me!”

As the men drag her to her feet she loses bladder control, and a rush of warm urine gushes out of her, splashing down between her legs.

The torturer grins cruelly as he states coldly. “Better she pisses now than when I’m working on her.”

The torturer tilts the torture table forward as the soldiers pull Marcella’s body over the upper beams and bind her wrists with manacles. The back of the table is covered with iron studs, that dig into the flesh of her back. Marcella screams at the top of her lungs and the table is slowly tilted back. She feels her feet leave the ground. She screams and screams, in utter terror of what is happening to her.



Once the table is horizontal the torturer locks the tilt mechanism. “Now, bind her ankles.” He directs the soldiers.

With lascivious grins on their faces the soldiers pull Marcella’s thighs apart and manacle her ankles to the far ends of the X-beams. The iron studs dig deeper into her back, compelling Marcella not to writhe on the table. She lifts her head and stares between her heaving breasts down the length of her body. The men are staring between her legs, at her exposed pussy! She struggles against the manacles around her ankles. She cannot close her legs! She is utterly exposed and defenseless, at the mercy of her torturer, and under the gaze of these strange men. The men who bound her to the table clearly have bulges in their crotches. Marcella, the innocent young maiden, suddenly realizes those are from their erections! Her heart races as she contemplates being raped. Her butt sits at the edge of where the two beams of wood are crossed. Her virgin pussy is at the edge -- defenseless!

“You may stay, Decurion, if you wish.” States the torturer. “You may appreciate some of the finer techniques I use to extract information from this girl.”

Marcella stares over at the Decurion standing nearby. He has a look of disgust on his face. He doesn’t approve of this, she thinks. “Please, sir,” she addresses him, “please, please turn me lose. Don’t let me be tortured, please! I’ve done nothing wrong. I’m no escaped slave! Whoever said I was is lying. Please sir, please help me!”

“He can do nothing for you, girl.” States the torturer, now at her side. He evil eyes run up and down her glistening, naked body. “He has his orders as I have mine.”

The Decurion gives Marcella one last sympathetic look, then turns and exits through the courtyard door, his men following. He’s going to look for Thessela, thinks Marcella, and I am here to be tortured. Her chest rises and falls in terror as the torturer stands over her.

“Now, dear girl, where shall we begin?”

Marcella squeezes her eyes shut. She tenses, in terror, not knowing what to expect. She is breathing heavily, and sweating profusely in the cool morning air. Her heart is thumping in her chest. A shiver runs through her body as she feels hands running along the insides of her thighs. Her eyes fly open wide to see the torturer standing between her legs. He holds an object in his hand. It’s the pear!


“No, not that!” Marcella screams as she feels the cold metal pressed against the opening to her vagina.

 

[Hangnail]

If someone could assemble it all into one glorious PDF ...

 

[Barbaria1]

Nice to see this all in one place!!!

 

[Cella]

Ch 4: Her Torture Begins


The pear is pushing against Marcella’s soft flesh, slowly working its way between her pussy lips, and disappearing into her vagina. Marcella screams in pain as the large round head inserts itself, as it is pushed and turned by the torturer.

“My, what a tight virginal cunt you have, my dear. I must be careful not to tear you too badly. No, I do not want you to lose any more blood than absolutely necessary.”

The torturer pauses. Marcella feels herself being filled with that awful implement. Her lips are stretched and tearing, her vagina is slowly being filled by the horrid object. Pain radiated throughout her pelvis. She isn’t sure when she stopped screaming.

“Tell me, dear girl, where is your sister? Tell me and I can stop the pain. But you must tell me! And do not be evasive, because I will know and it will just be more painful for you.”

“Please, please, oh please stop, stop! " Marcella cries out from her spread eagle position on the torture table. "I cannot tell you anything because I don’t know anything!”

“Yes you do, my little cunt.” Hisses the torturer. “You will tell me everything.”

Aaaaughhhh! Oh god, damn, fuuuuuck! That hurt's. Please, please stop pushing that in me! Ahhhhhhh, ahhhhhhhh, ahhhhhhhh! Please, stop! I'm a virgin! That hurts so, so much! Ahhhhhhhh!

Marcella howls in blinding pain as the torturer suddenly shoves the pear its full length into her vagina. “I’ve just deflowered you, my little cunt.” Her torturer laughed as Marcella continues to howl in pain and utter degradation.



Marcella has not told the torturer anything. How can she? She really does not know anything. She is indeed an innocent! She is not an escaped slave, as charged, so she knows nothing about the wife of Claudius Porculus. Nor does she know where her sister is. Yet the tortures continue as her torturer is convinced she is not innocent and is withholding information. He concedes to himself that she is a very brave young woman. She has endured far more than any woman he has ever tortured.

Indeed she has. Even when he turned the shaft on the pear inserted in her vagina. The bulbous head opened like a four-petal flower pressing very hard against the soft flesh, producing excruciating pain. She fainted several times, but he brought her back around each time to endure more punishment. She must be broken. She must talk. He cannot fail to give the magistrate what he wants!

He lashed her perfect breasts with a whip, producing ugly red, oozing welts on her flesh. Now he uses pincers on her nipples, squeezing and tugging at the tumescent tips with the hard iron. Marcella can do nothing but scream as each new assault on her body brings new shocking pain and degradation.




Marcella lays stretched on the table, groaning in agony. The metal spikes press painfully into her back. Will this horror ever end, she wonders? Could this ever get any worse?

She looks around. The torturer is not by her. Where is he? Oh Thessela, I pray you are safe," she mutters to herself during this break in her torture.

Marcella hears another woman scream! Who is that? I can't see her? She's on the other side of the wall. Why is she being tortured? Oh gods, I hope it isn't Thessela!

No, no, that's not Thessela. That's not her voice, her scream. Thank the gods it isn't her! She's still safe! It's someone else!

But, then, who is this poor girl? I hear the awful crack of the whip followed by her unearthly screams! How many times must she be whipped?

Oh why are we being tortured? For what end? I'm innocent -- I'm sure she is too!

Marcella’s eyes are closed as she feels the sudden crack of a whip across her breasts. She screams as her eyes fly open. He’s back! And he’s applying the instruments to her flesh.

“Oh please, please, not the pincers again. Are you trying to tear off my nipples? Aaaaarrrrrrghhhhh!”

“No, no, please! Not the pear again! You're tearing me apart! Please stop! AAAArrrrrrgggggghhhhhhhhhhhhh! Arrggghhhhhhh!”

“Please, no more! Not my breasts again! Please have mercy!”

“I'm innocent, innocent! I don't know anything! Oh please, please stop! Why are you doing this?”

Marcella's and the unknown girl's scream blend together in one horrendous crescendo of agony as their individual tortures carry on.




Ch 5: The Strappado

Again and again Marcella loses consciousness as she endures relentless torture on the table. The vaginal pear has not loosened her lips, nor has a severe breast lashing or pincers to her nipples. The torturer is frustrated; he cannot understand why the bitch won’t give the information he knows she has! No woman can withstand the kind of torture this bitch has. No woman. Why can this one?

She hasn’t given any useful information about the whereabouts of her sister or about her assault on Claudius Porculus’s wife. She refuses to name any other slaves who aided her escape or are part of the recent slave uprising. Could she be innocent as claimed? No, not possible! She was arrested based on an identification by an upright citizen, a slave trader of considerable renown and reputation as a businessman. He should be able to spot an escaped slave, shouldn’t he? She’s just a slave! And a slave will say anything to avoid torture. They have no loyalty to their fellow slaves. Why, just penetrating her with the pear should have convinced her to talk. Any torture after that would just have confirmed the information initially given was truthful.

Yet, this girl persists in claiming she is innocent. Inconceivable! And she may well have been a virgin as claimed (well, now deflowered by the vaginal pear). But why was she still a virgin at – what is her age, 18 or 19, at most? She would have certainly been deflowered by this point. The girl is obviously beautiful. Unblemished, olive skin; a long-limbed, slender figure; perfectly formed breasts; a lovely face; shoulder-length dark brown hair. Yes, by Venus’s tits, she is beautiful! There’s no denying that. So why was she still a maiden at this point. Was her master saving her?

What next to loosen this bitch’s lips? Marcella’s torturer has one more technique that has only rarely been needed with a female to get information. The strappado! But with his own devilish twist!

First, the pear is removed from her vagina. The procedure is painful and causes Marcella to regain consciousness. She is taken off the table and walked over to a gibbet from which a long rope dangles down from a pulley bolted to the end of the gibbet’s horizontal beam. The far end of the rope is wound around an axle that is turned with a handle. Marcella observes it through sweat-clouded eyes. She is exhausted, barely conscious. Do they mean to hang me? She wonders. Oh please, it would be a mercy!

But there is no mercy of a relatively quick death. This is a new torture. Marcella steels herself as she is forced to kneel in front of the gibbet. She is bent forward at the waist as her arms are pulled behind her. The free end of the rope dangling from the gibbet is used to bind her wrists tightly behind her back. The crank on the axle is turned, winding up the slack in the rope. As the rope tightens Marcella is pulled to standing. Then, with a swift, hard tug, she is hauled upward, off her feet, to dangle in mid-air. Marcella is immediately jerked back into full consciousness as her slender arms are viciously pulled up behind her back and above her head as they support the full weight of her hanging body. She screams in agony as bolts of pain radiate out from her overstretched shoulder muscles! Her arms feel as though they are being dislocated from their shoulder joints. The agony is constant and escalating as she sways back and forth from her arms. Her legs search for support but find none. Then comes the numbness, but it barely lessens the burning agony in her shoulders and arms. Her head drops forward, then upward, as she screams in agony.

But this is not the total torture. Marcella feels her legs being pulled apart. A heavy pedestal is moved between her legs. Inserted in the top is a huge wooden phallus. She watches in sheer horror as the phallus is positioned under her body. Then the axle is turned to lower her onto the phallus. She feels its tip begin to insert between her swollen pussy lips. Her lowering is slowed so that her own body weight is used to advance the length of the phallus deep within her vagina. Marcella tries to kick and writhe to escape this assault, but it is of no avail. Once again she is raped with an instrument of torture. She screams as she hangs with the phallus now fully buried deep inside her. Horrid pain radiates throughout her pelvis. Then she feels herself being pulled upward until the phallus is very nearly pulled out of her. But only for a moment. She is dropped suddenly, ramming the shaft deep inside her, filling her with sudden, unimaginable pain.



“Tell me what you know, girl,” says the torturer, “and this will stop.”

Marcella gasps. It is difficult to breathe in this position. “I, I, don’t know anything. I’m innocent! Why don’t you believe me?” Sweat pours off her head, chest and dangling breasts. Her hands begin to turn blue from lack of circulation; the long muscles of her arms stand out highly stressed and taut as she hangs from arms behind her back. Her whole body shudders. Her legs tremble in muscle spasms as her feet, mere inches off the ground, try to push against the pedestal shaft. The horrid process -- being raised and dropped -- is repeated over and over. Marcella's screams trail off into piteous whimpers and she endures the agony and humiliation.

“Where is your sister, girl?” The torturer is persistent. “I know you know where she is, stop saying you do not! This doesn’t have to continue! You are doing this to yourself.”

Marcella turns her head toward the torturer. “Fuck you,” she shouts, her voice strained and guttural. Incredibly, she manages to spit in his face.

“You fucking bitch,” he shouts, wiping her spittle from his face. “For that I’ll leave you here with that cock buried in your pussy, for as long as it takes for you to talk.”

A thin crossbar is affixed to the pedestal under Marcella's hanging body. Her feet barely touch it, but it gives her the ability to push up just a bit to allow her to breathe and take some tension off her arms and shoulders.

The torturer and his assistants walk away. Marcella is left alone in the courtyard, suspended in naked torment, under the blazing sun.

Marcella hangs from the gibbet for hours, well into the afternoon. As she pushes up with her feet and then lowers down she is agonizingly aware that she is literally fucking herself as the phallus is withdrawn and reinserted into her vagina. How humiliating! Her cries and pleas for mercy, for water, are pitiable, but go unanswered. She must merely endure. She isn’t even aware when she is hauled back up in the air and the phallus is removed. She is lowered to the ground. The ropes are removed from her wrists. She feels the prickly agony of sensation returning to her shoulders, arms and wrists. She lies on her back, her shapely legs spread wide.



"Why was I let down? What can be next?" Exhausted, she drifts into unconsciousness.

Marcella is jolted back into consciousness as she is doused with a bucket of cold water. She’s lying on her side, her left arm under her body. Her right hand in between her thighs, cupping her inflamed, aching vulva. She’s in pain. Lots of pain. Her arms and shoulders, her breasts, and her crotch all radiate pain. Some dull, some bright, some deep and penetrating.

She’s still on the ground next to the gibbet from which she hanged for so long. It’s late afternoon, Shadows are lengthening. She is desperately thirsty. She turns her head and tries to lap up some of the puddled water on the ground. Before she can barely wet her tongue she feels hands grab her shoulders and hips. She cries in pain as she is rolled over onto her back. She looks up to see men standing over her. How many? Two? She realizes she’s naked and her legs are spread open. She tries to close them. Even that hurts, oh so much! Then the men reach down. One picks her up by the shoulders, the other grabs her ankles. The pain in her shoulders explodes as her muscles are pulled ad stretched. She lets out a feeble groan and faints.

When Marcella regains consciousness she is back in the dungeon, in the cell she occupied before being tortured. She’s on the floor, on her back. She feels the itch of straw under her back. There is a crowd of men around her. The cell is dimly lit by a flickering torch set into the dungeon wall. Her eyes are blurry; she cannot focus well. She looks up to see loincloths coming loose and erect penises popping into view. A wave of nausea flows through her. Marcella knows she’s to be raped. Strong arms hold her down at the shoulders as her legs are pulled apart. It hurts too much to struggle. She whimpers as the first man enters her, thrusting deep and hard into her tortured vagina. As he pounds away to an explosive orgasm Marcella realizes this is the first man to ever fuck her, to possess her so intimately. My first time! Why? Why now, this way? She begins to cry. I’m innocent! Floods of tears roll down her cheeks. Then the next man takes his turn. Then the next, and the next . . .

At some point she faints. When she recovers she’s alone in her cell, on her back, her legs spread wide. Marcella pulls her legs up and rolls over on her side, with both hands over her vulva. She feels the sticky cum oozing out of her. It sickens her, but she must cover herself, protect herself, seize back some dignity. How many, she wonders? How many? As she drifts off into sleep.

Restlessly, Marcella dreams. She sees her sister, Thessela, kneeling in the dirt, naked. Thessela is looking up her. Why am I so high in the air, she thinks in her dream state? I seem to be floating but I hurt so much! She looks around. Her arms are stretched out and pulled taut. She looks down and sees that she, too, is naked.

What is happening? Where am I? Oh, but it is so good to see Thessela again – and she is safe!

*

 

[Cella]

Ch 6: The Next Morning

“Come on, girl, get up! On your feet!” A voice booms in her dream.

Thessela disappears from view as Marcella is roughly roused from her sleep. Her eyes snap open all blurry and sticky. She tries to focus. Where am I? With a sickening realization she knows. She hurts. All over. There’s a deep ache in her lower pelvis. Her shoulder muscles throb and twitch. She’s lying on her back, breathing deeply. She brings an arm up over her chest and feels the blood-crusted welts covering her heaving breasts. Her thighs are closed but she feels the stickiness of drying cum tugging at her skin as she tries to move her legs. There are two men in the cell with her as she struggles to move. She is naked and helpless. Her heart starts pounding. What next?

“On your feet, bitch. Now!” A gruff voice echoes off the stone walls.

“Pretty one, isn’t she? Says the other.

“Yeah. Young too. They worked her over pretty well. But she should put on a good show.”

Marcella rolls onto her side and tries to push up with the arms. She winces in pain as her over-stretched shoulder muscles begin to spasm. She cannot push herself up and collapses back onto her back, gasping at the burning pain.

The men stand on either side of her and they grab her under her arms to pull her up. Marcella groans in agony as her stretched shoulder muscles are moved.

“Get up bitch, let’s go now. Shit! What’d they do to her?”

“Looks like they used the pear on her, whipped her tits, then several hours with the strappado. Then fucked her brains out.”

“The strappado really fucks up shoulder muscles. She won’t be able to pull up very well.”

“Better use a foot block. She’ll need the support.”

Foot block? What are they talking about? Oh god no!!!! Not more torture!

“I’ll bring one.”

What’s happening to me? Oh god, I can’t take more torture!

Marcella groans loudly as she’s hauled to her feet. Her shoulders are on fire. The pain radiates up her arms; her fingers tingle, they feel numb.

“Prop her against the wall.”

“Stand there, girl. I said stand up, damn you!”

Marcella leans against the cool stone wall. Even so, her legs are wobbly, they can’t support her. She slips back down to her knees, then leans forward to crouch on all fours. Her arm and shoulder muscles radiate pain as she tries to support her upper body weight. She rolls over onto her side.

“Damn it. This cunt can’t even stand up! How’s she gonna walk, and carry?

Once again the men haul Marcella to her feet. This time quickly. She yelps with the pain radiating out from her shoulders. Steadying her on wobbly legs they brace her against the wall. Acutely awareness of her nakedness, she feebly tries to move her arms to cover herself.

“Listen to me girl.” Says the man on her right. “Raise your arm. Go ahead, do it. Out to the side.”

Marcella tries to comply, but she can barely move it without sharp, intense pain in her shoulder. She winces and moans. “I, I, I can’t.”

“See.”

“Yeah. The foot rest will help, but her legs and feet are good. No broken bones. They don’t pull up as much as you’d think. It’s more pushing up.”

“Damn, she’s one fine looking bitch all right.”

Marcella feels a hand sliding up her thighs, fingers in her vagina. She winces, sucking in her breath. But she’s too tired and weak to protest.

“Tore her up bad. Be nice to have us a little piece, wouldn’t it?’

“Fuck, she’s full of blood clots and cum. You wanna stick your cock in there now?”

“Yeah, well a cunt’s a cunt.

“Bitch has a nice pair of titties, too!”

“Yeah, real ‘fuck me tits’ all right.”

Marcella winces again as her brutalized breasts are squeezed and mauled by the men.

“Fucking shame they’s all whipped like that.”

Marcella winces and tries to escape their clutches as her bruised nipples are tugged and twisted.

“Please, stop! Please, oh please! That hurts so much.” She grunts.

“Oh, she speaks! I guess the old titty pull got your attention there.”

“Damn fine tits you got there, girl.”

“Well, we got time?”

“For what?”

“What do ya mean, for what?”

“I mean to fuck her, that’s what!”

A loud booming voice is heard from the top of the stairwell that leads from the dungeon into the courtyard. “Hurry up you two. Get a move on. We have our orders. Get her up here now.”

“Sorry sir, just thought we’d have little fun with her first.”

“What, you didn’t hear me? I said get her up here now! Move it trooper!!!”

“Damn, Marcus won’t give us any time”

“Yeah, ever since he made rank he’s no fun no more.”

“Here, tie her wrists. Like the man said, let’s get moving.”

Marcella’s writs are tied in front of her. “Where are we going?” She asks.

“Damn, this bitch has no clue!” Says the one man to the other.

“We’re going up the stairs, girl, that’s where.” The other says with a grin.

Marcella is walked up the stairs to the courtyard, where her torture took place the previous day. She looks around, fearful of seeing the man who tortured her.

What next? She wonders.

The answer to that question is quick, and terrifying.

Marcella blinks as the bright orb of the rising sun shines directly into her eyes. She looks down at the ground. There is a cross lying there. She sees it, then realizes . . . then she screams.

“No, no, no! Please, don’t do this! I’m innocent!” Marcella writhes in the grip of the men, desperate to run, to do anything . . . fuck! They’re going to crucify her!!!!

Marcella is dragged screaming to a tall wooden post set into the ground. An iron ring is attached at the top. A rope is looped through the ring. Marcella is stood against the post as the rope is tied around her bound wrists. She sees a man with a leather lash standing nearby. The lash consists of many stands of braided leather studded with bits of metal. The terror rises in her as she realizes he is going to lash her body with that horrible looking instrument. Her legs give way and she nearly drops to the grounds before she’s turned around facing the post. Her stomach is in knots. She dry heaves as someone hauls on the free end of the rope. Marcella feels her arms being pulled above her head. She groans with pain as her shoulder muscles once again are made to support the weight of her body as she dangles with her feet barely touching the ground.

Then, suddenly, out of nowhere, the left side of her back explodes in pain as the lash tears into her flesh. Marcella shudders in agony, the breath driven out of her by the impact of the lash. Her body reacts by slamming in to the post. Her breasts are lacerated against the rough wood. Marcella screams as another blow lashes her flesh. This time even more painful. Then a third. Her vision begins to grey, then goes black, as the fourth lash sears her flesh. Marcella drifts in and out of consciousness as the beating continues. She’s lost count of the number of lashes received. A bucket of salt water is thrown against her back. The whole left side of her back is on fire. The agony leaves her trembling uncontrollably.

Marcella hangs from her wrists, unable to support herself. The man with the lash repositions to the other side of her in preparation to lash the other side of her back. She tenses, waiting for the pain. She prays this will kill her before she’s crucified.

“Hold, that’s enough!” A loud authoritative voice booms. “Any more might kill her. She’s to die on the cross, not at the post.”

The rope holding Marcella is let loose and her body drops in a heap at the bottom of the whipping post. Marcella is on her side with her back against the post. She looks up into the blue. early morning sky. It’s so beautiful, she thinks. Such a beautiful day, my very last. Oh, I do hope Thessela is safe!


Ch 7: Marcella is Marched to her Crucifixion:

Marcella blinks as the bright orb of the rising sun shines directly into her eyes. She looks down at the ground. There is a cross lying there. She sees it, then realizes . . . then she screams.

The lashing over. Marcella is lowered to the ground. Her body is on fire from the whip. She stares up into the beautiful blue morning sky.

“Get her ready.” A rough voice issues orders.

“On your knees bitch, let’s go.”



Rough hands pull her into a submissive kneeling position, then push her upper body down. Her forehead nearly touches the ground in front of her. Her arms are spread to the sides. Marcella feels a heavy piece of wood positioned across her shoulders. It’s the crossbeam! To which she’ll be nailed! Her heart races as she realizes this is the start of her crucifixion. “No, no, please, no! I’m innocent!” Marcella’s voice is thin. She sobs as the words blurt out. No one pays attention.

“Raise your arms girl, to the ends of the wood, now. Be quick about it!” Another command

Marcella tries, but she cannot. Pain flashes in her shoulders. The strappado has so wrenched her shoulder muscles that she cannot lift her arms away from her body. “I, I can’t. Please, I can’t raise my arms.” Marcella whimpers in pain and fear.

“See, told ya.” One voice says. “The strappado really fucks ‘em up. Can’t pull up when on the cross. She’ll die too soon. Suffocate from hanging from her arms too much. Can’t have that. She’ll be dead in a few hours. You have the foot block, right?”

“Have it.”

Hands grab her wrists and pull Marcella’s arms out to the ends of the crossbeam. The sudden movement as her arms are stretched causes her to yelp as bolts of pain radiation from her torn shoulder muscles.

“Oh god that hurts, please stop, oh, oh, oh!!!!”

“Bitch thinks she’s in pain now, just wait ‘till she feels the nails.” A rough voice laughs. “Yeah, then she’ll sing a new song for us, won’t ya bitch?

Marcella’s arms are draped over the ends of the crossbeam and tied with coarse rope at the wrists.



“Get her up on her feet.” Another command. The ends the crossbeam are pulled up, dragging Marcella, moaning in pain, with it. She stands on trembling legs, slightly bent over under the weight of the crossbeam. Her tortured and lashed body radiates pain.

“All right, let’s go.” A hand pushes against her back, encouraging Marcella to step forward. She very nearly stumbles with the first step as she tries to walk and balance the crossbeam at the same time. After a few halting steps she manages to get one foot in front of the other even as she sways from side to side. Sharp pains slash upward from her crotch as she walks. That hideous pear torture did considerable damage to her vagina!

Marcella stumbles forward on unsure legs, her head down, staring at the ground in front of her. All sorts of new pains make themselves known. The rough wood digs into her flayed skin. Her lashed breasts burn with fresh pain as they bobble on her chest. Her thighs are tight with deep aches and pain from her exertions on the torture table and from the strappado hanging. She is a wholly utterly miserable human being, in deep physical and mental anguish, as she is marched naked out of the courtyard and down the public road to her crucifixion.

A few people line the road watching Marcella’s pathetic march. The jeer at her nakedness and taunt her with horribly abusive words. She is suddenly humiliated again, something that had ceased to be of a concern to her after two days of torture and complete nakedness in the presence of strange men. She cannot cover herself, or shield herself from public view. She will never be able to do that again!

Marcella breathes heavily as she walks, quickly exhausted bearing the weight of her crossbeam. Sweat pours off her head and body. She is desperately thirsty and light-headed. She stumbles, falls forward. She dips her shoulders and one end of the crossbeam digs into the dirt as her opposite knee does the same. She falls forward, her body prostrate in the dirt, pinned under the weight of the crossbeam. Her breasts are pushed painfully into the stones in the roadbed. Marcella gasps for breath as she moans in pain and humiliation.

One of her executioners starts lashing her back, shouting at her. “Get up you fucking bitch!”

Marcella can only endure the pain of the lash, helpless to move. She hears a commanding voice. “Stop! Pull her up, you idiots! You want to kill her here?”

With that she feels herself pulled to a kneeling position, then to her feet. The dirt from the road sticking to her oozing, bleeding flesh. She’s given a moment to balance herself, then again pushed forward to continue her march. The spectators roar with laughter at her pathetic appearance.

How long has she been walking down this road under the weight of this crossbeam? It seems endless torture, but she knows what awaits her at the end will be far worse. But for now all she can do is endure

Again Marcella raises her head to stare down the road ahead. More spectators now. Their abusive voice just meaningless sounds in her head. She wonders if Thessela knows she’s about to be crucified. Will I see her along the road, she wonders? Oh, I hope not she thinks. Far too dangerous for Thessela. Her sister must stay away, she must. Or she’ll end up crucified too!

Marcella steps into a pile of horse dung, the soft mess squishing between her toes. She’s disgusted. She turns her head to the side, noticing a horse next to her. She looks up at the man astride the animal. The early morning sun is on his face. She recognizes him. Yes, he’s the Decurion from the courtyard yesterday, the one who spoke to her torturer. The one who gave her a sympathetic gaze before her torture began. She knew then that he suspected she was innocent. He’s looking at her again, the same sympathy on his face.

“Please, sir.” Marcella utters, looking him in the face. “Please, sir, you know I’m innocent, don’t you? I’m no escaped slave as they claim. You know I’m innocent! Oh please, can’t you stop this? I don’t want to be crucified! Oh please, sir, you can save me, stop this from happening! Oh please, I beg of you, show me mercy, oh please!!!”

The Decurion hears Marcella’s pitiful pleading but knows he cannot stop this. Yes, he thinks to himself, this girl is no escaped slave. She is clearly innocent of this false charge against her. But he also knows he cannot stop her crucifixion. No, he doesn’t have the authority. He must carry out his orders and have this poor girl nailed to a cross, to die a horrible and lengthy death. It gives him no pleasure, only grief at realizing that sometimes the most innocent must suffer. The girl is so young, so beautiful. Why she’s not much older than his own daughter!

He can’t look at her any longer. The thought of his own daughter being led away like this is fucking incomprehensible! Yet, this poor girl could be his own flesh and blood. The thought of it fills him with such revulsion. He is deeply saddened . . . and angry at being forced by his duty to carry out such an action. But orders are orders. Fuck! This girl is some man’s daughter! Does he know what’s about to happen to her?

He knees his horse, urging it to a trot. He must get out in front. He can’t look at her. Up ahead, after the turn, they’ll stop. There's a special area off the side of the road. He’s sure a crowd is already forming. They always do for a woman.

There she’ll be crucified.

 

[Cella]

Ch 8: Arrival and Abasement

Halt!” Marcella hears the command barked out soon after turn in the road. She stumbles forward a few more steps propelled by the momentum of the heavy beam balanced across her shoulders. She stands on weak and trembling legs in the center of the road, bent forward at the waist. She spreads her legs a bit to help keep her balance. She is exhausted and hot from the near two-mile march from the prison courtyard, through the city streets, then out a side gate to arrive at this place. The soles of her feet are bloody. Despite the cool morning, sweat runs off her naked body.

She’d been accompanied on her march by the horse-mounted Decurion and a detail of four armed soldiers. The escorting detail directs Marcella to the side of the road then up a slight rise to the flat ground of the execution site. The execution squad arrived earlier and is making preparations of their own.

Looking back down the road Marcella sees spectators walking, some running, towards the execution site. It sickens her to know these people have come to watch her die on a cross, elevated naked above them! The sudden thought of her imminent crucifixion sends waves of fresh terror through her body. The weight of the crossbeam across her back, to which her extended arms are tied, never seemed heavier. She looks right and left and tries to imagine her wrists nailed to the wood, seeing the dull grey heads of spikes nailed through her wrists and the meandering streams of blood running down her arms. Her heart is racing now; she desperately wants to flee from this place but knows she cannot. Nausea and lightheadedness overwhelm her and she drops to one knee, then the other. One end of the crossbeam dips and digs into the dirt. Emotionally overcome Marcella begins to wail, looking around, begging for mercy. Huge tears run down her cheeks.

Marcella has seen crucifixions before. She knows that horrific agonies await her as she hangs nailed to a cross. She has looked upon the twisted, tortured bodies of crucified men and women groaning in agony, begging for water, and begging to be killed. But she knows that no mercy is ever given. No, just like the wretched victims she has observed, she too will be forced to pay the full price. She will hang nailed to her cross for as long as it takes for her to die. But I’m innocent, innocent! This is all a terrible mistake!

“Stand up, bitch,” shouts one of the soldiers who grabs her arm and tries to bring Marcella, groaning in pain, back to a standing position.

“Leave her be,” orders the Decurion. “Allow her a small bit of time before they begin.”

Through tear-clouded eyes Marcella looks up at the mounted officer. She catches his eye as he stares down at her tortured, naked body, crouched under the burden of the heavy crossbeam. Yes, again she sees the pity in his eyes. But she does not hold his gaze. He breaks eye contact and spurs his horse away to issue orders to the soldiers about maintaining order as the spectators arrive. He knows I’m innocent, thinks Marcella in her misery. Why doesn’t he do something to prevent this?

The site for Marcella’s crucifixion is an area of slightly elevated ground next to the road that winds its way around the city. It is weedy and rocky but provides space for the spectators, soldiers, executioners and the crucified. From the road to the city wall is about 100 feet (30 meters). Although Marcella cannot see it, about 10 meters from the wall there are six brick-lined holes in the ground spaced at equal intervals. Each hole is deep enough to hold steady an upright cross and its struggling victim.

A signal from the executioners indicates they are ready. “Bring the girl,” orders the Decurion. The detail pulls Marcella to her feet. They quickly walk her over to where her stipes is placed on the ground. There she is handed off to the executioners. They force her to the ground in a sitting position. Her arms are untied from the ends of the crossbeam which is carried over to be mated with the stipes. Just as the crossbeam is removed from her shoulders Marcella is pulled to her feet and her hands are tied behind her back. She watches in horrible fascination as the cross – her cross -- is assembled and positioned by one of the holes on the ground. Can this cross really be for her? Yes, it is, and she’s about to be crucified on it! The thought of it seems ridiculous. Why? She did nothing wrong. Why is this happening to her?

One of the executioners approaches her. He appears to be in charge of the execution detail. He is stripped to the waist which shows his lean, muscular physique. Marcella cringes as he stands close to her. She is suddenly aware of her nakedness. Her face reddens and she looks away.

“On your knees, bitch,” he orders her. Marcella complies, not knowing what is coming next. Is this part of being crucified, she wonders?

To her horror he undoes his loincloth and stands naked over her. Marcella drops her head at the site of his huge semi-erect cock dangling in front of her.

“Look up at me bitch!” he orders. Marcella complies, sitting back on her legs as she looks him in the face.



“Now, I’m going to have your hands untied,” he tells her, “and you will do as I command. If you do I might take some mercy on you so you will not have to suffer for as long as your crime demands. Do you understand me?”

Marcella nods her head. She was such an innocent child a few days ago, but now she’s all too aware of what he may want from her. But if her further degradation will lessen any of her suffering to come, she will cooperate.

The executioner looks down at her. “Say it, cunt! Let me hear you say you will do as I say?”

“Yes, yes,” utters Marcella, “I will do as you say.”

“Very well then. Let us proceed.”

The executioner has Marcella’s hands untied. She remains kneeling in front of him.

“Now, if you hurt me, or do not agree to do as told, I will see to it that you suffer many days on the cross. As bad as crucifixion is I can make it last a very, very long time. Do you understand me?

“Yes, I do” Marcella answers softly.

“I am told that you claim to be a virgin, an innocent girl, unmolested? Is that true?

“Yes. I am a virgin.”

“But, how is that possible? You were raped in prison, and your pussy was tortured with the pear. Is that not true? How can you claim to still be a virgin?”

“I did not consent. I was taken by force.” Marcella feels her anger rising at the horrible assaults upon her body. What’s his game here, she wonders? To humiliate her further?

“So you claim to still be an innocent virgin, huh? You may know that it is unlawful to crucify a virgin. But we can fix that little detail easily enough. But, again, do you agree to do as I ask?”

“Yes, I agree.” Marcella’s tears begin to flow again.

“Kneel up straight now,” he orders her. The executioner steps closer. His dangling cock is in Marcella’s face. She instinctively turns away, in shame and disgust.

“Face me, bitch!” He commands her. “Don’t you fucking dare to look away. What’s wrong with my cock. Don’t you like it? I’ve been told I have a very handsome cock. Don’t you dare disrespect me by looking away! Is that clear you fucking cunt?

“Yes, yes it is,” mumbles Marcella as she turns her face toward him. His cock presses against her lips, chin, and sides of her nose.

“Now, you little worthless cunt, tell me I have a handsome cock, and that you want to fellate me. Go ahead, say it!”

“You, you, have a handsome cock, sir.” Marcella answers, in a terrified, trembling voice. “And I want to flate you.”

“What did you say, cunt? Did you say ‘flate’? No, the word is ‘fel-late,’ not ‘flate’, you stupid little twat. Do you even know what I want you to do?”

Marcella looks up at the executioner, her eyes wet with tears. “No, no, I’m not sure, I . . . yes, I think so. Maybe. I don’t know, I don’t know!”

“My, you are an innocent little cunnus, aren’t you? Well, we’re going to educate you here on the fine art of fellatio. You still agree to do this, right?”

“Yes.”

“Now, take my cock in your hand and press it to your lips. Do not close your eyes! You must look at me!”

Marcella tremulously reaches up with her left hand and takes hold of the executioner’s cock and does as she is told. The act fills her with revulsion. Her lips are shut tight. She feels his organ get harder with her grip. She stares into his cold eyes, as instructed.



“Do exactly as I say, girl.” He wags his finger above her head. “If not, I will make sure you suffer more than you can imagine. If you bite or scratch my cock, you will pay a dear price. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Marcella answers softly.

“Now, tell me you want to suck my cock.”

Even in her innocence Marcella knew this was going to happen. Yet, the image so repels her that she has to hold down the vile gore rising in her throat. He wants me to take his cock in my mouth? How disgusting!

“Come on, say it bitch. Say you want to suck my cock!”

“I, I, I want to suck your cock.” Marcella nervously complies.

“Good girl. Now do as I say. Moisten your lips first, then kiss the head of my cock. Gently now.”

Marcella steels herself, shuts her eyes tight, and gives his cock a quick peck with her lips closed, as though she was an awkward, inexperienced girl, which indeed she is at this moment.

“No, no, no, you stupid twat!” The executioner shouts at the cringing Marcella. “Pucker up those lips first! Let me feel your lips around the head of my cock! I want to feel your soft, wet kisses! Not some virginal peck! Do you mean to tell me that mine is the first cock you’ve ever kissed before?”

He laughs, loudly, as do the other executioners, the soldiers, and whatever spectators were close enough to hear.

Humiliated at the sounds of laughter at the expense of her innocence, Marcella pulls back, sobbing. “I, I’ve never done this before. I don’t know what to do!”

“I just told you what to do. Now do it!”

Marcella tries to comply, but she can barely work up enough saliva. “Please, may I have some water. My mouth is so dry.”

The executioner motions for a water bag to be brought over. Marcella drinks deeply from it. The water spills out of the corners of her mouth, running down her torso and over her soft breasts. The bag is pulled away all too quickly. Marcella’s thirst is hardly quenched.

“Please, please, more . . .”

“That’s enough for you. Now girlie, take hold my pecker and give it those soft, wet kisses I know only you can give.”

Marcella takes hold of his erect cock and, and puckering her wet lips, softly begins kissing the throbbing head of the executioner’s cock. She feels it harden even further.

“Oh, so the bitch does know how to kiss a man’s cock after all!” The executioner roars. “Now, add your tongue, flick your tongue around the head. Go ahead, do it!”

Marcella is painfully and humiliatingly aware of her inexperience with this practice. Even so, she desperately and eagerly tries to please the executioner believing it’ll get her mercy when crucified. Without knowing it she has taken hold of his cock with her other hand and with a two-handed grip inserts the entire head into her mouth as she determinately licks and kisses.

“Fuck me if this bitch doesn’t know how to give head!” Roars the executioner. “Are you sure this is your first time bitch? You’re a natural!”

“Ummm, ummm, yes, yes,” Marcella replies, looking up at him, as she pulls her lips away.

“I didn’t tell you to stop! Keep going. Come on, use our tongue more. But keep your teeth away. Do not bite me! Use your lips girl, suck on my cock. There you go!”

Marcella has no idea if she is doing this correctly but by now she has most of his cock in her mouth. It was then that the executioner put his hand on the back of her head and began pushing her head over his cock until it was at the back of her throat. Marcella has to let go of his cock. For balance she places her hands on his thighs as the executioner thrusts his cock deeper and deeper into her throat. Marcella begins to gag each time; she feels as though she is chocking. She panics and tries to pull back.

“Don’t you pull away from me bitch. Just keep still and don’t bite. Close your mouth! “

“Gahh, ack, ack, gack, gack!”



The executioner had his hands behind Marcella's head to keep her from pulling her mouth off his cock. Marcella does her best not to bite his cock as he relentlessly shoves it in and out of her mouth. Her gag reflexes are going to make her vomit soon, she knows it. Whatever is going to happen better happen soon – and she knows what that is!

Suddenly he thrusts deep and his cock explodes with a huge spurt of semen into the back of her throat. He pulls his cock out a bit as she gags and coughs tying to expel the awful sticky substance. The creamy white cum drips out of her mouth and falls to her chest even as he keeps slowly thrusting his cock back and forth in her mouth.



Then, suddenly, it’s over. He pulls his cock out of her mouth and removes his hand from the back of her head. Marcella bends forward, still gagging. Now she vomits, throwing up most of the water she just drank as well as the semen filling her mouth. She coughs and gags, spitting out the last gobs of semen. She’s left with an utterly undefined and unpleasant taste in her mouth, somewhat salty but also slightly sweet. Why would any woman want to do this, she thinks? It was easily the most disgusting thing she has ever done. Will this get me the mercy he promised, she wonders?

But the executioner is not through with her yet. “On your knees bitch,” he orders. “Bend forward.” He pushes down on the back of her head. Marcella is on her knees with her palms pressed into the ground. Her head up, she looks straight ahead at the other executioners laughing and pointing at her. She recognizes two them: they were the ones who raped her in prison. Spectators who dare to get too close are kept back by the soldiers. She is in a vulnerable and humiliating position for a young women naked among rough, uncaring men.

“Don’t move,” the executioner orders. “Just spread your legs a bit and keep your ass up.” He approaches her from behind. Marcella feels his cock brushing the insides of her thighs and sliding up and down the crack of her ass. She sucks in her breath when the head of his cock pauses briefly at her butt hole, seemingly probing for entrance. Terrified, she braces herself for penetration. But the cock moves down a bit towards her genitals. She flinches as strong fingers in her crotch separate her swollen and tender pussy lips and probe into her vagina.

The executioner leans over her back and whispers in her ear. “You want me to fuck you, don’t you bitch? Fuck you like the bitch you are. Right? Ask me to fuck you bitch. Ask me real nice and sweet, because I know you want me to!”

Sobbing, with a quaking voice, Marcella does as he requests. “Would you fuck me, please?”

“Oh, so you want me to fuck you? Is that it? Well, my little cunt, I am happy to oblige.

The executioner withdraws his fingers from Marcella’s pussy. Then she feels the solid head of his cock penetrating her from behind. She yelps in pain as he pushes in slowly. The tortured flesh of her unlubricated vagina is stretched as his cock becomes fully sheathed.

Then he begins thrusting, in and out, first slowly and deep, then more rapidly. Marcella can only moan and grunt under the assault. Her vagina has been relentlessly tortured by the pear and rape in the last two days. Now she’s in intense pain as her executioner viciously thrusts deep into her. She feels being penetrated far more deeply that when raped on her back. The friction on her tender parts burns fiery hot.



“Keep your ass up bitch!” The executioner commands. Her position allows him to drive his cock deeper and deeper into her. Faster and faster! Marcella lets out a load, continuous groan as she is suddenly aware of not just pain in her vagina but a bizarre sense of pleasure. How can that be? It was almost like the warm, pulsating waves of pleasure she felt spreading out from her vagina when she rubbed and stroked herself. But when she masturbated she knew her needs and rhythms. But this should not be happening!

But it is happening! As the executioner relentlessly drives his cock in and out Marcella is feeling those familiar, pulsating waves of pleasure building to an inevitable orgasm! How can agony and torture be mixed with pleasure? Marcella has no idea, but now, with her forearms on the ground and ass in the air, her groans of agony become mixed with moans of pure pleasure. The executioner reaches around and grabs at her dangling, whipped breasts, squeezing the tortured flesh and viciously pinching her nipples. Marcella grunts and moans under the assault.



Her executioner makes his final, deep, convulsive thrust and shoots a load of hot semen into her. Simultaneously Marcella reaches her own peaking orgasm. The pleasure sensations radiating out from her pussy suddenly explode. She screams as a tidal wave of pleasure courses back and forth through her tortured body.

The executioner, having finished, pulls out of Marcella. He slaps her on the ass as he stands up. Marcella rolls over onto her side, squeezing her thighs together as the pulsating waves of pleasure continue to ripple through her. She is gasping for breath and covered with sweat. The pain of her tortured flesh mixes with the pleasure of her orgasm. How can the two go together? Did she give the executioner what he wanted? Will she be granted mercy? Any mercy at all? Marcella reflects on the cruel fact that the only orgasm she will ever have with a man came from her executioner, the man who will in any moment have her nailed to a cross! The sickening nausea of anticipating being nailed to her cross has replaced the waning waves of pleasure. Now she is just terrified again.

Marcella’s eyes are closed as she hears the executioner’s command: “Crucify the bitch!”

Strong hands pull Marcella to her feet. They drag her toward the cross on the ground. She sees the hammer and nails. Her legs buckle. She feels the sticky semen between her thighs. She faints.

Marcella revives as the execution team is stretching her across the wood of the cross. “Please, oh please,” she wails at the executioner as he stands over her, hammer in hand. He has not replaced his loincloth. His huge cock dangles above her head. Another member of the execution team presses the first nail into her wrist. The stabbing pain of the sharp point as it breaks her skin surprises her. She twists and turns, desperately trying to escape, but the execution team holds her fast to the wood. “Have mercy on me today,” she shouts. “Please, I did everything you asked, everything expected of me!”



“You were a very cooperative young woman," the executioner explains. "Many others do not even try to cooperate as you did in the official taking of your virginity. Everything done to you was with your permission, correct?"

"Yes, yes, it was. I cooperated, fully. But now, please remember to have mercy on me. I do not want to suffer long on the cross. Please promise me you'll show me mercy. I did everything you wanted, didn't I?"

“Yes, well mostly. Unfortunately, you were negligent in one detail that I cannot overlook. No, I'm sorry, but you must suffer the full penalty – no mercy!”

“Why, why,” screams Marcella, as he kneels by her wrist and raises the hammer high overhead.

“Simple, dear girl. You didn’t swallow.”

“What . . .?” Marcella’s question is cut off by her screams as her wrist is nailed to the cross.



*

 

[Celticvirgin]

Nice to see this all in one place!!!

Love this story.

 

[Cella]

Ch 9: Marcella is Crucified

“Do they always scream so loud?”

“I don’t know. I guess. I mean, you would too if they hammered nails into you.”

“She’s so young! So beautiful! What a shame!”

“Fuck me! That’s one beautiful bitch all right!”

“Why’d she get crucified? Doesn’t look like some slave, or whore to me.”

“I heard she killed some rich bitch, or a soldier.”

“Who cares why! Just enjoy the view!”

“Yeah! Look at those tits! Perfect!”

“Legs too! And that ass! Let’s see that pussy girl! Yeah!”

“She keeps moaning she’s innocent. Maybe she is.”

“Shit, they all claim they’re innocent.”

“Yeah, I know, but there’s something about this girl . . .”

“She’s a killer! She fucking deserves to suffer. She only got what she deserved.”

“Look, she’s pissing!”

“Who the fuck is Thessela?”

“What . . .?”

Marcella sees the hammer fall to the nail pressed into her left wrist. She screams, her eyes wide open in terror, as her muscles tense for the impact. She hears the harsh metallic contact and shuts her eyes just as the sharp point of the nearly six-inch (15 cm) spike slices through her wrist and embeds itself solidly in the wood of the crossbeam. She senses the passage of the rough iron through her flesh but nothing else . . . curious . . . but then, in an instant, the pain arrives. Pain so horrible, so burning, so utterly agonizing – she has nothing to compare it with. Not any of the torture she’s endured to this time had anywhere near the sheer brutal impact of the pain that slashes through her now. Her body, held down on the cross by the strong arms of the execution squad, reacts in the only way it can: all her muscles instantly tense as she arches her back and vainly, desperately tries to twist away from the pain; but she cannot escape the horror of being nailed.

The first strike of the hammer easily sets the point of the spike firmly in the wood of the crossbeam. Still, most of the square shaft has yet to be embedded. Now, with the nail fixed and not being held, the executioner pauses briefly to reposition, then expertly wields his hammer to deliver a rapid series of powerful blows, each one of which slowly advances the passage of the spike through Marcella’s wrist. Blood flows from her pierced wrists and pools on the crossbeam. How many swings of the hammer did it take to completely drive the nail? Marcella does not know. She fainted sometime during the nailing but quickly regained consciousness with the last swing of the hammer. Now she screams in agony as the throbbing pain returns to roar and burn in her like the very fires of Hades!



Marcella cannot help but to look down the length of her arm stretched over the crossbeam to where the large rounded head of the spike sits atop her wrist. Sickeningly, she realizes that the whole long shaft of the spike, has passed through her and into the wood! The flow of blood from her wound has be reduced to a trickle. Despite the burning agony of the iron against her raw flesh she can feel the pressure of the flat spike head pushing down against her wrist, like some massive weight, pinning her arm down. Instinctively she tries to pull her arm away from the source of the pain. A mistake. She only pulls raw flesh and bone against the square shaft that brings on a huge escalation in her pain. She screams as she relaxes her arm, trying not to move it at all.

Marcella feels a pull on her right arm and rolls her head around to see and feel a nail being pressed into her that wrist. Her executioner and rapist looks at her with an evil grin as he prepares to drive the second nail. She pleads for mercy, for the executioner to stop. But this is purely instinctive. She knows there is no stopping. She is being nailed to this cross under her. There is nothing she can do about it. Marcella breathes in an out rapidly, her pillowed breasts heaving on her chest, as she waits for the hammer to fall. Her eyes follow the arc of the hammer as it is raised, then quickly down as it smashes into the huge nail head driving the iron through her wrist. As before, the pain in instant and overwhelming, and she screams again and again as the hammer falls a second, third, fourth, fifth and sixth time to complete the nailing.

Now there are two points of sheer, burning agony. Marcella is nailed to her crossbeam. Her head looks right and left as if to confirm she is nailed. Yes! She is! The awful realization causes her to panic and she again tries to pull her arms away from the pain, back towards her body. But, as before, the searing agony this causes makes her understand the futility of it. She is being crucified!!! Oh gods in heaven she’s being crucified!!!

Marcella throws her head back on the crossbeam and cries out: Why? Why? Why? I didn’t do anything! Why the hell is this happening to me? Oh gods, the pain, the pain! It is then she feels hands around her ankles pulling on her legs. She looks up to see her executioner doing the stretching of her legs. As her ass drags along the rough wood of the stipes her arms are extended into a shallow V-shape. This extension inevitably pulls on the nails through her wrists causing a sudden surge of agony to course through Marcella’s splendid yet tortured body.



The executioner directs two of his assistants to pull Marcella’s legs apart, fully exposing her crotch to the crowd. Suddenly, once again aware of her nakedness, she is humiliated to know that the assembled spectators -- mostly men, but to her surprise some women too -- are scrambling for a view between her legs. Why, or why are people so damnably perverse? To want to see a poor girl’s utter nakedness and degradation? How awful people are! How disgusting! Her quivering thighs are held apart as she hears the carnifex’s booming voice.

“Have you ever seen such a perfect pussy as this? Come on! Who wants a piece of her? Who wants the last fuck? You, sir. Yes, you. I know you have coin to spare. Ten denarii, that’s all. Before her feet are nailed. You can’t have her then, can you? No? Then how about you then. Or you? Come on, who can pass up such a sweet treat as this young twat?”

A man comes forward from the crowd. He holds up his money and gives it to the carnifex. “Thank you, good sir,” he says. “Now enjoy you sweet treat!”

The man advances on Marcella, undoing his clothes, as she lies with her wrists nailed and her legs pulled wide. Her pussy is glistening, gaping. The man’s erection is obvious. “She’s dripping cum!” he exclaims.

The carnifex shouts “Bring water and clean her. Flush out her pussy . . .”

“Enough!” A commanding voice is heard over the jeers and laughter of the crowd. “Enough, I say!”

It is the Decurion, mounted on his horse. He advances into the crowd. “Executioner, this crowd is becoming too uncontrolled. Finish it. She should have been hanging by now. No more delay!”

“But Decurion,” the executioner retorts, “we’re just having some fun with her. She’s under my control for execution, not yours.”

“Watch your tongue carnifex. I am in command of this site. I’ll defer to you as long as order is maintained. But you’ve had your fun. This crowd is becoming too unruly. I will have order!”

It’s always this way when a woman in crucified, the Decurion thinks to himself. And this one, so young and pretty. (What a shame! I don’t think she’s guilty of anything! But I can't save her.) Things can easily get out of control. If the girl deserves to be crucified, then just do it! Why is the rape necessary? Why degrade her any more than necessary?

The executioner nods in compliance. He knows better than to push an officer, even one as junior as a Decurion, too far. The results could be bloody! “Okay, lads, back to work. Let’s get this finished!”

A foot block is nailed to the stipes at the appropriate position. Then Marcella’s feet are placed, one atop the other, on the block. A single nail, longer than the wrist nails, is carefully pounded –so as not to beak any bones -- through both of Marcella’s feet and then into the foot block. This takes several blows of the hammer to the nail before it ever penetrates both feet. Marcella howls in agony as the nail is advanced through her feet and into the wood. Sweating, the carnifex stands up and drops his hammer to the ground.

“Raise her,” he commands.

Marcella feels her cross, to which she is nailed, begin to move. She’s being raised up! In a minute she’ll be hanging fully crucified! She tenses all her muscles. Her raw flesh pulls and pushes against the nails. Her agony is quickly escalating. She groans piteously.

When her head is about level with the shoulders of the executioners raising her cross, the executioner calls a halt. He orders water and allows Marcella to drink deeply before her cross is raised vertical. Some might think this a mercy, but it is not. The carnifex knows well that Marcella is severely dehydrated. If she dies too quickly soon it’ll reflect on his skills. No, Marcella will not die quickly. And she’ll certainly receive no mercy or shortening of her time on the cross. The silly bitch actually believed him when he said she’d be shown mercy if she did as he commanded. No, there’s no mercy for Marcella, or anyone else crucified. Never.

After watering her, the executioner has his men continue with raising Marcella vertical. Marcella groans in ever-escalating agony as her body slides down the cross as it is raised. Suddenly, when nearly vertical, she feels a thump as the end of her cross drops into the prepared hole. A final push and she’s vertical. The cross wobbles a bit until secured in its hole with stakes. Her body drops and the torn muscles in her shoulders – torn when they used the strappado on her --scream out their own agony.

Marcella feels the full weight of her body dragging on her nailed wrists. The pain is terrible beyond description. She pushes up with her feet against the foot nail. Bolts of fiery hot pain race up her legs. It knocks the breath out of her. She looks down between her heaving breasts, their nipples erect, down the length of her sweat-drenched body to see the ugly nail head on top of her feet. The she looks up and out at her extended arms to see the wrist nails securing her to the crossbeam. The agony is all-consuming, raw, white hot. She howls in pain and utter despair!

Through the fiery hot blaze of agony, the full reality of her situation is apparent.

SHE IS CRUCIFIED!



Ch 10: Marcella Hangs on Her Cross




She’s crucified! Crucified! Nailed naked to a cross! It’s awful agony! How can she possibly endure this? But she knows she cannot escape from the cross. All she can do is hang, suffer, and endure it all until death takes her. Marcella looks down on the heads of the spectators. They are all looking up at her. Again she feels the hot blush of humiliation. She drops her head to her chest. Soon the pain in her shoulders is beyond endurance. She must push up with her feet. She does, and pushes out from the cross, her back arching. Most of her struggles are during the first hour. Then, exhausted, she merely hangs, moving as little as possible.

Oh god! Why has this happened to me? First days of torture, now I'm crucified! For what? I didn't fucking do anything. I'm only 19 years old -- and was a virgin -- now it's all over for me. I don't understand why this happened to me? Why me? Oh god, I'm crucified! Nobody around me but strangers. Strangers who mock and laugh at me, taunt me with filthy words as I hang on this cross. Naked and exposed. They can see all of me. I cannot hide -- oh the humiliation!!! How long will I have to suffer? Oh Thessela, where are you? I need a friendly face. But wait, no, no! Don't come. Save yourself Thess. They'll crucify you too Thess if they find you here. Please, stay away, please!!!! Thess and I were just in the market shopping when they grabbed me, but why? Why?


Can't hang straight down all the time. Have to move, have to find a better position! Oh, fuuuuuuck! It hurts so much to move, but need to breathe. Need to push up, find air. Why can't I just force myself to hang without pushing up? Death would take me so soon. But I can't, my body demands I breathe, I cannot fight it! So I must push up.



The pain, the pain is overwhelming, hideous! But I must push up again, and again, and again. So that's why the crowd wants to see me "dance." My body writhing in agony as I push and fall back down must be my dance! How cruel to taunt a poor, crucified girl like this. I'm humiliated because my legs open and close as I dance. They can see my pussy -- I have no dignity. Just a crucified cunt.


Water, water. I've been begging for water! My mouth is parched, my throat so dry. My tongue like leather! How can I beg for water? I'm in and out of consciousness. Delirious with pain and dehydration. What is this I see in front of me? A sponge, or a block of cheese? That makes no sense. A brick? I just want water. WATER, PLEASE, PLEASE. He teases me with it. I see the glistening drops, but just out of reach. He presses the sponge to my breasts, and into my crotch. Why torture me like this? Why? Why? Thessela, where are you? I'm all alone, in agony! Where are you dear sister?



How many hours have I hanged here? The sun is high. Ahhhh, the agony gets worse and worse! I scream without a sound, only grunts because I have no voice anymore. My arms feel numb, my leg muscles tensed in agony. I must push up! I scream as I stand on the nail that pins my feet!



Finally. Some water. Thank you sir! Please, please, more. Oh please come back! OMG!!! Is that Thessela's voice I hear in the crowd? Is she calling to me? Where are you Thess? I can't see clearly...eyes too cloudy and dry. Other crosses are being arranged on the ground on either side of me. What is happening? Where is Thess? I hope she is safe...

*

 

[AlexArts]

Oh my God...
This arts was made by me?

 

[Cella]

Ch 11: The Decurion



Decurion Marcus Getha stands near Marcella’s cross, staring up at her as she writhes and groans in agony.

By Jupiter’s balls the girl is a beauty! He is stirred by her nakedness. Her lovely face. The perfect, heaving breasts with their pert nipples and large areolas. The slender waist that flares out into enticing hips and then as long, lean thighs. There is an exquisite gap between her thighs that draws the eye toward her ravaged, exposed pussy. She doesn’t like him looking at her. Despite the relentless agonies coursing through her body she is clearly aware of her nakedness and obviously embarrassed and humiliated to be exposed in such a crude, disgraceful manner. Marcus knows he should not think of her as anything but a nameless condemned criminal paying the full price for her crime. But she makes him ashamed, almost, to be staring up at her. Why? She is nothing to him. Just a crucified bitch. Yet, he feels he knows her in some way. How is that possible? Who is she? He wishes he knew -- but perhaps it's better that he doesn't. No, just keep her a nameless crucified bitch.

Marcus is suddenly aware that his cock has betrayed that he is not utterly dispassionate about the girl. His heavy military tunic hides what would be quite obvious. He turns away, hoping to break the progress of his arousal. You must maintain your composure, he reminds himself.

When a woman is crucified it makes his job all the more difficult. Passions run higher and control of the spectators becomes harder. Generally, women sentenced to crucifixion have, at best, an average appearance. Rarely are they especially attractive. They tend to be plump or stringy whores, bandits, or escaped slaves whose crimes merit such a severe punishment. On occasion there’s a reasonably attractive, vengeful former mistress or a murderess nailed up. But this young woman does not fit any of these categories. She is so clearly not the escaped slave who assaulted her domina. He is certain of that. Yet, here she is, dying a horrible, slow, agonizing death. He is genuinely saddened to see her suffer. It is an affront to his sensibilities that an innocent young woman should suffer so. He would put her out of her misery if he could. All it would require is placing the tip of his sword under her left breast and with a quick upward thrust through her ribs her heart would be pierced. She would die instantly, mercifully.

But why this for her instead? Why the relentless agony of crucifixion? He knows the answer: because public executions of this grisly type are the Roman way in the provinces. They project Roman might and authority. They serve to instill the fear in the conquered peoples that any of them could wind up on a cross if they oppose the power of the Roman state or break its inflexible laws. And the fact that crucifixion also serves as a form of public entertainment, especially when it involves a beautiful woman. And this woman is young and healthy. Despite her brutal treatment she can be expected to live at least a day on her cross. The bastards used a foot rest. Yes, she will certainly take a long time to die.

He hears her groan, quite loudly, and turns to see her again shifting her position on the cross. She’d been hanging from her nailed wrists, arms fully extended, and was now beginning to push her body up and out on the cross. It’s all part of her “dance” on the cross – the “dance” of anyone crucified as she is. When her cross was elevated and she felt the full agony of hanging from her nails her “dancing” was frantic and uncoordinated as her body responded to the initial, brutal agony of crucifixion out of sheer panic and pain. How horrible to be freshly crucified, nailed to a cross, with no hope of escape from the terrible agony! But now, after hours of hanging, it’s far less frequent. She is exhausted and only moves when absolutely necessary. Hanging from nailed wrists, with arms fully extended and with little leg support, slowly paralyzes the chest muscles making it very difficult to breathe. In this position most breathing is from the diaphragm only, as seen by the shallow, quick breaths taken. Then comes the inexorable urge to push up with her legs.



Marcus watches as the girl fully extends her long, shapely legs. Her back is now arched, her hips and pussy are thrust forward, and her full breasts are pulled high across her elevated, heaving chest. She breathes deeply, sucking in lungsful of precious air. Quite an erotic image for those watching. Marcus hears cheers go up and again feels his arousal at the sight building. He feels ashamed receiving sexual pleasure from the sufferings of this girl. Why? What about this should excite him so?

She stays in the arched position for a few minutes until her strained leg muscles and the horrific burning agony from pressing on the foot nail becomes too much to bear. With another grunt she drops her body on the cross and again hangs from her arms as her thigh muscles tremble in painful spasms. Her head is down. Her breasts hang from her chest, full and heavy, gently trembling as the soft flesh betrays the unbearable tension in her body. Marcus knows that soon enough she will repeat the dance, sometimes with twisting her hips either right or left. The dance will go on, her erotic, tantalizing movements decreasing in frequency as she hangs through the long day and into the night. Just as Marcus begins to turn away she raises her head and stares him directly in the eyes.



“Please, please sir, kill me,” she begs in a raspy almost whisper of a voice. “You know I’m innocent, I know you do! I don’t deserve this. I did nothing wrong. The pain is too great, I cannot . . . “Her voice is cut off as a wave of fresh agony courses through her. She grimaces, her lips in a snarl then squeezed tightly together as she battles the fierce, burning pain. Then, exhaling, she groans and begins to breathe in short, rapid breaths as she hangs from the crossbeam. Marcus knows she’ll soon repeat her agonizing upward movements on the cross.

No, he thinks to himself, I cannot kill you my dear girl. He knows if he did he would face severe punishment, the least of which would be the loss of his hard-earned rank. The rank he achieved after nearly 18 years as a soldier in the legions, slowly earning the respect of his superiors as the army slashed and thrust its way into new territories. No, there’s nothing he can do. The magistrate condemned her to crucifixion and his word is the law. Still, he feels incredible pity for her in her sufferings and prays she dies soon. And shame at not having the courage to act when such an injustice has been done.

He turns away from the crucified girl again. There is a rider approaching, galloping fast down the dusty road. He stops in front of the Decurion. “The magistrate requests your return immediately, Decurion.” He goes on to explain that there are two more women awaiting crucifixion. Shit! Two more? What the fuck! He wasn’t expecting this. Issuing an order to the senior soldier present to maintain order he spurs his horse and returns as directed.



Ch 12: The Truth is Revealed

Marcus returns to the city as ordered. Upon entering the courts building he is ushered into the magistrate’s office to receive news and instructions. The magistrate discusses the recent business of the escaped slave who was condemned to death for assaulting her mistress. Marcus is not pleased with the magistrate’s information.

“You mean we had the escaped slave in custody all the time?"

“Yes. She was captured a few days ago.” The magistrate is seated at his desk. There are piles of papers and documents that demand his attention. He does not look up at the Decurion as he answers.

“Then why did we crucify the girl taken from the market?”

“She was believed to be the slave in question. Regrettably, that turned out to be not accurate."

“Regrettably? Regrettably?” Marcus’s raises his voice.

“Do not use that tone with me Decurion!” The magistrate looks up at Marcus, his anger obvious. “I’m telling you the slave girl was never initially identified as the one who assaulted Gnaeus Claudius Porculus’s wife.”

“Excuse me sir, but the girl you thought was guilty was just crucified this morning. She is hanging nailed to her cross as we speak! She’s an innocent who’s been unjustly crucified! How can this action be ‘regrettable?’”

The magistrate sighs, leaning back in his chair. “It is always regrettable when an innocent must suffer, but this is the case we have before us. Mistakes were made in her identification, but the witness was a man of standing in this community. His word was good enough for me. Clearly he erred. It is unfortunate for the girl. The mistake was only caught this morning. Too late to do anything about it.”

“Unfortunate? Now this girl’s crucifixion is ‘unfortunate?’ Magistrate, what happened to this girl is a gross miscarriage of justice! A fucking disgrace! The so-called witness, Gracchus Glabrus, is an old fool who can barely see his hand in front of his face! He’s blind in one eye. He should never have been believed! I always knew the girl was innocent!”

The magistrate jumps to feet and slams his fist on his desk. “Decurion, you will not address me in that manner! Do not challenge my judgement in this matter! What is done, is done! We have others matters to attend to. What is this girl to you anyhow? Why should you care if she is innocent?”

“Forgive my outburst magistrate. I am not challenging your decision. I only seek mercy for the girl. You must give me permission to put the girl out of her misery. She’s young and healthy. It’ll take her until tomorrow to die. She doesn’t deserve to suffer for this error.”

“You will do no such thing Decurion,” the magistrate says firmly. “The girl’s execution must not be interfered with.”

“Why? I do not understand! All I know is that she is an innocent. I’m not asking that she be taken down from her cross – her wounds would only putrefy and she’d die eventually. All I want to do is give her a quick, merciful death. That’s the least we can do for her.”

“I know this is hard to understand but it is in the interest of Roman justice that I cannot permit you to kill this girl.”

“But why? What purpose does her suffering serve?”

“It serves the interest of the state, Decurion. Killing this girl before death takes her would be an admission that she was not legally crucified. She was thought to have been an escaped slave who assaulted her mistress. As you well know there remains a lot of worry and concern in the populace over renegade slaves that remain on the loose. They need to be assured that Roman justice is quickly and properly applied to maintain order. A mercy killing would be an admission that a mistake had been made. It would rile up the locals since it one of their own who was mistakenly crucified. The provincial governor does not need to have more problems now, does he Decurion?”

“No sir,” grumbled Marcus.

“Very well. I am glad you see why this decision is correct. Now, the slave who is actually guilty will be also be crucified today. And what’s one more executed slave? No one will care why she’s been crucified. Slaves are executed all the time. As for the bitch who killed your soldier – the girl’s supposed sister – when she’s also crucified there will be no questions asked. The locals may not love us but they know if you kill a soldier you will be executed. They’ll accept it easily enough. The citizens will feel assured that the killing of soldiers will not be tolerated. Simple justice it is, even if the bitch did not mean to kill. Had your man not died I would have had her stripped and whipped through the streets. But, unfortunately, he died. Too bad for her your man had a thin skull. Am I making sense here, Decurion?”

“Yes sir!”

“You will have no problem seeing to the crucifixion of the sister, will you?” The magistrate looks Marcus in the eye. Marcus knows the answer he must give. He is not perfectly comfortable with the sister’s crucifixion either, since she clearly had no intention of killing anyone. She was only trying to protect her sister from being falsely accused and arrested. A perfectly normal response. Yet, his soldier died. He will of course see to it that the sister’s crucifixion is carried out. He knows his duty, never minding how distasteful it is at times.

“Decurion, I am waiting for your answer.” The magistrate wants a clear declaration of Marcus’s support. Marcus knew not to push further. But it galls him and highly offends his sense of justice and honor that a beautiful young woman must be permitted to die in such agony for a crime she never committed. And that another woman must die for behaving as any sister would. His scowling face betrays his emotions.

“No sir, no problems with this one. She deserves to die.”

The magistrate walks around his desk and puts his hand on Marcus’s shoulder, squeezing it firmly. “This is a hard business Decurion, I know it. But you are a soldier and have seen death in many forms. Innocents often die in war or for other reasons. Sometimes it is necessary and sometimes it is not. But it is clearly necessary here. You must understand that.”

“I understand the logic of it sir. I will carry out your orders to the letter.”

“Good man!” The magistrate slaps Marcus’s shoulder. “Now,” he continues, “proceed to the courtyard and take possession of the sister. She should be prepared by now. I hear she’s a very comely bitch. Should be quite a sight on her cross. It’ll keep the crowds happy too, eh?” The magistrate gives Marcus a sly grin, as if crucifying another pretty woman will make up for the disgust he feels for knowing an innocent girl continues to suffer for a crime she never committed. The magistrate should be present at the execution grounds, Marcus thinks. Perhaps seeing a terrified, naked woman raped and nailed to a cross would change his understanding of the utter agony and degradation of crucifixion. He’d probably puke at seeing the nails being driven, the blood and the loss of bodily functions.

Marcus snorts at the thought, then replies, “Yes sir!”

“Then carry out your duty Decurion.” The magistrate turns away and returns to the work on his desk.

Marcus begins to leave but remembers. “What about the slave, the fucking bitch who started all of this? You said she was to be crucified also.”

Without looking up from his work the magistrate says, “Oh, she’s still being questioned about any knowledge of other escaped slaves or renegades from the recent uprising. She’ll be sent along soon. Just leave someone reliable for the escort.”

Marcus knows what “being questioned” entails for the unfortunate slave. Her eventual crucifixion will at least mean her suffering will be over in a day or so. Under torture she could kept alive for a week or more. He does an about face and proceeds to the courtyard to claim the woman for crucifixion.

Upon reaching the courtyard he finds the condemned woman kneeling on the pavement. He gives a sign to raise her to her feet. His eyes widen, and he feels his cock respond. The magistrate was accurate: she is fucking beautiful! It’s obvious despite her severe whipping and other tortures. Not quite as tall as her sister, it seems to him, but more curvaceous and with heavier breasts. She has the body of a mature woman, not the slender figure of a girl. Her magnificent tits bobble deliciously on her chest as the full cross is placed across her back. She bends under the load, spreading her legs for balance. She looks at him, just as her sister did – directly. But she does not cry out for mercy. No, she knows there is none. She knows what will soon happen. She looks terrified, as anyone would, yet with steely defiance and anger glowing behind the terror.

Marcus gives the command and two soldiers form up on either side of her as she groans under the weight of the cross. He gives an order to the senior soldier present, Priscus, a man he knows as a good friend from the legion, and one he can trust.

“There’s a slave soon to be delivered over for crucifixion, Priscus. She’s still being questioned.” Marcus and Priscus give each other knowing glances. They well know what tortures this entails. Suddenly, a high, ragged, female scream is heard on the other side of the courtyard wall. “That’s no doubt she,” says Marcus. “Bring her along promptly when they are finished.”

“Yes sir,” replies Priscus. “If they leave her cunt in reasonably good shape I might have to take some soldiers’ privileges, though.” He says with a wicked grin.

“Well, she might be ugly,” Marcus retorts in jest, “so don’t take too much time getting it up!”

“Don’t worry sir, I’ll just close my eyes and think of my favorite whore! In and out!”

Priscus salutes as Marcus mounts his horse and leads the groaning woman through the town to her crucifixion.

 

[shastar]

Oh my God...
This arts was made by me?

Yes, for our greatest enjoyment! Thank you again !

 

[Cella]

Ch 13: Thessela’s Arrest, Trial, and Torture


Thessela was arrested the day after Marcella was taken. She’d gone back to the market trying to discreetly ask questions about where her sister was taken. She was at the stall of the cloth seller where she and Marcella were examining the quality of the local weaver’s’ products at the time Marcella was arrested. Someone recognized her from the day before and notified the patrolling soldiers that the woman who had knocked the soldier in the head with an iron pot was in the market. Thessela was unaware the soldier was found dead this very morning. The patrolling soldiers, however, were well aware of their mate’s death and were all too happy to take his killer into custody.

Thessela was at first taken to the dungeon adjacent to the city magistrate’s courthouse. She was locked in a cell for a nearly six hours until the time of the afternoon session of the magistrate’s court, whereupon she was taken to stand, hands bound behind her back, in front of the city magistrate. Little did she know that at this time Marcella was enduring the agony of the strappado.

Thessela’s trial, such as it was, was quick and perfunctory. Witnesses attested to the fact that she was the person who struck the soldier in the head. The magistrate revealed that the soldier had died, apparently from the blow delivered. An open and shut case. The magistrate asked Thessela if she had any defense. She tried to explain that she was in the market with her sister who had just been arrested. Her assault of the soldier was done without thinking when her sister Marcella was being arrested.

The magistrate asked, “Your sister is the escaped slave who assaulted her mistress? Is that not correct?”

Thessela was taken aback by this question. Marcella certainly was no slave! “No sir!” She answered emphatically. “My sister is no slave, and neither am I! I do not know why you are asking me about. My sister never assaulted anyone!”

“A reliable witness says otherwise,” replied the magistrate coolly.

“But sir, the witness is wrong! My sister was never a . . . “

Thessela is cut off by the magistrate. “Silence woman!” What your sister is, or did, or didn’t do is utterly immaterial to your case. You are a provincial, not a Roman citizen, and on trial for murder of a Roman soldier. That is a fact. There can be only one sentence: death! Accordingly, I order that you be taken to the place of execution and crucified. First, though, you will be tortured so as to determine what else you may know about the attack on the wife of Gnaeus Claudius Porculus. Guards, take her away!”

At the mention of crucifixion Thessela suddenly felt her legs go wobbly. She broke out in a cold sweat as the room began to spin around her. She was seized with utter terror at knowing she had just been condemned to death by the most awful means possible. Crucifixion! She never heard the final words of the magistrate as she dropped to the floor in a dead faint.

Thessela came to as the guards were dragging her away from the magistrate’s court. She screamed and screamed. No! No! No! This was not possible! This was not happening. But it was. Behind the courthouse was the entrance to the dungeon where she had spent the morning and early afternoon. Now the sun was lower in the sky. Thessela was not returned to prison but taken to the prison courtyard. There she was stripped naked by the guards and turned over to a to the men who would torture her.

The torturer’s assistants brought the terrified Thessela over to a gibbet that stood against the courtyard wall. A rope was dangling down from the horizontal beam. There was blood on the ground. A thin trail of blood led back to the dungeon steps showing that someone had been dragged across the ground, someone bleeding, someone who had just been tortured on this terrible instrument. Little does Thessela know that it was Marcella who had been tortured on this gibbet. It was her sister’s blood she saw on the ground. But Thessela was not even thinking of Marcella at this time. She was not even thinking about her own nakedness and vulnerability around these rough men who were about to hurt her, terribly. She was shaking in terror as her hands were tied in front of her, then tied to the dangling overhead rope.

With a sudden tug Thessela is hoisted into the air. Whips are brought out and the men begin stroking her flesh, leaving huge lacerations in her flesh from her back down to her thighs.

Thessela loses consciousness many times as her whipping progresses. All the time the torturer is asking her questions about what she knows of a slave attacking her mistress. All Thessela knows is that it is not Marcella. But where is her sister now? What is happening to her?

With the whipping over, the torturer now brings out torches and Thessela’s flesh is burned to try to elicit any information from her at all. Again, she screams in agony as her flesh is burned. The torturers burn between her legs, hips and under her breasts. Yet, she has nothing to tell the torturer.

After several hours of near continuous torture Thessela is let down from the gibbet. She falls to the ground all the while groaning in agony from her lacerations and burns. The men drag her back to her cell as night approaches. She knows in the morning she’ll be crucified.

Thessela looks around the cell. On the other side of the bars is another cell, like hers. There is a naked, petite young woman confined there.

“Who are you?” Thessela asks.

“I go by Anna,” says the young woman.

“Why are you here?” Asks Thessela.

“I hit my mistress. Gave her a good black eye, and some broken ribs. Then I ran. I was caught soon after and have been here since.”

“Was your mistress the wife of Gnaeus Porculus?” Thessela inquires.

“Yes, she was.” Came the soft reply.

A cold chill runs through Thessela’s tortured body. This is the slave that was c0nfused with Marcella, she suddenly realizes. This slave is responsible for her arrest, and my torture and death sentence. Sudden anger burns in Thessela’s mind and heart. She’s responsible for all of this! This fucking bitch is responsible for what has happened to me and Marcella!

*

 

[Cella]

Ch 14: Thessela is crucified.

Decurion Marcus Getha escorts his second condemned female prisoner to be crucified today. Unlike the first girl, who is was certain was not guilty of the crime that condemned her, he knew this woman – the girl’s sister – was guilty and deserved to die. Yet he knows that she did not have to die. This woman was just being protective of her younger sister. She never intended to kill the soldier; she had acted on pure impulse knowing that her sister had been misidentified. But the soldier died, so now she must pay the ultimate price. If only that old fool Glabrus had not misidentified the girl as an escaped slave! It enrages him that two women must die because of this senile fool! What a tragedy! What a waste! At least the slave whose action precipitated all this pain would soon join them!

As the detail marches the condemned woman along Marcus is having difficulty keeping his eyes off her. Damn it all, she was exceptionally beautiful! Her sweat-soaked skin glistened in the bright sunlight. Perspiration rolled off her head and body to drip to the ground. Her generous ass rolls sensuously right and left as she walks along cobblestoned roads through the town, the little procession drawing a sizeable crowd, even more people than the earlier march of her sister.

Her feminine musculature, especially in her shapely thighs, long arms and shoulders, is sharply defined by the burden of carrying the heavy cross. And of course her incredible tits. By Venus’s cunt they are perfect, at least by his standards of feminine beauty! Large and perfectly formed they hypnotically bounce and sway on her chest as she struggles along, head down, breathing heavily, each step taking her closer to being crucified. Who is this woman, he wonders? Did she have a husband, a lover? Any children? If so, is she thinking of them now as she makes her sad, humiliating walk. All the better to get this over with as soon as possible, Marcus thinks. Poor bitch, she’s got a terrible day ahead of her.

Nearing the end of the road to the execution site Marcus decides to speak to the woman while he still has the opportunity. Once they arrive events will proceed too rapidly. He paces his horse next to her on the road. Leaning over he says “See here, woman, listen to me.” Thessela plods ahead, not acknowledging she has heard him.

“Damn you, woman, listen to me! I have something to tell you.” He shouts louder to get her attention. They are nearing the final turn in the road. He wants to say something to her before she sees her sister on the cross.

Thessela does not respond. Marcus is frustrated. Does she not hear him? Does she not understand him? “Halt!” He commands, and the escort stops. Thessela takes a few more steps forward and stops. She drops to the ground under the burden of her cross. Marcus gets down off his horse and takes a knee next to her in the road. The escorts are amazed. No office-in-charge has ever stopped an execution march like this. What could be going on?

Marcus leans in to the woman. She flinches at his closeness, clearly terrified. She is breathing heavily, in gasps, her chest heaving and breasts trembling. Her smell, to Marcus’s nose, is one of fear, blood and sweat. “Woman,” he says again, more quietly and firmly. “I have something to say to you before we get to the end.”

Thessela turns her head toward him. Her eyes are bright with pain. “What do you have to say to me Roman?” She spits out the words with contempt.

Marcus ignores the contemptuous attitude. She’s entitled. He goes on. “I – I feel I must tell you something,’ Marcus stammers. “I must tell you something about your sister.”

“What? What about her?” The woman’s eyes suddenly opened very wide, as in fear for what she was about to hear.

“She was crucified earlier this morning and . . .”

Before Marcus could say anything else Thessela drops her head and begins to wail. “No, no, no! You fucking bastards! She didn’t do anything! She’s innocent! Why, why did she have to be crucified for nothing! Someone else is responsible! The bitch slave girl in the cell next to me said she was the one who attacked that Roman cunt! She did it! Why isn’t she being crucified instead of my sister. Why? Why?”

“Listen, listen to me.” Marcus goes on, firmly. “You should know that that slave will be crucified today, alongside you and your sister. She will be crucified for the attack. She did it, we know it now. Take small comfort in that, if you can. I know it’s not much.”

“But if she did it why was my sister blamed for it? Why was she crucified! Why? Why? Why did you fucking bastards crucify my innocent sister?” Thessela’s voice was broken by her deep sobbing and emotion at hearing of Marcella’s crucifixion. She had always known something bad probably happened to Marcella, but the confirmation of it was supremely distressing and emotionally wrenching.

Marcus knew this woman was beyond hearing any more words of his. It would be pointless trying to explain the enormous fuck-up that brought her to the point of execution. He shouldn’t have said anything at all. It was quite extraordinary that he would even take time to actually speak to a condemned woman other than to order her about. A weakness on his part, he knew. But given he tragic circumstances for the innocent girl and her sister he felt he had to say something. Even if it does nothing more than ease his own conscience. But now, there is no more time for delays. He must deliver her for execution. Best get her moving again.

Marcus stands up and mounts his horse. “Get her on her feet,” he orders. Two soldiers in the escort pull the weeping Thessela to her feet and push her forward toward the final turn in the road.

Approaching the crucifixion grounds Marcus can clearly see the body of the younger sister on her cross. Still very much alive. He’s certain she will suffer a long time, at least through the night. Younger women usually do. They are remarkably durable. He stops the procession near the cross of the crucified girl. Her sister looks up at her in great distress at finally knowing what has happened to her, at seeing her so horribly suffering. The cross is lifted from Thessela’s back by the execution team and taken to be positioned on the ground next to Marcella’s cross. They will hang side-by-side, two sisters crucified together. Marcus winces at seeing the younger woman again, now knowing that she is indeed innocent.

Bile rises in his throat. Anger builds in him knowing that he cannot do anything to end her suffering. Having delivered the second woman, he spurs his horse away from the scene, back toward the road. The executioners will do the rest. He’ll view the cross-raising from a respectable distance, out of earshot as the sisters reunite.

Marcella has been crucified since sunrise, and it is now approaching noon. She is exhausted from struggling against the nails driven through her wrists and feet. Exhausted from trying to find the least bit a relief from the relentless and unceasing pain that continues to slash through her body with every slight movement on the cross. Her wild “dancing” and writhing is long over. Now she moves only when necessary to relieve agonizingly overstressed muscles or when her body demands fresh lungsful of air that she cannot properly inhale when she hangs from her arms. She has tried to find that ideal position between hanging from her arms and pushing up with her legs that would prevent the huge swings of agony from her upper body to her lower body. But that position exists only briefly before her body demands she move. No, it is either hanging or pushing up. There is no sustainable middle position, no moderation. Just sheer agony however she positions herself.

It is while Marcella is in her elevated position on the cross, pushing up with her legs in order to draw deep breaths and relieve over-stressed arm and shoulder muscles, that she hears voices around her cross issuing orders and instructions. The crowd is cheering. Has another condemned individual arrived for crucifixion? Marcella prays it isn’t Thessela. With her thigh muscles burning fiercely from maintaining her stressful elevated position, and knowing that she will soon have to lower herself back down, she hears a female voice, someone in extreme distress, rising above the male voices. Could it be? Is it Thessela? No it can’t be! It must not be!

The fear that it is Thessela races through her mind as the burning cramps in her thighs become too great for her to stay elevated. Marcella she sucks in one more deep lungful of air and begins to reposition herself on the cross. She pulls her arched back toward the upright and slowly relaxes her thigh muscles which allows her body to drop down from its elevated position. Her feet move against the nail driven through them which only heightens the agony radiating up her legs. With an agonized grunt she relaxes her thighs as she reaches the extent of her drop. The sudden movement painfully stretches her arms and shoulders and pulls on her nailed wrists. Fresh, overwhelming pain blossoms in her wrists as she now hangs from her arms giving her cramped thigh muscles an opportunity to relax. When first crucified she would be screaming in agony as she made this movement. Now, her voice nearly gone, all she does is groan as the horrific, burning pain courses through her body.

As her head drops to her chest Marcella opens her eyes. She blinks repeatedly to clear her blurry vision. There is a kneeling figure on the ground looking up at her. Is it really Thessela? Or a dream, like she had in the dungeon. Yes, it is Thessela! She has found her in this horrid place where she’s been crucified. How brave of Thessela to find me, she thinks. But risky too! What if she’s recognized? She might be in danger! Marcella thinks, I must warn her to get away, to get to a safe place. She urgently tries to speak but her mouth is too dry.

As she tries to work up some saliva her mind becomes clear enough to recognize her sister not as a compassionate, grieving face in the crowd but as a naked and whipped woman, on her knees before her cross, her hands tied behind her back. Is Thessela to be crucified too? No, it cannot be!!! What could have happened? Thessela was not arrested with me. She should not be here!

"I am so sorry I could not save you Marcella," cries Thessela, staring up at the naked, tortured body of her crucified sister. "The soldier I hit in the head trying to help you get away died. I am condemned to the cross for killing him. Oh, but I'm in agony seeing you so unjustly crucified! Dear sister, I pray you die quickly! I deserve this, but not you! Not you!”

Marcella’s head clears as she listens to her sister’s voice. She begins crying at the sight of her loving sister kneeling in front of her cross. Oh, poor Thessela, she thinks, they’re going to crucify you too! Huge tears begin rolling down Marcella’s cheeks. Likewise, Thessela groans and sobs inconsolably seeing Marcella hanging in such agony on her cross. She cringes to imagine the pain she feels, but knows that she will soon know that pain herself! Thessela shouts at her sister. "They know you’re innocent, the bastards know you’re innocent, but crucified you anyway! But the fucking guilty slave bitch was captured. I saw her in the dungeon. She’ll be crucified along with us today. The fucking cunt that caused all of this will die with us! Do you hear me Marcella? Do you?”

“Yes, yes, I heard you,” came Marcella’s gasping answer just as Thessela is roughly pulled to her feet. It is her time to be crucified. Marcella screams. "No, no, Thessela, they can't do this to you!" Agitated and in anguish knowing she’ll soon see her sister crucified, Marcella twists and pulls against her nails, which only greatly exacerbates her awful agony and produces fresh flows of blood from her hideous wounds. She is quickly exhausted. Marcella hangs in overwhelming shock and grief knowing that Thessela will soon be beside her.

As the executioners pull Thessela away from Marcella’s cross she begs a favor. “Please, would you let me touch my sister one last time. Please, just a kiss before you take me. Please?”

Wordlessly they look at each other and nod their heads. “Your hands stay tied bitch. Know that.”

Holding Thessela’s arms they let her walk up to Marcella. Thessela stands right in front of her sister. With tears streaming down her face she looks up Marcella’s face contorted in agony. “I love you Marcella. No one could ever have such a wonderful sister as you.” Leaning in she gently kisses Marcella on her thigh. Her lips can sense the trembling strain in the muscle. She pushes her head in closer, rubbing her cheek now against Marcella’s thigh, desperate for one last contact with her sister. She hears Marcella gasp and sees her wince in agony. Why? Then she realizes her contact caused a sudden movement in Marcella’s leg causing her feet to move ever so slightly against the nail through them. Oh god, she was hurting Marcella! “I’m so sorry, Marcella, so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. Forgive me, please!”

The impatient executioners are ready. They begin to drag Thessela toward the cross on the ground, now ready for her. “No, no,” she yells, “not yet!” As Thessela is pulled along she hears Marcella shout: "I love you Thess!"

"I love you too Marcella, dear sister." Thessela returns a shout, then finds herself standing by her cross. The hot wind blows across her whipped and lacerated flesh. It only heightens the burning agony she feels. Thessela knows that within a few minutes she will be crucified too. She sees the four huge, square-cut nails that will be used to crucify her.

She shudders in horror and begins to cry at the thought of those hideous spikes being pounded through her body, at the horrific pain it will bring. But she reminds herself that Marcella endured this horror and humiliation all by herself, amongst only strangers. At least I have Marcella with me to stiffen my courage. A sudden calm comes over her as the executioners throw her down to the wood.

Hanging in overwhelming physical and emotional agony, Marcella watches as Thessela is stretched over her cross and her wrists are nailed.

Thessela screams in agony as the long spikes are driven deep into the wood, her body twisting in the strong grips of the executioners.

But before her feet are nailed, though, there is the expected final degradation. One of the executioners steps forward and drops his loincloth. His cock jumps up, erect and potent. He drops down between Thessela’s spread thighs. She looks up, seeing and feeling his cock slapping against her mons.

Thessela steels herself for rape. She has never felt so naked, so vulnerable, so unable to protect herself. With her wrists nailed to the crossbeam she can do nothing. Any movement on her part just pulls her raw flesh against the nails to bring on horrendous agony. The executioner pulls back and then thrusts himself into her, quickly sheathing his cock deep into her vagina. Thessela screams with the horrible pain as he thrusts in and out of her, tearing her tender flesh. Suddenly he climaxes and fills her with his hot load of cum.

The executioners work fast with Thessela. Her feet are nailed to the upright, one nail for each foot. Thessela remained conscious throughout the nailing. Only screaming when the agony became too much to bear. Then her cross is raised and dropped into the hole prepared. It teeters back and forth a bit as it is staked. The executioners step away.

Thessela screams in agony as she feels the bite of the nails as she hangs. Like Marcella before her, she twists and writhes on her cross, almost in panic at being freshly crucified. No more an independent woman but a poor, suffering creature affixed to this horrible contraption that brings the most awful suffering imaginable. She looks down at the spectators staring up at her naked body. She cannot cover herself; every private part of her is exposed, on display. Her breasts, her cunt, her legs and ass. Nothing is hers any longer. Her body belongs to the crowd.

Thessela is crucified next to her sister. She looks over at Marcella struggling on her cross, enduring the horrific pain. Then down at her nailed feet, and up at her nailed wrists. She sees her blood flowing. How long, she wonders? How long before I die?


*

 

[Cella]

Ch 15: The Slave

Decurion Marcus Getha has no fondness for duty as the officer-in-charge of a crucifixion detail. It is a long, tedious duty for a soldier that brings no honor or distinction. Marcus also has no fondness for the crucifixion of women. Not because they are women – if they deserve to be crucified then they should be -- but because the crucifixion of a woman makes his job all the more difficult. The crowd is generally larger and more boisterous when a woman is put to death and that requires far more attention to crowd control. It is lucky for Marcus that he has two crucifixion details on site – a total of eight men. He’s going to need them. This is a large crowd and they must be kept under reasonable control and away from the crosses.

The two women crucified today are both exceptionally beautiful – and sisters to boot! Ah, yes, two very good reasons to come out and watch the bloody spectacle! The raw sensuality these women exude hanging naked and exposed in front of the crowd brings out hard to control behaviors, especially among younger males. Marcus knows his men must be ready for anything. There are very relaxed standards of behavior tolerated at crucifixions. It is expected that women will be raped before being raised on their crosses and that they will be subject to the most crude and disgusting behavior from the crowd as they hang. This utter degradation of a crucified woman is as accepted as it is sure to get passions elevated. There’ll plenty of stiff cocks being stroked in the crowd. Any respectable woman should stay away. (Although, Marcus is always curious at the number of women who attend the crucifixion of one of their own sex. Is there some erotic element for them, as for the males?) If there is trouble, the soldiers might have to crack a few skulls.

Marcus wonders how the crowd would react if they knew that the younger sister was actually innocent of any crime, that she was crucified out of mere political expediency. They may think she’s an escaped slave, but what if they knew the truth? Would they riot? Or would it not matter to them? The chance to observe a beautiful young woman die on a cross might well trump any concerns they have for the quality of Roman justice. Marcus himself is disgusted that she was ever crucified in the first place. He always suspected she was innocent -- which was ultimately the truth about her. She should not be here! She should be safe somewhere and protected.

Despite the risks to his hard-earned rank, he should have told the magistrate to get someone else to escort this woman to her death. He feels dishonored, and a deep shame, to have been in charge of this travesty of justice. For the older sister Marcus has far less sympathy. Even so, she’s only crucified because she came to the aid of her sister. A horrible consequence for her, and avoidable had her sister not been misidentified in the first place. What a waste! What a tragedy for these women and Roman justice! However, when he looks up at the sisters, and especially the younger one, he has to admit to himself that the female body looks incredibly erotic when stretched out naked on a cross.

He finds the younger sister especially appealing. His heart beats faster and his cock gets hard whenever he looks at her. Yet, at the same time, he feels ashamed at being sexually excited while watching her. Deep down inside he knows his reaction is very wrong. Stop thinking with your little head, he tells himself. It’s indecent how you look at her! It strips her of all dignity, of all her humanity. But why should he be ashamed? Perhaps it’s because he knows she’s an innocent. What else could it be?

Marcus puts four soldiers on duty at a time to maintain order. The four off duty get to relax in the shade of a tent erected behind the crosses. There is wine and food there. They’ll be here all day and he wants to keep them from resenting having this duty. He reminds himself that Priscus will be arriving soon with the third woman – the slave who assaulted her domina and is responsible for these two uninvolved women getting crucified. Soon there will be three naked women for the crowd to ogle. What a fucking day this is turning out to be!

The sisters are talking to each other again. They speak breathlessly, barely able to get their words out. Marcus can’t make out what they are saying and doesn’t really care. But their accent is familiar. What does it matter what they say to each other? Damn, he thinks, wiping the sweat from his brow, this day’s going is stinking hot, and will only get hotter. He looks up at the girls again. They have many hours of suffering to go. Blood loss in minimal and they are being watered regularly. Despite their awful tortures they are both young, healthy women and can be expected to survive the night. Hopefully he can reduce the number of guards at dusk. The men are anxious to get back to the barracks and their favorite tavern whores.

The day grinds on, relentlessly hot. The sisters hang quietly, almost listless, except for the groans and grunts that accompany changes of position. Even the crowd seems subdued by the heat. Marcella has been on her cross nearly five hours now; Thessela on hers but two. The sisters try to console each other in their common misery, but it is very difficult. So much energy is used just trying to breathe and fight against the searing pain and muscle cramps caused by hanging nailed to a cross. Their bodies demand constant movement and repositioning as muscles are stretched and tensed beyond endurance and become tightly knotted in mercilessly painful, paralyzing contractions. Any movement on the cross brings on surges of horrific agony as raw flesh pushes and pulls on the iron nails hammered through their wrists and feet. For the crucified there is no position on the cross that alleviates suffering for even a moment. At best, one unbearable, soul-destroying pain is merely traded for another.

Suddenly, Marcella is roused from her agonizing stupor by Thessela’s shout voice. “It’s her! Marcella, it’s her! It’s the slave bitch responsible for all this! She’s here! They’re going to crucify her!”

The slave girl arrives, bearing her cross.

Marcella’s eyes blink open to see the image of a petite, slender, naked young woman bent under the weight of the full cross she is carrying. Another crucifixion? Yes! Marcella understands what Thessela is saying. This is the slave who actually assaulted her mistress. The escorting soldiers halt the slave’s pitiful march near Marcella’s cross. There they hand her off the executioners. No longer lurching forward, she drops down under her burden as one arm reaches out feeling for the ground.

Thessela screams at the slave.

Executioners swarm around her and remove the cross from her back. As they place the cross into position the young woman drops to her knees and then rolls over onto her back. Marcella looks down at the slave. She seems very young. She’s breathing heavily and is drenched in sweat from her long walk. Her legs are sprawled out as though unconcerned with her modesty. The slave groans in pain with her scourged back to the ground. Grimacing, she struggles to roll over onto her side. She lays there, barely moving, as the executioners make their preparations.

Thessela keeps shouting from her cross. “That’s the bitch, Marcella! That’s the fucking bitch that got us crucified! We’re innocent! She did this to us! She admitted it to me!”

Marcella’s anger rises in her, white hot. She’s right, Thessela’s right! I’m dying because of this bitch. This slave committed the crime that got me and my sister crucified! That fucking cunt should be here, not us!

Within minutes the executioners are ready for the slave. Marcella watches as they grab her by the arms and drag her groaning, limp, barely resisting body to the cross. When they stretch her slender arms to the crossbeam she suddenly becomes animated, struggling and screaming in their grasp, kicking out with her feet. But she is not strong enough to seriously resist and is firmly held down. The men grab and squeeze her breasts and twist her nipples as she lies there. The executioner approaches with a hammer and nails. She screams as the first nail is pressed into her wrist, then howls in pitiful agony as her wrist is quickly and efficiently nailed to the crossbeam. The process is repeated for her other wrist. Good, Marcella thinks, let the bitch suffer like we did!

The slave is nailed to her cross.

With her wrists nailed, the executions pull the slave’s legs apart, exposing her pussy to the cheering crowd. One of the executioners undoes his loincloth. His cock springs up erect. The slave prepares herself for the assault. She struggles, as would any woman, but her frantic movements only cause her raw flesh to move against the wrist nails. Blinding agony shoots through her arms as the executioner positions himself to enter her.

“Fuck me,” he shouts as her prepares to penetrate her, “this bitch is full of cum! It’s dripping out of her pussy!”

“The soldiers must have had a go at her,” says another. “Hey, mate, if you don’t want a piece of her just step aside and let me in. I ain’t so fussy.”

“Yeah, right,” says the executioner as he grins and shoves his cock inside her. “I got dibs on this cunt.”

The slave throws her head back, screaming with pain and humiliation as the executioner enters her. He thrusts quickly and viscously and soon shoots his load deep inside her. The men take their turns. The pain is unendurable; she tries not to struggle. Finished with their rape the executioners position her legs along the sides of the stipes. They quickly and efficiently drive nails through her heel bones into the wood. The slave screams and faints. Marcella winces as she sees the nails pounded in. The pain for her has to be unbearable. But too bad! The bitch deserves it!

The slave is crucified!

The slave’s cross is raised and dropped into its hole next to Marcella. Her body drops hard, pulling her arms taut and bunching her shoulder muscles. The slave throws her head back and screams in agony as her body weight pulls on the wrist nails. She instinctively responds by arching her back and stressing her legs to push up, but this only grinds her heel bones against the nails piercing her heels causing lightning bolts of raw agony to slash up her legs. The slave’s body contorts in agony as she vainly struggles against her nails. As she writhes she loses control of both her bladder and bowels. The crowd cheers and hoots as her wastes drop to the ground

Thessela turns her head, looking past Marcella to the slave as she groans on her cross. She rages at her again. “Your turn to suffer you fucking cunt! I hope you understand what you did to us! You killed us you fucking cunt, fucking bitch!” Thessela’s face is deep red with anger; spittle flies and drips from her lips. Her whole body is tensed and shaking as she pulls and pushes against her nails. She’s willing to endure the horrible escalation of agony to have her say with the slave.

The crowd standing near shift their attention back to Thessela. The spectators don’t care what she is saying, only that her enraged, twisting movements on the cross animate her magnificent breasts. Thessela doesn’t hear the crowd’s cheering or their obscene comments as she continues to rage at the slave.

“I curse you, you goddam twat! May you suffer forever, never forgiven for what you did to us! Never! Never! We shouldn’t be here! Don’t you fucking understand? We’re innocent, you’re not! You should be crucified, not us! You fucking, fucking bitch.“ Thessela’s voice trails off into deep sobs and moans as she turns her head away from the slave and collapses on her cross. Her arms stretch to their full extent as they bear her entire weight. She throws her head back and howls in heart-rendering rage at the horrible injustice done the her and Marcella. The crowd, as expected, howls back in approval as they ogle her heavy, heaving breasts and exposed pussy.

The slave turns her head and looks at Marcella, her tearful eyes wide with pain, both physical and emotional. Her lips are moving, as if trying to say something. Marcella examines the slave more closely. She seems so small, so petite. She’s clearly no older than Marcella herself, and probably younger. How she was possibly confused for this girl? I’m taller by several inches, at least! Marcella also judges herself more attractive and more -- far more -- womanly in appearance than the tortured creature who hangs next to her. The slave is hardly unattractive; she has a fair enough face, a slim build, shapely legs, and pert breasts. But confuse her with me? Why, the person would have to be blind!

Marcella turns away from the slave, not caring what she might be trying to save. Bad enough I have to be crucified, she thinks, but why must I die next to the bitch who put me and Thessela here!

*

 

[Cella]

Ch 16: Anna

The day grinds on in hot, relentless agony for the three women. Within an hour on the cross the slave has exhausted herself. Her movements become more controlled, less frantic, as she struggles. Clouds of insects fly around the heads of the women and settle on their wounds. Flies! Horrible flies! Their buzzing and intrusion into every body opening is a torture worthy of crucifixion. They bite and feed off the women’s sweat and blood. Marcella is sickened knowing they are laying eggs in her pierced flesh. By tomorrow there will be maggots. She prays she is dead by then.

The late afternoon heat feels like a suffocating oven. There is no breeze. The women are suffering unimaginable torments as they are baked under the merciless rays of the sun and bedeviled by insects. Their raw, whipped flesh oozes fluids. The executioners give the women water every hour or so to prevent them from dying too soon from dehydration. They eagerly accept the water squirted in their mouths, though much of it simply dribbles out over their chests. The oppressiveness of the day keeps the crowd quiet as spectators come and go.

Marcella notices the Decurion looking up at her. How many times has he done this? He watches her with that mournful, sad look on his face she has seen before. He knows I’m innocent but he never did anything to save me from being crucified. So fuck him! She doesn’t need his fucking pity! She tries calling out to him from the cross a few times, begging him to kill her and Thessela, begging for the mercy of a quick death. Haven’t we suffered enough! But he does nothing, just walks away, only to return again and again. What is he looking for? Is he trying to soothe his conscience over this? Am I supposed to say something? Forgive him?

The Decurion stands before Marcella's cross.

Marcella’s tortured, feverish brain obsesses about the Decurion’s interest in her. Why the fuck does he continue to look at me. Maybe it’s my tits. Do you like looking at my tits, Roman? Oh, I bet you do! Or do you prefer my cunt? Yes, my lovely, tight virginal cunt. I bet you wish you had fucked me too, huh? Oh, too bad you can’t get to me now! Go stare at the slave! She has tits and a pussy, and from what I can see she’s young and cute – no beauty like Thess – but why not go stare at her? Maybe she’ll shake her titties at you. Or spread her legs to give you a good view. Whatever! Just get away from me! Stop looking at me you goddam Roman bastard! I don’t need your bullshit pity. Let me alone, let me die, let me die!

Suddenly Marcella feels a great sense of shame. For the first time in hours she’s extremely aware of her nakedness. She desperately wants to cover her breasts and crotch, but of course cannot. Marcella sobs, burning with humiliation to be seen like this. “Go away, get away from me,” she shouts at the Decurion. “Just leave me the fuck alone! I don’t want you looking at me! It isn’t right for you to be staring at me! It isn’t right! It isn’t right!” She collapses and hangs from her arms. She can do nothing but rage and cry at the utter loss of her dignity. What has this man done to her?

Hanging in the insufferable heat, Marcella drifts in an out of consciousness. Each time consciousness returns it is accompanied with the roaring pain of tortured muscles and nails through her flesh. And each time Marcella’s mind reminds her with a sickening realization that she is crucified.

Marcella is jolted to awareness by a sharp stick jabbing into her crotch. She groans with the familiar agony and the shocking awareness of her situation. This time she had a short dream. She was walking naked through a field of tall grass. Some sort of seductive music was playing. There was no pain, just contentment. She put her hands out to feel the feathery heads of the stems, ripe with seeds, caress her palms as she walks. The soft grass tickled between her thighs and in her crotch. What a delicious sensation as the long stems passed over her pussy lips, caressing and tickling her with their soft, feathery touch! How sensuous, how arousing! She feels a moistness between her thighs as her passion rises. But suddenly the sensuous tickle became painful, as though thorns were being scraped across her tender flesh. Then a sharp stabbing sensation between her legs. She yelped as her eyes flew open. The field, the grass, the music . . . the contentment, are gone. She’s back in the real world where she’s crucified between her sister and a slave. She’s crucified!

With consciousness comes her need to breathe. But Marcella can no longer raise herself up on the cross as earlier. She’s far too weak. Her leg muscles are in spasmodic contractions. Thanks to her torture with the strappado she has long been unable to pull up with her arms. Her damaged shoulder muscles radiate constant, intense pain. The pain from her nailed wrists is worse than ever. No, all she can do is tense her legs and push up against the foot rest and the nail through her feet to take some tension off her arms. Grunting with the pain she pushes up enough to draw quick, shallow breaths. But her tortured leg muscles cannot push up for long. Soon she must relax them and drop back down, hanging from her wrists. She tries not to move, closing her eyes and letting her head drop as the agony envelopes her.

“Miss, miss, can you hear me?” A small, soft voice penetrates Marcella’s tortured awareness. Again, “Miss, please, can you hear me. I must talk with you. Please miss, listen to me!”

Marcella opens her eyes to the horror of her existence. The relentless pain, bright and hot, consumes her. Looking forward she sees faces in the crowd staring up at her, their voices just background noise. Now they’re pointing, laughing and making the usual obscene gestures. Did she hear someone calling to her? Someone not in the crowd? Or was it her imagination? She drops her head to her chest and stares down between her breasts to the ground below. Is that wet spot her piss? It must be.

“Miss, please, it’s me, next to you. Please, may I speak with you?”

That was a voice. A soft, breathy female voice. What did she say? Marcella looks over at her sister. It’s not Thessela. She’s busy pushing her body up to breathe. Her groans are loud and desperate. Poor Thess! She’s suffering so much!

Again the voice, more insistent. “For god’s sake miss, please, I must speak with you!” Only one other possibility. She turns her head to the left and sees the face of the slave girl looking towards her from her cross. Marcella hadn’t looked her in the face since she was first crucified, hours ago, and certainly hadn’t tried to speak with her since then.

Now the slave is trying to speak to her again. “Fuck you, you bitch!” Marcella turns her head, and rages at the slave. “Why would I want to talk to you? You put me here, you put my sister here! We are dying because of you! Fuck you, cunt!” Marcella shocks herself with the obscenities she used. But, then again, she’s an innocent woman, dying on a cross -- crucified! She was entitled.

“Please, listen to me,” pleads the slave. She gasps as she tries to speak; her chest rising and falling, her ribs protruding, her belly concave. “I know you’re angry, but please understand, I never attacked my domina thinking someone else would pay for the crime. I always expected to be caught and punished. I knew that was my fate. I am so, so sorry that you were mistaken for me. But it wasn’t my fault, I never knew you were identified as me. I’ve been in the dungeon since my capture nearly seven days ago. I – I was just trying to be free. Please, understand, I was a slave. My master was a terrible man, as was my mistress. I was just trying to be free! All I wanted was my freedom! Please understand!”

The slave was breathless and shuddering with agony by the time she finished. She clearly needed air. With an agonized grunt she began pushing and pulling herself up and arching her back in order to breath. Marcella too needed to fill her lungs. When the slave dropped back down on her cross, Marcella was waiting to speak with her. Though it was agonizing to do so, she kept her legs tensed, pushing up a bit, to make it easier to speak. Marcella was very weak and exhausted from her earlier outburst. She would have to pace herself better.

“Miss, let me say --“The slave begins, her words labored by the agonies of her crucifixion.

“No, wait, wait,” gasps Marcella. “I know I shouldn’t blame you, but you need to understand I’m dying for nothing. Nothing! I never did anything wrong! I am sorry you are a slave, and I understand your desire for freedom, but I am a fucking innocent woman! I’m only 19 years old and my life was taken from me. I’ve been tortured, raped and crucified because nobody took the time to know the truth about me!

Marcella is close to shouting, but her voice quavers and breaks. The exertion has her trembling and tensed, horrified and enraged anew about what has happened! She starts gasping for breath. Panic seizes her and she urgently tries to push up, twisting on her nails. Waves of agony slash through her limbs. Fresh blood flows from her wounds. Her strength falters and she drops down, hanging from her arms. Her eyes are open wide, her heart pounds in her chest. Her panic escalates as she cannot inflate her lungs – she cannot breathe! Marcella desperately wants to die but her body refuses to obey – it wants to survive! She has no choice. With her head pointed skyward she pushes up with her cramped and burning thighs, her feet twisting on the foot nail. She tries to scream but cannot. Finally, at the point of passing out, she’s able to gulp in air. She rapidly inhales and exhales, keeping her head pointing skyward, as if the precious air would simply flow into her. Shaking and gasping she drops back down to once again hang from her arms. Urine dribbles down between her legs. Her pee hole burns with a red hot fire.

The crowd hoots and jeers to see Marcella’s struggles. “Shake those tits, honey,” she hears.

“Look at her piss,” shouts another.

“Miss, please, miss,” the slave addresses Marcella again.

Marcella breathes in rapid, shallow breaths as she turns her head back toward the slave. The slave is also breathing in quick, shallow gasps. It is difficult for both of them to speak. Marcella’s arms are numb but she feels the trickle of fresh blood in her armpits and down the sides of her chest. The slave too is hanging from her arms, as she relaxes her cramped legs. Her breasts are pulled high on her chest; their tumescent nipples jutting forward. The slave’s throws her head against the back of the cross, sucks in a deep breath and turns her head towards Marcella.

“I know you’ve been wrongfully condemned,” the slave gasps between spasms of pain. “But please do not blame me! We three are dying together. There’s a bond between us. But your sister has cursed me. I won’t be able to enter the afterlife with a curse on me. I deserve to be here but you and your sister do not. Please, I am so sorry that you two are crucified with me, but do not curse me for it! Curse the fucking Romans, their fucking laws, and their enslavement of free people!”

The slave groans as she forces out the last emotional words. Marcella watches as her head drops to her chest as her body trembles in agony. She tenses her legs to push up against the nails through her heels. Her body shudders from the blinding agony as her heel bones turn against the spikes. The slave has no way to use her feet to push against the wood of her cross, so she has to use her arms more to drag herself up. The muscles in her skinny arms tense as she pulls against the wrist nails. She grunts and howls in agony as her legs straighten and her body bows out from the cross. Though crucified herself, Marcella’s stomach turns over at the thought of slave’s heel bones grinding against the spikes. It seems even worse than her own situation.

”Why are you listening to that fucking cunt?” Marcella’s head snaps to the right to see Thessela eyes, burning with anger and pain. ‘I can see you, cunt,” she hisses, straining to see the slave beyond the profile of Marcella’s body. “Stop trying to make excuses to my sister. Your action put us here -- to die for your crime!”

Thessela shouts her curses at the slave.

The slave shouts back defiantly. “Your sister is innocent, yes, but you killed a soldier! You are here for that. That’s not my fault!”

Thessela fires back, her voice cracked and hoarse. “It is your fault you fucking bitch! If you hadn’t escaped none of this would have happened! Can’t you understand that!” She’s gasping for air, straining to fill her lungs. Her curvaceous body twists sinuously on the cross as she tries to rise up. She grunts and howls in agony, uttering curses and condemnations as she pushes and pulls against her nails. The crowd shifts its attention to Thessela.

“Yeah bitch, shake those tits! More! Look at ‘em bounce!”

“Grind that ass! Yeah, let’s see that pussy. Spread those legs girl!”

After gulping precious air Thessela drops back down and continues her rant against the slave.

“You fucking whore cunt! I hit the soldier because my innocent baby sister was being arrested. I didn’t mean to kill him. I acted on impulse! But it was you who brought all this about! Now, I’ll never see home again, never see my parents and my children. No one will know what became of me and my sister. Our deaths are on your head, you fucking whore! Damn you for all eternity! Damn you! Fucking damn you to hell!”

Thick spittle flies from Thessela’s lips as she struggles to expel the words, her voice raspy almost to the point of silence. Gasping for air, she pushes up to breathe.

Marcella knows in her own mind that the slave isn’t responsible for her and Thessela’s crucifixions. The girl was only seeking freedom from terrible bondage. What is wrong with that? She realizes that she and Thessela have only been looking for someone to blame. But it is wrong to blame the slave when there are so many others they can blame. Marcella turns back to her. She’s hanging with her head down, arms stretched taut as a bow string from the crossbeam. She’s breathing in and out with a hard, raspy sound.

Marcella and the slave have a conversation.

“Hey,” says Marcella, “can you hear me? I want to speak to you.”

The slave looks at her, her face streaked with tears, and blood.

Marcella gasps, trying to find her voice. “What’s your name?” Marcella’s elevated chest heaves, breasts rising and falling, as she struggles to find her voice.

“What do you care?” comes the answer. “Just call me ‘slave.’ That’s what people call me.”

“But you do have a name, no? Please tell me. I – I would feel awkward addressing you as ‘slave.’

“I’m Anna.”

Thessela rages again. “Yes, Anna! That’s your fucking name. Now I recall it! Don’t talk to my sister you bitch. Leave us alone. You cannot justify what you did. You cannot!”

Marcella looks back at Thessela. “Please, Thess, I must speak with her.” She watches as Thessela drops on her cross, her body spasmodically twitching. She’s muttering something, but Marcella cannot make it out.

Turning her head the other way she says “Thank you, Anna. I’m Marcella, and my sister is Thessela.”

The slave – Anna – looked back at her. As though confused about what to do with that information. “Yes, miss.” She replied in a raspy voice.

“No, please. Anna, please call me Marcella, that who I am. I’m not ‘miss.’”

“OK. Yes, Marcella.” Just as she said her name Anna uttered a deep moan, clenched her jaw, and began her ritual of pushing up to breathe. Marcella looked away, as if she were violating Anna’s privacy to continue looking at her in her agony as she tried to breathe. Soon, though, her soft voice returns.

“Your sister clearly hates me. You must too.”

Yes, she blames you for us being crucified. And I did too, but I understand better now. You were a slave. Your master was cruel. Why shouldn’t you try to escape.

“I don’t expect your pity, just understanding. I just don’t want to be cursed. It’ll haunt me in the netherworld. I want your sister to understand that I did not consciously will this to happen! Your misfortune is not my fault. Blame the fucking Romans, but not me. Please, get her to understand.”

“I understand, Anna, and I will try to get her to accept it. I don’t know how much time she or I have left. I will try before I die, really.

“Yes, let her know I am so sorry. My life was hell where I was. It’s better that I die here than live that slave existence.”

Marcella looks at Thessela. She calls to her but she does not respond. She’s exhausted and not willing or able to talk right now. Marcella’s is exhausted too. She’ll try to speak with Thessela again later. Right now, though, she desperately needs to breath. With agonized grunts she tries to push her body up on the cross.

 

[Cella]

Ch 17: The Night, then Morning

The long, brutally hot day slowly turns into dusk and then evening. The moon rises above the horizon to replace the sun in the sky. All three women are in severe dehydration despite being watered every hour. They have been kept alert all day with sharp, heated sticks poked into their groins, breasts and armpits whenever they fainted. Now they all show vivid bruises and burns as well as trickles of blood from the more viscous pokes. As darkness descends the crowd begins to thin out. Not much to see by the flicker of torches and the soft rays of a half moon. By the time Apollo rode his chariot below the horizon all but a few had left. Soon they too would be gone. The crucified women will be alone to suffer through the night, left to the tender mercies of whatever emerges from the darkness that envelopes them.

Decurion Marcus Getha sent eight of his detail soldiers back to the barracks after dusk. No need for so many soldiers now, he figured. A four-man detail with two men in each watch is more than sufficient. Marcus himself returns to the city after dark, leaving Priscus in charge. He tells Priscus to expect him back after sunrise. He fervently hopes the younger sister, the crucified innocent, is dead by the time he returns. The slave and the older sister can suffer another day for all he cares; after all, they were crucified for good reasons. He’s perfectly aware of what is likely to happen to the women as they hang helpless in the dark, their crosses illuminated by only the moon and torches. In some ways it might be the most horrible part of their suffering. They are crucified, after all, so by custom – and law – they have no rights or protections as condemned criminals. Literally anything short of purposefully ending their lives is permitted. He knows it will be hellish for them.

Marcella has tried to summon the energy to talk to Thessela about Anna. Several times in all into the early evening hours. But she was not able to convince her sister that Anna was not responsible for their executions. It was just fate, she tried to explain. (Well, about as capably as a crucified woman could carry out an intelligent conversation with another crucified woman next to her. Their words were said with breathy urgency through jaws and lips clenched in pain. Just talking made their agonies flare. It was exhausting work.)

Marcella tried to reason with Thessela that Anna’s life and theirs just crossed by sheer happenstance. Anna never accused them of anything or falsely identified them. That was other people and for whatever reasons they had. Anna was a victim, just as they were. She begged Thessela to renounce her curse, but she never did. At some point further conversation became impossible as each sister could only struggle with her own all-consuming agony on the cross. Marcella hadn’t spoken with Anna since late afternoon. Whenever she looked over at her she was hanging very still until she had to move to breathe. Anna looked back at Marcella a few times, her eyes teary and filled with pain. Marcella knew she wanted to hear that Thessela took back her curse. The poor girl was terrified of dying with the curse upon her.

The cooler evening air is not necessarily a blessing for the three women. Though their skins feel as on fire from their fierce daytime sunburns, they begin to shiver as heat is quickly lost from their exposed bodies. The shivering is intense at times causing them considerable spasms of agony as their bodies involuntarily pull and push on their nails. They continue to moan and groan as they struggle to push up to breathe. All three are extremely weak. Their arm and leg muscles by now are knotted in almost permanent spasmodic contractions. Under normal conditions the pain would be beyond endurance. Yet for someone crucified it is simply one additional agony to be endured.

They cry out for water, which is given freely and eagerly accepted. Marcella can see the shadowy figures of the guards illuminated by flickering torches. Beyond them is the purple darkness. She can see the city walls against the darkening sky and some soft lights from inside the wall. Soon they will flicker out as the city goes to sleep. Then the dark will be total. The two guards in front of their crosses are carrying on an animated conversation. Every so often they look back over their shoulders, pointing at one or two of them, laughing and making obscene gestures. Marcella groans as panic seizes her. She’s suddenly terrified about what monsters might emerge from that inky blackness. Her heart pounds in her chest – she must breathe. She struggles to push up as she utters a strangled scream. The guards turn and look at her, their eyes glinting evilly in the flickering torchlight, then turn away to continue their conversation.

By midnight Marcella has been crucified for sixteen hours, Thessela thirteen hours, and Anna eleven hours. Marcella has had a serious bladder infection since late afternoon. Along with the intense pelvic pain there is a slow, constant, painful dripping of her urine. She feels as though she desperately needs to pee but bearing down does nothing to empty her bladder. She reflexively clenches her pelvic muscles and squeezes her thighs tightly together, but there is no relief. Just the relentless, fiery pain as each drop of urine leaves her, a torture that were she not crucified would render her utterly incapacitated. But for a crucified woman it is only one additional agony that must be endured. There is one small relief with the night: the insects are far fewer.

It is sometime after midnight, when the night is the most quiet and dark, that the predators come out. Not the ones on four legs that can be scared away with fire or rocks. These were the two-legged variety. They come seeking the women as they helplessly hang on their crosses. With some coins passed to the guards they are allowed to put platforms on the ground before each woman’s cross. Then, stepping up on the platforms, they are able to carry out their depredations.

Marcella can’t clearly the face of the man in front of her, but it’s there, and very ugly. How is that possible, she thinks, that he’s standing eye to eye with me? Then she looks down and sees that he’s standing on a platform placed in front of her cross. What the hell is going on here, she wonders? That question is quickly answered.

The man starts by roughly squeezing her full breasts and tumescent nipples. This by itself causes her to gasp in agony as her skin is both raw from scourging and burned from the sun. With one hand to her breasts, his other hand is slipped into her crotch. His powerful fingers dig deeply into her vagina. She reflexively tries to squeeze her legs together, but cannot stop him. The pain is sharp and tearing. What is he doing to her, she wonders? He’s saying something to her, but she can’t make it out. She smells his foul, rotten breath. It’s overwhelming. She can’t do anything but endure the horrific assault. Then the inevitable: she feels his hands now behind her ass, pulling her pelvis toward him. She screams as her body moves against the nails. With her right foot nailed on top of her left, Marcella’s thighs are kept close together. Her attacker cannot get his body between them easily. But he manages to get a knee between her thighs and pries them apart. He lunges forward and Marcella feels his erection searching for her vagina. He’s trying to rape her as she hangs! He enters her and thrusts deeply and viscously as he rocks her hips towards him. The friction of his cock exacerbates the burning, itching pain from her pee hole. She groans and grunts piteously. Marcella closes her eyes and turns her head to the side, as if she could shut out the horror. She feels his final thrust as he ejaculates inside her. He withdraws, only to be replaced by another equally disgusting man who repeats the awful act. Marcella faints at some point but revives as the sharp sticks grind into her armpits and breasts. She loses track of how many times she is raped.

Thessela and Anna are also assaulted by the rapists as they hang on their crosses. Marcella hears Anna’s heart-rendering groans and pleas to stop. Thessela’s voice is loud and gravelly as she curses them. Marcella hears a man scream, yelling that his ear was bitten. Good for Thess, she thinks! She bit the bastard! But then Marcella hears the heavy sound of his hand slapping Thessela's face, back and forth. Thessela continues to scream and curse at him which only causes him to smack her harder. Suddenly, it’s over. The predators slip back into the dark and vanish. The women are left alone in shock, cum dripping from their ravaged pussies. Thessela is raging – cursing Anna again through swollen lips for causing all their sufferings and degradations. Marcella looks up at the heavens. The moon has set and the stars are bright. Then they all begin to swirl around.

The next thing Marcella knows, it is dawn. The agony of crucifixion seizes her as consciousness is gained. She is hanging from her arms, her legs numb and burning. She shudders and tries to push up to breathe, but her legs fail her as their muscles are tightened in agonizing tonic spasms. She tries to pull up but cannot. Her shoulders are dislocated. Hanging from her arms produces overwhelming burning agony as nerves are stretched and irritated. Ligaments and tendons too are stretched and torn beyond their limits. With an extreme effort she manages to extend her body upward just enough to gulp in some air.

Dawn, and the three women are still alive. But barely.

Marcella knows the end is near for her. Just how much longer does she have to suffer? She is unable to push or pull herself up. She is slowly suffocating. She looks over at Thessela whose breathing is deep and ragged. Her time, too, is near. Then over at Anna. Oh, poor Anna! She looks so still and grey. Is she dead? But there’s a twitch and her head bobbles. She’s still alive for now. Marcella looks up at her wrists. They are seeping blood and pus from around the nails. Her wounds are infected. And down at her feet. The same. Good. The infection will carry her off all the sooner. She drops her head and closes her eyes, waiting for death. Moments of unconsciousness are intermixed with periods of intense agony.

She wakes up with a jolt! Hours have passed; it seems midmorning. I’ve been crucified a full day, she realizes. She looks over at her sister. Thessela hangs fully extended from her arms. Her shoulders, too, appear dislocated. Her breathing is barely detectable. She looks over at Anna. The poor girl appears dead. She is ashen grey and not moving. But she notices someone moving beyond Anna’s motionless body. There’s another cross erected, and yet another further down the line. Were more women crucified? Marcella’s vision is cloudy but the figures on the crosses do not appear to have breasts, and their bodies are too muscular. Their semi-erect penises confirm they are men. When did they get here, she wonders? She hears their curses, groans and screams as they go about dancing on their crosses. She notices the spectators are few in number. Apparently crucified men do not attract that large of a crowd.

Suddenly she hears a loud moan coming from Thessela’s cross. Her sister’s breathing is deep and ragged. It’s the death rattle she’s hearing. Thessela suddenly raises her head and looks at Marcella. Now Marcella knows why she revived at this time. Thessela is dying. She has a chance to say goodbye. Thessela turns her swollen face toward Marcella's. Her eyes are wet with tears. Her lips are moving! What is she trying to say? Marcella desperately wishes she knew. Then Thessela exhales and her head drops to her chest and rolls to one side. Her body slumps. Marcella manages a strangled scream at knowing she just saw her sister die. She’s devastated, yet happy she is beyond suffering. Now only she is left. She hangs from her arms and dislocated shoulders; her legs can barely push up. Her agony has never been worse as innumerable pains slash through her body.

Marcella goes in and out of consciousness during the hours up until noon. The executioners no longer use the sticks to keep her alert. They allow her at least that. Her breathing is labored, very shallow. Barely enough air to keep her brain working. She looks down and sees the Decurion standing there. Oh, those damn sad eyes of his! What does he want now? Oh!

Marcus had returned at dawn to find the women still alive, but barely. He was distressed to see that the younger sister still lived. He cursed. She should be dead by now! There was no crowd to speak of this morning. There rarely are any spectators on the second day. Once the women stop struggling on their crosses the crowds lose interest. He arrived leading an escort that brought two naked men bent under the burden of their cross. They are renegade slaves responsible for robberies and killings in the area. Their crosses went up in two of the remaining holes next to the slave. He posted the guard detail and waited for the women to die. The older sister and the slave could last into the afternoon. The slave, however, died soon after the men were crucified. Her breathing had been very shallow and labored. Suddenly she raised her head, gulped deeply, and tried to utter some words. Marcus thought he heard her say something about forgiveness, but wasn’t sure. Then she slumped on her cross as her head fell to her chest. The remaining contents of her bowels emptied to the ground. He didn’t take note when the older sister died a few hours later. The morning had started off very hot and he was in the tent talking with Priscus. He heard a scream from the younger sister. It amazed him she had any voice left at this point. Upon investigating he saw the older sister was dead. He had hoped the younger sister had died to. Then he could have the bodies taken down and be done with this particularly vexing crucifixion.

“Please girl, hurry up and die,” he mutters as he returns to the tent.

At noon Marcus sees the younger sister is still alive! Incredible, given the amount of torture she suffered before crucifixion. It must be the foot block used on her, he figured. It gives her too much support under her body. Her sister had her feet nailed flat against the upright and the slave’s feet had been nailed to the side of the upright. Neither of them had nearly as much support under them and had died sooner because of it. The younger sister barely moves, but when she does Marcus can hear her low, tortured moans. Her agony is still apparent. Why doesn’t she die? Why won’t the girl die? Why is she being made to suffer so much for so long! She’s the innocent! She doesn’t deserve this!

The two that deserved crucifixion died hours ago. Marcus suddenly decides that he must put this poor unfortunate girl out of her misery. Damn the fucking magistrate! He can suck my cock! Marcus draws his sword and places it under the girl’s left breast.

Marcella sees that the Decurion has drawn his sword. She feels it poke the skin under her breast. She looks down at him and murmurs a barely audible thank you. Marcella raises her head skyward and looks up into the clear blue sky. Birds are flying gracefully overhead. So beautiful, she thinks, as the Decurion’s sword slices into her chest. She feels a sharp stab of pain and a warm gush of blood. The world goes dark as she falls into a deep, dark, pain-free abyss.

Marcus orders the executioners to immediately remove the women’s bodies from their crosses. They do so with their usual trained efficiency. The three bodies are sprawled out on the ground, their dead eyes staring up at the sky. The burial pit for the execution site is about a hundred yards away. No one is claiming their bodies, so that is where they’ll be buried. The executioners tie ropes around the dead women’s feet, preparing to drag them behind horses to the burial pit.

“Stop!” The Decurion’s command voice rings out, bringing their activity to an immediate halt. “I want them carried to the pit, not dragged.”

“What the fuck for?” the main executioner demands. “This is how we always dispose of corpses.”

“Not today. I want them carried. Here, I’ll take this one, pointing to Marcella’s body. Your men take the other two.”

The executioners hesitate, standing uneasily, trying to find the courage to defy the Decurion’s instructions.

“Do it! Now!” shouts Marcus, placing his hand on the hilt of his sword. “Or by god I’ll gut somebody in the next second!”

The executions quickly do as the Decurion orders, not wanting to test his resolve. Marcus bends down and lifts up Marcella’s body, cradling her in his arms. She seems so light to him, so frail as her lifeless head and arms flop down as he carries her. The other women are carried with a little less dignity: one executioner lifts at the shoulders, the other at the knees. But, Marcus notices, at least they are not being dragged like carrion.

At the burial pit the executioners prepare to toss the women in. Marcus orders that they be laid side by side, on their backs, with their arms folded over their chests, in dignity. He places the younger sister down first. The executioners arrange the other two women as ordered. They then throw lime over the bodies.

“Now, cover them with dirt,” he orders.

“What? Slaves will do that later, when more bodies are put in.” The head executioner protests doing work he considers beneath him. But all it takes is an intense glare from Marcus as his hand again goes for the hilt of his sword to convince them to do as ordered.

Marcus watches as the executioners shovel dirt over the women’s bodies. He realizes he has no idea what the names of the sisters are. It just never mattered up to this point. But he does manage to say a few words.

“I’m so sorry, dear girl, that this had to happen to you. May you and your sister find peace and contentment in the afterlife.” Then, almost as an afterthought, “And the slave too.”


*

 

[Cella]

Ch 18: Paradise Gained


Marcella and Thessela walk out into the light. Behind them is a long tunnel with columns on both sides that seems to stretch back into darkness. It empties out onto a portico where the sisters now stand. They blink at the scene before them: softly filtered light from a blue sky with puffy clouds, a lush pastoral landscape, birds twittering in the trees, butterflies flitting among the flowers, the sounds of nature all around.

The sisters are dressed in bits of gossamer material, the loose ends of which waft in a gentle breeze.

“Where are we?” asks Thessela.

“I don’t know.” Marcella replies. “But wherever this is I feel very safe and happy.”

“Happy? How is that possible? Weren’t we crucified?

“Yes, we were, but no longer. Thessela, I think we’re dead!”

“Oh no! Dead! That’s terrible!”

“Why is it terrible, Thess? We were crucified. We died and I remember falling into a deep abyss. Did you?”

“Yes, I did too. There was no pain.“

“Then we were in the that long tunnel behind us. Remember, we were walking toward the light. The welcoming light. Now we’re here. Doesn’t this seem like, like – well, paradise?”

“Paradise? I thought at death you passed into the underworld. A dark place. The idea always frightened me.”

“Perhaps this is the underworld – just not what we expected.”

“It is beautiful, and oh, so peaceful. I’ve never felt more at home.”

“And look at us Thessela. Look! No wounds from the nails, no whip marks!” Marcella holds up her wrists. “See!” She extends an elegantly sculpted leg, pointing her foot. “No wounds, Thess! This must be paradise!”

Thessela looks at the back of her thighs that had been so cruelly whipped. She holds out her arms. She sees no scars or marks. “Yes! No wounds! We are as we were, whole again, but better in a way!” She looks down at her belly and sees just clear skin. “See, my stretch marks are gone too!”

Marcella slips her hand under her barely-there loincloth and gently cups her vulva, applying some pressure. She feels no pain or discomfort. There’s no abraded or torn tissues. She feels around her vagina. Again, there is no pain. After the pear torture and multiple rapes, she was certain that this probing would be extremely painful. She inserts the tip of one finger, and then another, and feels a youthful tightness. She withdraws her fingers and looks. There is no blood! No pain, no discomfort, no blood. Thank goodness! Everything is as it was – she feels intact, virginal. She’s whole again!

Thessela does the same, finding no evidence of burns in her crotch, or damage from her rapes. She runs her hands over her breasts – there are no burns, no pain.

Their discovery that all their wounds and injuries are healed fills the sisters with enormous joy. They embrace, so glad to be reunited after the terrible horror they’d been through.

Marcella takes Thessela’s hand and squeezes it. “Come on Thess, let’s see what paradise has for us.”

But just as they are ready to step off the portico, Thessela stops. “What was that?” she asks.

“What’s what?” responds Marcella, looking around.

“There, back in the tunnel. I thought I saw someone in the shadows, moving behind one of the columns. There, there, do you see?” Thessela points with her long, exquisitely feminine arm. Marcella follows the direction of her finger.

She sees a head sticking out, then suddenly withdrawing. “Oh my, how wonderful!” She squeals in delight. “Thess, it’s Anna, it’s Anna!”

“Anna? Anna who?”

“Thess, it’s Anna, the girl crucified with us, she was next to me. On my left. She’s here! She’s here!” Marcella claps her hands together. “I was hoping we’d see her. I’m so happy!”

Thessela’s voice turns harsh. “She’s here? That – that slave!”

“Oh Thess,” scolds Marcella, “stop it! You’re being too judgmental. It’s Anna! Oh, I’m so happy!”

“But she’s the bitch -- I mean, she’s the one responsible for all the terrible things that happened . . .”

Marcella cuts her sister off. “Thess, you know perfectly well she wasn’t. She was a slave, horribly treated by her owners. She did as anyone in that situation would. She fought back and escaped. But she got captured. That we got caught up in her escape is not her fault. Our sufferings cannot be blamed on her. Please, Thess, I beg of you. We are in paradise now! We should welcome her as a sister.”

“A sister? She’s no sister to us. She just a – a . . .” Thessela could not finish. She turns away from looking down the tunnel, folding her arms under her breasts.

“Thessela!” says Marcella sharply. “I might remind you that we are not actually sisters either, are we? We are cousins.”

“Yes, yes, I know that,” responds Thessela, somewhat defensively, “but we are as close as sisters – even closer. I’ve always thought of you as my sister, Marcella. I’ve loved you always, as my dearest sister.”

“As have I, Thess. But just as we are not real sisters but think of ourselves as such, why can’t we accept Anna as our sister too? We share so much in common now, don’t we? So much suffering. Surely, Thess, you cannot still be angry.”

“But as cousins we’re still blood relations. She’s not any kind of relation to us.”

“Oh Thess, please! Can’t you see the bigger picture here? Anna is a part of us now. Our lives have overlapped in a very personal, intimate way. We were crucified together. That is our blood bond. Please don’t be angry still.”

“I’m not angry. I’m not sure that is even possible here. I – I just don’t know if I can forgive her.”

“Forgive her for what? She did us no wrong! The Romans did, not Anna. They crucified us. Me because I was mistaken for Anna, and you for accidentally killing a soldier while trying to protect me. It’s tragic, but it’s over. We died. Now we’re in the afterworld. This is a place of forgiveness, Thess. A place of rebirth into new life. We cannot enjoy the pleasures of this paradise by bringing earthbound feelings and resentments here. They have no place. This is a place for love, for forgiveness. Do you understand, Thess? Do you?”

“But we never got to live out our lives. They were taken from us! Marcella, I’ll never see my children again. And you’ll never have a chance to marry and have your own babies. I was only twenty-four, and you were nineteen. We died so, so young, and for nothing! Doesn’t that make you angry!

“Yes, it did. Down there it did. I was very angry with Anna when she was crucified next to me. I said some awful things to her. But I was in so much pain! I’d been raped and nailed naked to a cross. I felt I had to be mad at her. But when she told me her story and pleaded with me to get you to remove your curse, I just knew I could not stay mad at her.”

“But it was her actions that got you nailed to a cross, Marcella! And me! Okay, okay, maybe she didn’t do anything to us on purpose, but if she hadn’t done . . . if she hadn’t . . .”

Thessela buries her face in her hands as tears flow. “Oh damn! Damn it all! Marcella, I couldn’t help you down there! I couldn’t protect you. Oh, I tried when I hit that soldier, but I couldn’t save you from them. When I saw you crucified my heart was torn out of my body! To see you, my little sister, suffering so horribly, naked, humiliated, nailed to that cross -- oh god, Marcella, I nearly died on the spot. I just could not understand why my innocent little sister had to be crucified for NOTHING! NOTHING! I thought maybe it was my fault, and I had to find someone to blame it on. The slave -- Anna – was the person I had to blame to pretend I wasn’t responsible for what happened to you. I was terrified that it was I who got you crucified. Don’t you see, Marcella, I blame myself for what happened to you! I failed to protect you, as I should have. It was me, all along! MY FAULT! MY FAULT!”

Marcella is shocked to hear such a startling confession. “Thessela, are you insane? What do you mean you’re responsible? How can you say that?” Marcella stands in front of her sister, grabbing her arms and pulling her close. “Thess, no one is responsible except for those who condemned us and crucified us. No one else. Do you hear me Thess? It is preposterous for you to take responsibility. You’re not responsible and Anna isn’t responsible either. Sometimes terrible things just happen. Please, dear sister, do not ever think you did anything wrong!”

Thessela continues, crying on Marcella’s shoulder. “I was so afraid while we were crucified together that you would blame me somehow. I don’t know why, I just was. So I raged at Anna, more to hide my own sense of responsibility, as I saw it, than to blame her. I know now she really isn’t responsible. But down there, in all that ugliness and agony, I had to blame somebody.”

Marcella hugs her big sister more tightly than ever before. Both of them are sobbing. “It’s good that this all came out. Of course, none of it is true. But it’s good that you told me what was eating you up inside. Now, Thess, can we go about convincing Anna she belongs with us?”

Thessela sighs deeply.” She looks into her younger sister’s eyes. “Yes, yes, of course, you are right. But how can I ever take back what I said to her when we were on our crosses? That horror and agony did not help me to think clearly.”

Marcella holds her big sister’s hands in hers. “Don’t worry Thess. I'm sure Anna knows you don’t hold her responsible.”

“How does she know that? I never forgave her down there, on the cross. I desperately wish I had, but I never did. Anna died believing I cursed her for what happened. Oh, Marcella, I feel so ashamed!” Huge tears again roll down Thessela’s cheeks, dropping to her heaving breasts. She wipes her eyes with her hands.

Marcella gently pulls Thessela’s hand away from her teary face. “Thess, you don’t have to worry. Anna knows you don’t hold her responsible for what happened to us.”

“How, how can she know that? And how can you know she thinks that? I never told her! I died cursing her! How can I ever be forgiven for that?”

“She knows, dear sister,” said Marcella, staring deeply into her sister’s eyes, “because she knows what is in your heart. Don’t you remember the last words you tried to speak to me just before you died? I couldn’t hear them but your lips were moving. I wasn’t sure what you had said but now I know. You tried to tell me that you were not cursing Anna, that you knew she was not responsible for what happened to us.

“But she never heard me. How can I make amends now?”

“Just tell her yourself. See, she’s right there, behind that column, not so far off. Just tell her Thess, and all will be well.”

“How can I tell her that now? I was so, so awful to her down there. Oh, Marcella, I should be damned for what I said.” Thessela turned to look down the corridor. She knew Anna was there because she could see her face poking out from behind the column. Her heart ached for the former slave. She so wanted to make amends.

“Thessela, listen to me. You have always had an overflowing generosity of spirit. You demonstrated that so often to me back down there, and to others. You were the best sister a young girl could ever have. You taught me so much. You made me the woman I am. Now, be a big sister to Anna. She needs you! She really does. Stop wasting time. Just tell her what you know is true. Tell her, so she can join us in paradise.”

Thessela is sobbing. “Oh my, Marcella, how did you ever get so wise?” Thessela grabs Marcella and holds her close in a tight embrace. Like she often did in the past to reassure Marcella she was loved.

“Now, call to our sister. Call for her to join us.”

“If she knows I don’t hold her responsible, then why doesn’t she come forward?”

“She’s a young girl, younger than I am. She was all alone down there. There was no one to love her. She needs a guiding hand. She needs to hear it from you, Thess.”

“I should go to her; take her hand and bring her out.”

“No, have her come to you. Convince her. Make her believe without any doubt that you do not hold her responsible.”

Thessela turns around and faces down the corridor. She sees Anna hiding behind the column. Her head peaks out, then a shoulder appears. A slender arm slides around the column. Thessela is horrified at what she sees.

“Oh my god, Marcella. She still bloody! She’s not healed like us. She still has her wounds! Why? Why?”

“Because she isn’t in paradise with us yet, Thess. She’s stuck between her old life and her new one. You still see her body as it was, not as it will be.”

Anna stays hidden behind the column as Thessela calls out. “Anna, please come to us. I am so sorry, please forgive me. You must believe me, you must! I don’t curse you! I don’t hold you responsible for anything. Please come to us, be with us, be our sister!”

Suddenly Anna pops out from behind the column and runs towards Thessela who waits for her with open arms. She runs slowly at first, on bloody feet. But as she makes her way down the corridor she begins to sprint as her wounds vanish. She becomes radiant and clothed in the same gossamer raiment as Marcella and Thessela. Anna throws herself into Thessela’s welcoming embrace. They hold each other tightly. Both are crying.

Anna is gasping. “Thank you Thessela, so much! I’m sorry I was afraid to come out. I don’t know why I was!”

“It’s okay sweetheart, no need to worry, we’re together now.”

Marcella joins them and the three embrace, teary-eyed and loving.

“There should be no tears in paradise, huh? says Anna, wiping the wetness from her face with her hand.

“Tears of gladness are okay, I’m certain,” says Thessela, holding Anna’s teary face in her hands.

Anna examines her wrists and looks down at her feet. “I’m healed,” she says. “The nail holes are gone! My skin is healed! I feel wonderful!”

“Yes, you’re better everywhere,” says Marcella with a wink.

Anna takes the hint and slips her hand under her loincloth, her fingers probing her private parts. A wide smile appears on her face. “Oh yes, so much better down there. It’s as though I was never hurt.” Her voice cracks a bit with the last word, and tears flow. She puts her hand to her mouth, her lips quivering.

“Oh, dear Anna,” says Thessela, “you must have been hurt so badly in your life.”

“I was, as a slave. It was such a terrible time.”

“Yes, but now we are healed, aren’t we?” says Thessela joyously. “We are all made whole again, here in paradise."

*

 

[Cella]

Ch 19: Revelations

As the women embrace a hole slowly opens in the ground next to them. It appears to be a window to the world of the living below.

“Oh, what is this?” asks Anna.

"Something I think we’re meant to see, perhaps?” wonders Marcella.

"Oh my,” says Anna, kneeling down to look through the window. “It’s us! I see us. Come, look! Oh, but it’s so sad.”

Marcella and Thessela peer down the hole too. Together, the three women look down at the scene of their crucifixions. They see their dead bodies, removed from their crosses, now discarded on the ground in undignified positions.

“How can we be there and here too,” asks Anna.

Marcella answers. ‘Those are our former selves, Anna, our dead bodies. Here we are spirits given new form. Down there is corruption. Here there is perfection. Just look at us.”

“Oh, I can’t look.” Anna turns away from the view. “I think they’re going to drag us away.”

Indeed, they were. Ropes were being tied around the ankles of the dead women so they could be dragged to the burial pit.
Thessela kneels next to Anna. “How horrible! So horrible how we died. Don’t look, dear”

“Wait! Look,” says Anna, “see that soldier there. He stopped them from dragging us! Marcella! Come see, he’s carrying your body in his arms. He ordered the executioners to carry Thessela’s and my body. Why is he doing that?”

Marcella takes a look. “It’s the Decurion! The officer who seemed so upset with my torture and crucifixion. I always knew he thought I was innocent. After you were crucified, Anna, he seemed to spend so much time by my cross. I hated him for it at the time because he did nothing to help me. But now I believe he considers this a great tragedy for all of us. For me, because I was innocent. For Thess because she had to die for trying to protect me. And for you too, Anna, because deep in his heart he knew why a slave would want to be free.”

“Yes, I agree,” said Thessela. “I despised him down there when he told me about your crucifixion, Marcella, and the reason for it. But I can see into his heart now. He seems a good man to me. He’s honorable. He believes in doing his duty. He’s just one caught up in the corruption of life. I hope he can see his way to forgiving himself for what he had to do.”

“I do too,” said Marcella. “But I fear there is great personal agony and suffering awaiting him in life. I can’t help but think that there is something about him I should know.”

“Well,” Thessela sums up, “the earthly living will have to deal with their own problems. If he’s as honorable as you say, and as I feel he is, then perhaps we’ll see him some day, up here.”

“Look,” says Anna again, “another opening. But this is so different. It appears to be a pit. And see, it glows red, and I hear screams coming from within.”

“Stay back Anna,” warns Thessela, touching her arm, “I fear that is an entrance to hell.”

Anna creeps forward, carefully, and peers down into glowing red flames. “I see someone down there. Someone in agony. A man. See how he’s writhing in the flames.”

“I see him too,” says Marcella. “He’s in hell because he’s damned. He suffers as we did when crucified, but even worse for him because it’s for all eternity. I wonder who he is? He seems a Roman to me.”

“Why are we meant to see this? asks Thessela, turning up her nose in disgust at the scene.

Anna takes another look. Her eyes open wide. “It’s Gnaeus Claudius Porculus! My former master and husband of my domina, Hysteria. He bought me from the slave merchant Gracchus Glabrus when I was but a child. I was part of the spoils of war when the Romans invaded and subjugated my people. I would have grown up free had it not been for those Roman bastards!”

Anna steps back from the edge, clearly disturbed by what she has seen. She frowns, furrowing her brow, as a look of anguish appears in her face. “Porculus liked having young girls around as slaves – he had a perverted fondness for them, the old bastard! As I grew up in his household he abused me terribly, forcing me to do awful, disgusting things with him. He raped me, often. But what could I do? I had no one to protect me, or defend me. I was just a slave.” Anna’s voice cracks. She begins sniffling, then sobbing, as huge tears roll down her cheeks. She turns toward Thessela who gathers the young woman up, wrapping her in a protective embrace.

So, Anna goes to Thessela for comfort, not to me, observes Marcella. Yet it was I who befriended her on the cross, at the time of her greatest torment. But Marcella has to admit she is not hurt, not hardly. She and Anna are too close in age to have that sort of relationship she has with Thessela. Anna has “adopted” Thessela as her big sister. It is as it should be. Marcella grows teary at the sight.

Consoled by Thessela, Anna goes on to describe more about her time as a slave. “When I became a woman I was given to Hysteria to be trained as one of her slaves. She was as horrible as her husband, in her own way. I was her whipping girl, constantly punished for the mistakes of others. I suppose she saw defiance in me, and was determined to make me submissive. As I matured I was assigned as one of her bath attendants. What a disgusting body she had! Scrawny limbs, deformed breasts, moles everywhere. Ugh! She smelled too. A foul odor always seemed to emanate from her. Her older slaves used to talk behind her back that her cunt was rotten.” Anna shudders in Thessela’s embrace as she continues.

“Even though I belonged to Hysteria, Porculus still had me brought to him regularly. The forced sex, the rapes continued. It became a part of my life. Twice I became pregnant, carrying his child. Both times I was given potions to end the pregnancies. Just as well. I hated killing the innocent life within me, but the idea of giving birth to an offspring of his was revolting. Hysteria was enraged when I became pregnant. Apparently she could never give Porculus a child. She beat me terribly when she found out. Yet, when I turned eighteen years old I was promoted to the inner circle of her slaves. I suppose Hysteria thought I was a submissive, cringing, broken slave by then. She was wrong. I had already sworn to myself that I would kill her one day!”

Marcella is shocked as she hears Anna’s sad story. Her heart is in her throat as she continues to listen. Anna goes on. “Porculus was killed during the slave uprising. Renegades caught him in the vineyards he loved so much. They hacked him to death. In revenge, Hysteria had many of the household slaves crucified. Men, women, even children, all ages. Why? They were not a part of the uprising! It was just her ugly nature. Any excuse to bring pain and misery to others. She seemed to pick those for crucifixion at random. I was terrified that she’d choose me. The only real friend I had in that depraved household was a girl named Sophia. Hysteria selected her as one to be crucified. Oh, Thessela, I saw her stripped naked and nailed to a cross! She screamed so, so loudly as they raised her up. I watched her die. It was horrible, horrible! I loved Sophia so much!” Marcella throws her arms around Anna too, adding her comfort to the distraught young woman.

“Anna,” says Thessela, comforting her, “you don’t need to say more. Don’t torture yourself with remembrances of the past. You’re with us, your sisters, now. You have our love forever.”

Her eyes red with tears, Anna lifts her face off Thessela’s chest. “No, I must finish. It’s important for me. I must purge these hatreds, these horrible memories, in order to fully enjoy paradise. Yes, for that reason I think I was meant to see Porculus in hell.”

Anna continues. “It was just over a week ago, in earthy time, that I tried to kill Hysteria. It wasn’t the time I thought I’d do it, but the moment presented itself. The old slave merchant, Claudius Glabrus, who procured me so long ago for Porculus, was visiting Hysteria to arrange for the purchase of more slaves. After all, the bitch had so many of her best trained slaves crucified! I was attending Hysteria as she conducted business with Glabrus. She had had beaten me again the day before for something trivial. I was in pain. While serving the wine I stumbled, spilling a goblet on Glabrus’s tunic. Hysteria was enraged! She leaped up and began striking me across my back with a thick stick she always kept handy, screaming at me for being such a clumsy little cunt, as she put it. It was then I snapped. The time to kill this horrible woman had arrived. I couldn’t wait any longer. I was enraged! So I struck her with my fist, right into her jaw. She spit out a rotten, bloody tooth. I then threw her to the ground and began kicking her in the stomach and ribs. I was beyond rage at that point. And I would have killed her right then and there had Glabrus not interfered. He tried to pull me away from Hysteria but I elbowed him in the eye and he staggered back.”

Anna suddenly stops with her story. Her eyes grow wide as in shock. She looks over at Marcella. “It just dawned on me. Marcella, maybe the reason why Glabrus misidentified you as me was because I damaged his vision when I elbowed him in the eye. He couldn’t see clearly because of me! Oh, god, I’m so sorry Marcella! What I did to him ruined your life! You were crucified because of me! That’s the reason. Oh, please, don’t hate me!” Anna turns away, sobbing.

“No, Anna, please, dear Anna, don’t say that.” Marcella reaches out, putting her hand on Anna’s shoulder. “You didn’t do anything to me. The Romans did, not you! Don’t forget that, please!” She pulls Anna to her, holding her, trying to console her. She says, with a lump in her throat, “I just wish the two of you would stop trying to blame yourselves for what happened to me!”

Anna wipes her tears and continues. “Glabrus called for help. His hired escorts – former soldiers – were running towards us. They would have had me in as second. So I gave Hysteria one final kick and began running for my life. I knew the grounds of the estate well, they didn’t. I was able to evade them and escape. They were fat and slow. They could never hope to catch me. Unfortunately, I was captured a couple of days later and thrown into the dungeon, where you later found me Thessela. Oh, if only I had been identified as Hysteria’s escaped slave right off! Or had been seized by Glabrus’s escorts. Then you and Marcella would never have been crucified! Only I would have been! You would have had your lives and all the wonderful things you wanted in life. I did ruin your lives! I am responsible!”

Thessela holds Anna close, stroking her hair and kissing her softly on the cheek. “Please, dear girl, stop it! Stop blaming yourself for what happened to us. Why do you seem bound and determined to hold yourself responsible? There is no need for it. You only did what any slave would do in the same circumstances. We are now in paradise together and justice has been done.”

“Indeed it has,” says Marcella. “The slave goes to paradise and the master to hell. There is eternal justice after all, isn’t there?”

“Yes, there is,” says Thessela, as she kisses Anna’s teary face.

“Now, sisters,” Marcella says, letting go of Anna. “we are in paradise. The past is past. Let’s put it away and instead count our blessings, yes?”

“Agreed. This place is so beautiful, so wonderful,” says Anna, looking around, drying her eyes with a bit of her translucent gown. Her lovely features brightened.

Marcella continues. “Yes, we’ve barely begun to enjoy its pleasures . . . it’s special benefits, even.” She gives the others a sly grin. “You, know, I’ve been wondering about something.”

What, Marcella? Why, you have such a mischievous look about you. Does she not Thessela?”

“Yes Anna, she does. I’ve seen that look before. She’s up to something.”

Marcella rolls her eyes. “Sisters, we are in paradise, are we not?”

“Yes,” they both replied, in unison.

“Well, it just occurred to me, are clothes really required in paradise? I mean, our bodies are in their perfect forms, right? So why cover them up?” She popped her lips at the end for emphasis.

“So,” says Thessela, “are you suggesting we doff these lovely translucent gowns provided us?”

“Yes, I am. I mean, lovely as they are, they are completely impractical as clothes. We have no need to be modest here. And you can pretty much see right through them anyway.” Marcella turns towards Anna, looking her up and down. Grinning naughtily, she says “I must say, Anna, what perfect pussy lips you have. I never saw them so clearly before!”

“Marcella!” Anna tries to turn away, in false outrage, giggling as she places her hands protectively over her crotch.

Then she joins in the jest. “Thessela, since Marcella was between us down there I never saw you much, well, except in prison, but it was so dark. I must say, sister, you have the loveliest big nipples!” Anna barely gets the words out before she convulses in laughter as Thessela pretends to modestly cover her ample breasts and their pokey nipples.

Now it’s Thessela’s turn to have some fun. “Marcella, turn around for me dear.” Marcella complies, grinning. Taking aim at how low on the hips Marcella’s loincloth sits, she proclaims “Oh, would you look at Marcella’s lovely ass crack, Anna. And aren’t those rosy butt cheeks to die for?”

“Yes, they are, just divine!” Anna is laughing so hard her breasts heave out of her sheer, barely substantial top.

Thessela winks at Marcella. “I think Anna just made your point about the impracticality of these garments.”

“Obviously girls, these outfits cover very little,” says Marcella, as she nimbly twirls around. You two clearly see – no pun intended -- what I mean, don’t you? These clothes do not really hide anything and we don’t need them for protection, or modesty. So, ladies, let’s just dispense with them altogether, yes?”

“Yes,” they both shout in unison.

“After all, we are in paradise. What need have we of clothing, or of earthly standards of modesty!”

Giggling, the three quickly slip out of their diaphanous garments. The insubstantial fabric falls to the ground. They stand facing each other, fully naked. Each young woman, in her own unique way, is a physical perfection. Thessela with her generous curves and ample bosom; Marcella, so tall and seductively slender with full, firm boobs; and Anna, a petite, svelte beauty with pert breasts.

The girls look at themselves, still giggling. Why should they feel naked at all? Why should they feel anything but complete freedom? They look down at the ground to see their flimsy garments dissolving into tatters as they watch. “Well,” says Marcella with her sly grin, “I guess we weren’t meant to wear them after all.”

A warm, fresh breeze picks up, blowing across a field of tall grass. The heavily seeded stems undulate gently in the soft breeze. It carries the sound of music and laughter coming from within a grove of trees on the far side of the field. It’s seductive and calls to the sisters. There are others here in this paradise! The girls agree to investigate. A road passes around the field leading toward the lovely sound. They set off down the road together, hand in hand, hips and breasts swaying as they walk.

“I hope I’ll find my husband here,” says Thessela. He was a good man. His death devastated me.”

“He was the best,” agrees Marcella. “If this is paradise then he has to be here. I just hope I can find someone as good as he. I want to experience true love with a man, now that I’m restored to my old self. I can start fresh.”

“And I want to find Sophia, my close friend when I was a slave, and my lover.

“Anna!” Thessela exclaims in surprise, her eyes wide open. “Really?”

Anna nods her head. “Yes, really. Sophia and I. We were more than close friends – we were lovers. It was difficult but we could occasionally manage to have some time together. We experimented – taught ourselves what to do. It came naturally for us. She made me feel loved and respected. I was horribly violated by Porculus. He made me feel ugly and disfigured. But Sophia helped heal my physical and emotional damages. She used her lips, tongue and fingers in ways that were miraculous. I loved her. When she was crucified I felt as though I had died too. I’m praying I can find her here.”

“Wow,” says Marcella, gripping her new sister’s hand tightly. We are learning so much about you my dear.”

Laughing in the sublime enjoyment of their shared company, the trio proceeds down the road.

“Wait,” says Marcella, suddenly stopping. Thessela and Anna pull up short. “Sisters, trust me on this. You’ll love it,” she says with a slightly wicked grin. “Let’s walk through that tall grass.”

*

 

[Cella]

Epilogue

Back on earth, among the living, Decurion Marcus Getha has had a troubled mind since the executions of the two sisters. Troubled because he knows the crucifixion of the younger sister was out of mere political expediency. She was not guilty of any crime. He knew it from the beginning. Yet she died in the most horrible way possible. And he was a participant. Just following orders. It will haunt him forever. There was something about the girl. Something personal, and very troubling.

She’s been in his dreams these nights, hanging in front of him, pleading to be killed so as to be put out of her misery. He hears the voice of the sister calling out to her. What is she saying? It sounds familiar, but what is it?

“Marcus, honey, are you all right?” Marcus is sitting up in bed. Sweating and breathing hard. He’s had the dream again. The whore next to him is holding him. Her large, soft, warm breast is pushed into his arm. He lies down. The whore puts her head on his chest and snuggles up to him, her arm around him. The whore’s name is Maya, a girl of eighteen. She’s about the same age as the crucified girl who keeps visiting him in his dreams.

“Tell me what’s bothering you Marcus.” She asks in her soft voice.

He tells her. She’s a good listener, this one, he thinks. Sympathetic even. Rare for a whore.

“Did you know their names? Maya asks.

“No, the magistrate never told me their names. It never occurred to me to ask. Why do I need to know their names? I just take ‘em out to be crucified.”

“Why are you so bothered by this girl?” Asks Maya as she yawns. He feels her warm breath on his chest.

“She was about the same age as my own daughter. That’s what tore me up looking at her. She was some father’s daughter, and she died on a cross. Her family probably doesn’t even know she’s dead. Shit, just bad all around.”

“Marcus! I didn’t know you had a kid!” Maya is surprised. She thought she knew everything about Marcus. He’s been fucking her regular for over a year now. “How come you never mentioned her?”

“No reason to. Haven’t seen her since she was a baby. About eighteen years now.”

“You got a daughter older than me? Wow. Why haven’t you seen her in all that time?”

“I’m a soldier, Maya. I’ve been all over. Can’t be a father to a girl and a soldier at the same time.”

“So, tell me about her Marcus. I really want to know. You have this whole other side of you I never knew existed."

“Well, my father was a soldier, like me. I never really knew him. Saw him a few times as a boy. But it made me a citizen to be his son. My mother raised me alone because my father was always away, on duty in some fucking place or another. Just like a soldier, eh? Get some girl pregnant then leave her when duty calls.

When we found out he was dead – killed in battle – shit, must’ve been more than a year after it happened -- my mother remarried. My stepdad never liked me much. I married young, tried to be a pig farmer. My wife was a provincial girl, a real beauty. About your age when we married. I considered myself lucky. Our daughter was born nine months later. Life seemed very good.”

Marcus sits up in bed, resting his back on the wall. Maya sits up next to him, holding him close. He continues.

“About a year after my daughter was born my wife died of a fever. I was devastated. I loved her so much. But I couldn’t care for my daughter by myself. My damn pigs died too. I needed money. There was a recruiter in the area offering bonuses for enlistment in the legions. I signed up.”

Maya asks “What happened to your daughter?”

“My wife’s brother agreed to take her. He’s a good chap. He and his wife had a girl, about five years old at the time. They said they’d raise ‘em as sisters. So I went off to the legions. Been all over. Earned some rank. Sent money whenever I could. My brother-in-law writes once a year, or so. Most of the letters catch up to me eventually. Seems he’s done pretty well for himself in the cloth trade.”

“What’s your daughter’s name?”

“Marcella.”

“And her sister’s – I mean her cousin’s – name?”

“Thessela.”

“Pretty names.”

“Yeah, real pretty. From what my brother-in-law has told me in his letters, my daughter has grown into quite a beauty. Just got the latest letter about a month ago. It took half a fucking year to catch up with me what with all this slave rebellion business. It seems that Marcella and Thessela are working in the cloth trade now with him. He writes that they’re really expert in making good deals with local suppliers. They’re supposed to be visiting towns in this part of the province this summer and plan to be in Salona. He says my daughter is very excited about finally meeting me and hopes they can find me.”

“Marcus, that’s wonderful!” Says Maya, her voice getting sleepy.

“Wish I had known sooner. I might have missed them. Damn, haven’t seen my daughter in eighteen years. Wonder what she’s like?”

Marcus looks over to see that Maya has drifted off to sleep. He moves her under the blanket, then lies next to her, protecting her with his arm and feeling her warm nakedness next to him.

Dreams . . . horrible dreams. Marcus sees the girl on the cross. Naked, nailed, and bleeding. She’s crying in agony. He hears her sister on the cross next to her, calling out her name, over and over . . . it sounds like . . . sounds like . . .

Marcus suddenly sits bolt upright in bed. His eyes wide open, he’s shaking, sweating, horrified.

Maya stirs, half asleep. “Honey, what’s wrong? You having that dream again?”

Marcus is shouting like a madman. “Oh no! Fuck no! Not her! It can’t be her. No! No! No!”


The End

*