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TerriT
Assistant executioner
Crucifixion of a Citizen
Mistake
Livia was tired, so tired after the long night of running and hiding; the bumpy road was taking the last bit of energy from her. She was the daughter of a prelate, governor and magistrate of the area just north of Pompeii, and had the best transportation in the area. But the carriage was still very uncomfortable. This road had not yet been paved and the bouncing was punishing on her.
A tall, dark haired beauty of 20, Livia was renowned throughout the territory as being the most eligible, prettiest, richest girl in the Pompeii social scene. Well proportioned but with a cute, almost childlike face, she had a reputation for taking risks for the sake of pleasure and excitement. Even on the outskirts of Pompeii this was quite a reputation to have, for Pompeii was a place where people came for all pleasures of the flesh.
The carriage turned down the track that lead to her family's villa, and she jumped out of the carriage and ran into the house. It was cooler inside, protected from the hot sun. Her handmaid greeted her at the door to her apartment eagerly, and spoke.
"Livia, Miss Livia, have you heard the news?"
"What news is this, Freya?"
"Why... a slave from Clavius' household is missing! There is a search out for him. He is that tall, handsome one that... well, you remember him? He seemed rather attentive to you the other day when we were at their villa."
Livia feigned surprise, not willing to reveal that she had just returned from assisting in that very slave's escape. Andronicus and Livia had been having an affair for some time now, along with a couple of other lovers she had taken.
"Hmmph. Well, what is one more slave? I suppose they can buy a new one in no time."
Freya, a slave that had been captured as a child and raised in Pompeii, was agitated. "Oh.. but, Mistress Livia... a missing slave... if he is a runaway... well... you know..."
Livia frowned. "No, what is the big deal? A single slave won't be missed much. they must have 20."
"But Mistress Livia! You know that Roman law states that if a slave from a household escapes... runs away... that he and the entire household of slaves is executed!"
The realization of what this meant sunk in to Livia as she turned white. "All of them? I had... forgotten..."
Freya was becoming more upset by the minute. "Yes! And... by crucifixion! All of them! That means..." Freya had a boyfriend in Clavius' household. It meant that her boyfriend was about to be executed with the most horrible torture devised by the Roman empire.
Livia walked slowly toward the large bath in the center of the house. Freya prepared her for the cooling water, and as she swam and relaxed, thought more and more about what she had done. In helping Andronicus to escape, she had condemned 20 other slaves to a hideous death, including Andronicus if he were ever caught.
Betrayal
"Father, I have something to speak to you about."
Livia's father looked up at her with a questioning face. Livia looked upset.
"Father... the slave from Clavius' household, the one that escaped yesterday? If I knew where he might be, what would happen?"
Her father looked thoughtful. "Well, you would need to tell us, my dear. An escaped slave is serious business. Very serious. It undermines our entire economy and must be dealt with."
"But... what if he hadn't escaped. What if he had just been hiding for a bit? For someone... else."
"My dearest. Tell me where he is. He must be returned. This is serious business."
"He is... well... he is in the old ruined house in the western canyon. He won't be there long. Please Father... don't let anything happen to him. Return him to Clavius, but don't let anything happen to the rest of the slaves!"
Livia's father rose. "Don't you worry. He will be returned." He quickly swept out of the room to take care of the matter.
Consequence
In an expensively decorated room in the government palace sat a kindly looking man with gray hair.
Clavius rose from his seat in the magistrate's office and addressed the tall, good looking man standing in chains before him. "Andronicus, you have been a good and faithful servant. A slave, yes, but I have always treated you well. What has led you to this action? Why did you try to escape?"
Andronicus looked at the floor, and mumbled just loud enough to hear. "Livia said I would be able to get away, to the north. She and I could be together."
"Ah yes... Livia... the pretty young rich girl. And so she persuaded you to run away? And to hide in the abandoned house in the canyon?"
"Yes. She said I could live there, and she could see me when she could. I love her. She loves me. She was going to help me. She took me there."
Clavius frowned, deeply. "I see. So... Livia helped you escape, and is your lover?"
"Yes."
Clavius turned to the guard standing next to the door. "Bring Livia in."
The guard returned with Livia. Clavius was impressed by her loveliness, the grace of her lines, and the youth and vibrancy of her attitude.
"Clavius, please. Will you grant my request not to execute the slaves? Not all of them, please? Andonicus is back, and all can be as it was, right? No harm has happened?"
"Livia, I have decided to grant your request. The slaves of the household will not be executed. They shall be spared. Andronicus, of course, shall be executed - there is no choice in this. He attempted escape and this can not stand."
Livia looked at Andronicus, and then Clavius. "All right. If that is the way it must be."
Clavius sighed and looked at the floor, and then back to Livia. "But in return for not executing the household of slaves, there must be an equivalent price paid. In this case, justice is served by also executing the person who assisted the slave in his escape."
Livia looked confused for a moment. "But... who? I was the only one who helped him."
Clavius looked at her and nodded. "Yes, my dear. You. You helped him. I have already explained the situation to your father, and it is decided."
Standing there in the expansive office of the magistrate, Clavius looking kind and fatherly at her, Livia felt the world had suddenly because a dream... and then a nightmare. She was Livia, the most beautiful, richest girl in Pompeii! She could not be executed! How... how could this be?
Clavius motioned to the guard. "Take them both and crucify them. Immediately. Do it on the public road so all will see."
Three other guards came in one led Andronicus away by his chains... Livia stood with her face white, eyes wide, hardly breathing. "No... you can't..."
"Yes, Livia. I can."
She began to kick and scream as the three guards took hold of her and dragged her struggling form out of the office. Her screams echoed down the hall as she was placed in chains the then dragged out of the government building.
Clavius looked out of his window and down at a cart that already held Andronicus, chained down securely. Moments later a kicking and writhing Livia was hauled into the back of the cart, dumped in, and then chained down by both arms and legs. She continued to scream hysterically as the cart began moving toward the main road, where it entered the city.
Transported
The suddenness of the action had taken Livia completely by surprise. She didn't understand what was happening. One moment she was a rich Roman Citizen, playing politics to save a lover and some other people including her own servant's boyfriend. The next moment she was in chains, being dragged down the marble hall of the government building toward almost immediate torture and death.
The sun beat down on her as she bounced along in the back of the cart. Several soldiers were walking next to the cart, talking between themselves, ignoring her and Andronicus, her former lover that had gotten her into this mess. She bit him, and he jerked back and away from her. She yanked on the chains, hard, but they only bit into the sensitive flesh of her wrists. The were attached securely to the side of the cart, both wrists and ankles.
"Don't you understand who I am?!? I am a Roman Citizen, Livia, my father is rich and powerful! You will suffer for this, you will be punished when he finds out. You will be scourged, let me go! Let me go now!!!"
The guards laughed a bit but otherwise ignored her.
She noticed a gathering of people behind the cart as it bumped its way through town. Citizens were gathering for the spectacle of a crucifixion. For some, watching the torture and death agonies of another was a treat, something always to be enjoyed when available. Livia had even come to watch the nails pounded through flesh, and listen to the screams of the condemned. It wasn't like the huge spectacles at the coliseum in Rome, where men battled each other to the death and lions were turned loose on unfortunate victims, but watching the suffering of others was still a national past time throughout the Roman empire.
Dignity, she reminded herself. She needed to show dignity. These were common people, not of her rank. There were even slaves mixed in with the crowd. She would not be lowered to their level, she was the daughter of a magistrate, soon to be governor. This nightmare would end with the guards whipped soundly while she watched, and with Clavius being turned out of his house, she would see to it. He would be banished. They all would be made to pay for this horror!
She began to cry, sobbing to herself.
Mistake
Livia was tired, so tired after the long night of running and hiding; the bumpy road was taking the last bit of energy from her. She was the daughter of a prelate, governor and magistrate of the area just north of Pompeii, and had the best transportation in the area. But the carriage was still very uncomfortable. This road had not yet been paved and the bouncing was punishing on her.
A tall, dark haired beauty of 20, Livia was renowned throughout the territory as being the most eligible, prettiest, richest girl in the Pompeii social scene. Well proportioned but with a cute, almost childlike face, she had a reputation for taking risks for the sake of pleasure and excitement. Even on the outskirts of Pompeii this was quite a reputation to have, for Pompeii was a place where people came for all pleasures of the flesh.
The carriage turned down the track that lead to her family's villa, and she jumped out of the carriage and ran into the house. It was cooler inside, protected from the hot sun. Her handmaid greeted her at the door to her apartment eagerly, and spoke.
"Livia, Miss Livia, have you heard the news?"
"What news is this, Freya?"
"Why... a slave from Clavius' household is missing! There is a search out for him. He is that tall, handsome one that... well, you remember him? He seemed rather attentive to you the other day when we were at their villa."
Livia feigned surprise, not willing to reveal that she had just returned from assisting in that very slave's escape. Andronicus and Livia had been having an affair for some time now, along with a couple of other lovers she had taken.
"Hmmph. Well, what is one more slave? I suppose they can buy a new one in no time."
Freya, a slave that had been captured as a child and raised in Pompeii, was agitated. "Oh.. but, Mistress Livia... a missing slave... if he is a runaway... well... you know..."
Livia frowned. "No, what is the big deal? A single slave won't be missed much. they must have 20."
"But Mistress Livia! You know that Roman law states that if a slave from a household escapes... runs away... that he and the entire household of slaves is executed!"
The realization of what this meant sunk in to Livia as she turned white. "All of them? I had... forgotten..."
Freya was becoming more upset by the minute. "Yes! And... by crucifixion! All of them! That means..." Freya had a boyfriend in Clavius' household. It meant that her boyfriend was about to be executed with the most horrible torture devised by the Roman empire.
Livia walked slowly toward the large bath in the center of the house. Freya prepared her for the cooling water, and as she swam and relaxed, thought more and more about what she had done. In helping Andronicus to escape, she had condemned 20 other slaves to a hideous death, including Andronicus if he were ever caught.
Betrayal
"Father, I have something to speak to you about."
Livia's father looked up at her with a questioning face. Livia looked upset.
"Father... the slave from Clavius' household, the one that escaped yesterday? If I knew where he might be, what would happen?"
Her father looked thoughtful. "Well, you would need to tell us, my dear. An escaped slave is serious business. Very serious. It undermines our entire economy and must be dealt with."
"But... what if he hadn't escaped. What if he had just been hiding for a bit? For someone... else."
"My dearest. Tell me where he is. He must be returned. This is serious business."
"He is... well... he is in the old ruined house in the western canyon. He won't be there long. Please Father... don't let anything happen to him. Return him to Clavius, but don't let anything happen to the rest of the slaves!"
Livia's father rose. "Don't you worry. He will be returned." He quickly swept out of the room to take care of the matter.
Consequence
In an expensively decorated room in the government palace sat a kindly looking man with gray hair.
Clavius rose from his seat in the magistrate's office and addressed the tall, good looking man standing in chains before him. "Andronicus, you have been a good and faithful servant. A slave, yes, but I have always treated you well. What has led you to this action? Why did you try to escape?"
Andronicus looked at the floor, and mumbled just loud enough to hear. "Livia said I would be able to get away, to the north. She and I could be together."
"Ah yes... Livia... the pretty young rich girl. And so she persuaded you to run away? And to hide in the abandoned house in the canyon?"
"Yes. She said I could live there, and she could see me when she could. I love her. She loves me. She was going to help me. She took me there."
Clavius frowned, deeply. "I see. So... Livia helped you escape, and is your lover?"
"Yes."
Clavius turned to the guard standing next to the door. "Bring Livia in."
The guard returned with Livia. Clavius was impressed by her loveliness, the grace of her lines, and the youth and vibrancy of her attitude.
"Clavius, please. Will you grant my request not to execute the slaves? Not all of them, please? Andonicus is back, and all can be as it was, right? No harm has happened?"
"Livia, I have decided to grant your request. The slaves of the household will not be executed. They shall be spared. Andronicus, of course, shall be executed - there is no choice in this. He attempted escape and this can not stand."
Livia looked at Andronicus, and then Clavius. "All right. If that is the way it must be."
Clavius sighed and looked at the floor, and then back to Livia. "But in return for not executing the household of slaves, there must be an equivalent price paid. In this case, justice is served by also executing the person who assisted the slave in his escape."
Livia looked confused for a moment. "But... who? I was the only one who helped him."
Clavius looked at her and nodded. "Yes, my dear. You. You helped him. I have already explained the situation to your father, and it is decided."
Standing there in the expansive office of the magistrate, Clavius looking kind and fatherly at her, Livia felt the world had suddenly because a dream... and then a nightmare. She was Livia, the most beautiful, richest girl in Pompeii! She could not be executed! How... how could this be?
Clavius motioned to the guard. "Take them both and crucify them. Immediately. Do it on the public road so all will see."
Three other guards came in one led Andronicus away by his chains... Livia stood with her face white, eyes wide, hardly breathing. "No... you can't..."
"Yes, Livia. I can."
She began to kick and scream as the three guards took hold of her and dragged her struggling form out of the office. Her screams echoed down the hall as she was placed in chains the then dragged out of the government building.
Clavius looked out of his window and down at a cart that already held Andronicus, chained down securely. Moments later a kicking and writhing Livia was hauled into the back of the cart, dumped in, and then chained down by both arms and legs. She continued to scream hysterically as the cart began moving toward the main road, where it entered the city.
Transported
The suddenness of the action had taken Livia completely by surprise. She didn't understand what was happening. One moment she was a rich Roman Citizen, playing politics to save a lover and some other people including her own servant's boyfriend. The next moment she was in chains, being dragged down the marble hall of the government building toward almost immediate torture and death.
The sun beat down on her as she bounced along in the back of the cart. Several soldiers were walking next to the cart, talking between themselves, ignoring her and Andronicus, her former lover that had gotten her into this mess. She bit him, and he jerked back and away from her. She yanked on the chains, hard, but they only bit into the sensitive flesh of her wrists. The were attached securely to the side of the cart, both wrists and ankles.
"Don't you understand who I am?!? I am a Roman Citizen, Livia, my father is rich and powerful! You will suffer for this, you will be punished when he finds out. You will be scourged, let me go! Let me go now!!!"
The guards laughed a bit but otherwise ignored her.
She noticed a gathering of people behind the cart as it bumped its way through town. Citizens were gathering for the spectacle of a crucifixion. For some, watching the torture and death agonies of another was a treat, something always to be enjoyed when available. Livia had even come to watch the nails pounded through flesh, and listen to the screams of the condemned. It wasn't like the huge spectacles at the coliseum in Rome, where men battled each other to the death and lions were turned loose on unfortunate victims, but watching the suffering of others was still a national past time throughout the Roman empire.
Dignity, she reminded herself. She needed to show dignity. These were common people, not of her rank. There were even slaves mixed in with the crowd. She would not be lowered to their level, she was the daughter of a magistrate, soon to be governor. This nightmare would end with the guards whipped soundly while she watched, and with Clavius being turned out of his house, she would see to it. He would be banished. They all would be made to pay for this horror!
She began to cry, sobbing to herself.
TerriT
Assistant executioner
Whipped
The cart stopped, just outside the city walls. The guards reached in and pulled Andronicus out and led him to a tall post that was planted in the ground in a clearing outside the gate. Livia recognized it as the whipping post used for scourging. Andronicus had his chains pulled up and placed on a hook high up the post, stretching his body out so that he stood on his toes. With a single hard pull, a Centurion tore Andronicus' robe from his back, baring his muscular body for all to see. The crowd gathered and made appreciative noises as they observed the muscles in his shoulders working, trying to relieve the discomfort of the suspension.
With a sudden whistling noise, a whip sliced through the air and impacted with the slave's back with a thumping crack. Livia jumped at the unexpected sound and subsequent cry from Andronicus. Seeing the blood seeping from a straight cut across his shoulders, Livia had a pang of guilt. She was angry that this slave could have caused all this trouble, but he was also her former lover. He had been a good lover, one of the best, and she had enjoyed spending time with him.
The whip hissed through the air again, and the snapping noise of leather across flesh made her wince. As stroke after stroke landed on Andronicus' back, his screams slowly changed into cries and moans. Livia failed to count the strokes, not even thinking what they meant. There were 39 in total, after which Andronicus' back was a solid red from blood, flowing in rivulets over the flesh that had been flayed open. He was unhooked, and fell to the ground, unable to support himself after the vicious whipping. Two guard dragged him away.
Livia thought for a moment that it might be over... that they would whip Andronicus and that would be enough. When she was grabbed roughly by two of the guards and dragged toward the post, she realized that she was next. Her blood ran cold, raw panic gripped her and she began struggling as hard as she could, kicking, biting and clawing. While she managed to draw some blood from the centurion that had her right arm, it was to no avail. In moments her wrist chains were hooked high above her head and she hung from the post, toes unable to reach the ground. Her shoulders began to hurt from the strain immediately and her legs kicked and flailed below her.
A rough hand grasped the back of her dress and pulled, tearing it roughly and baring her back. A further yank and the cloth cut into her shoulders, resisting against the pull and then finally giving way so that the dress fell down to the ground, exposing her naked body except for a small undergarment she wore around her waist. Livia became aware of her public nudity in addition to the stretching horror of her suspension from the post, but seconds later forgot her embarrassment.
Signaled by a short whoooshing noise, the whip stroked across her lower back, exploding in pain and drawing a scream from her as she raised her face to the sky. She had no idea that a whip could hurt that much... in fact she had no idea anything could hurt that much. Her entire back was on fire and it felt as if her flesh had been torn away from her bones.
There was no time to recover before the second stroke hit her, slicing through the flesh of her shoulder blades, a white hot streak of pain bringing fresh screams from her once again. A third stroke cut into her, tearing her apart, and the pain began to deepen, extending into her bones, her ribs and lungs. Her screams were continuous now.
The crowd watched, growing to see how this beautiful young girl writhed under the strokes of a lash. Journeymen, housewives, businessmen, soldiers, all standing a respectful distance from the whip, but watching Livia's nude torso wriggling as the whip lashed around her, cutting into her breasts.
The sound of the whip striking her back took on a different flavor as more strokes were added, wounds piled upon wound. A distinct slapping, cracking sound was added as Livia's back covered with blood. There was also a deeper thumping quality to the impacts, as her flesh began to flay off, hanging in rags.
By the time the whipping had ended, Livia hung from the post without moving, no longer screaming. She was semi-conscious, head lolling about, long hair matted with the blood of her back. As with Andronicus, when she was taken down from the whipping post, she collapsed on the ground and dragged a short way up a nearby hill.
Raped
Andronicus was already stretched on top of wooden beams as the soldiers gathered the spikes that would fasten him to the cross. Livia saw what was happening, but did not completely understand it. Her back was on fire, and the pain spread throughout her body. She felt that she had been stabbed repeatedly, and was weak, unable to struggle.
Thrown to the ground, she landed on her stomach with a grunt. Rough hands picked her arms up and rolled her over on top of a large wooden post that lay on the ground next to her. The wood was roughly hewn, and tore into the shreds of flesh on her back, causing her to regain consciousness and cry out. She drew her legs up, feeling the dirt below her bare feet, but was unable to rise. She was held down by two guards.
The centurion stood over her and looked. He considered her damaged but still remarkable body. Deciding for a bit of play to help break up the tedium of crucifixion duty, he grabbed the remnants of Livia's clothing hanging about her waist, and yanked them off. Her legs flopped open, revealing the beautiful and undamaged reward that he sought...
The crowd gathering on the road heard the initial screams of Andronicus, as the first spike was pounded through his right wrist. A few feet from the nailing the crowds observed the centurion pull out a remarkably large member, kneel before the creamy flesh of Livia, and insert himself. She did not cry out as he pushed his way deeper, and shoved in and out with increasing urgency.
Screams were renewed as a second spike entered Andronicus' left wrist, and at the same time the centurion was grunting with orgasmic pleasure. He grabbed Livia's hips, pulling her up from the cross slightly so that he could thrust harder and deeper -- and finally deposit his ejaculate inside of her as his head turned to the sky and he cried out in sexual release.
Livia struggled slightly, but her arms were held securely stretched out on either side. Besides, the centurion was large, and if there was one thing Livia had enjoyed in life, it was a large man. Laying on the cross, she fooled herself into thinking this was to be her punishment, that it would all be over soon. She had been whipped, and raped... and would now be set free. She would make sure the centurion was killed, one way or another, when she got out of this.
As the Centurion removed himself from inside Livia she felt the pang that always marked a man's withdrawal from her. She lived for sexual pleasure, this was why she had found Andronicus, who was remarkably large. She might even find herself with this same Centurion again, sometime.
The cart stopped, just outside the city walls. The guards reached in and pulled Andronicus out and led him to a tall post that was planted in the ground in a clearing outside the gate. Livia recognized it as the whipping post used for scourging. Andronicus had his chains pulled up and placed on a hook high up the post, stretching his body out so that he stood on his toes. With a single hard pull, a Centurion tore Andronicus' robe from his back, baring his muscular body for all to see. The crowd gathered and made appreciative noises as they observed the muscles in his shoulders working, trying to relieve the discomfort of the suspension.
With a sudden whistling noise, a whip sliced through the air and impacted with the slave's back with a thumping crack. Livia jumped at the unexpected sound and subsequent cry from Andronicus. Seeing the blood seeping from a straight cut across his shoulders, Livia had a pang of guilt. She was angry that this slave could have caused all this trouble, but he was also her former lover. He had been a good lover, one of the best, and she had enjoyed spending time with him.
The whip hissed through the air again, and the snapping noise of leather across flesh made her wince. As stroke after stroke landed on Andronicus' back, his screams slowly changed into cries and moans. Livia failed to count the strokes, not even thinking what they meant. There were 39 in total, after which Andronicus' back was a solid red from blood, flowing in rivulets over the flesh that had been flayed open. He was unhooked, and fell to the ground, unable to support himself after the vicious whipping. Two guard dragged him away.
Livia thought for a moment that it might be over... that they would whip Andronicus and that would be enough. When she was grabbed roughly by two of the guards and dragged toward the post, she realized that she was next. Her blood ran cold, raw panic gripped her and she began struggling as hard as she could, kicking, biting and clawing. While she managed to draw some blood from the centurion that had her right arm, it was to no avail. In moments her wrist chains were hooked high above her head and she hung from the post, toes unable to reach the ground. Her shoulders began to hurt from the strain immediately and her legs kicked and flailed below her.
A rough hand grasped the back of her dress and pulled, tearing it roughly and baring her back. A further yank and the cloth cut into her shoulders, resisting against the pull and then finally giving way so that the dress fell down to the ground, exposing her naked body except for a small undergarment she wore around her waist. Livia became aware of her public nudity in addition to the stretching horror of her suspension from the post, but seconds later forgot her embarrassment.
Signaled by a short whoooshing noise, the whip stroked across her lower back, exploding in pain and drawing a scream from her as she raised her face to the sky. She had no idea that a whip could hurt that much... in fact she had no idea anything could hurt that much. Her entire back was on fire and it felt as if her flesh had been torn away from her bones.
There was no time to recover before the second stroke hit her, slicing through the flesh of her shoulder blades, a white hot streak of pain bringing fresh screams from her once again. A third stroke cut into her, tearing her apart, and the pain began to deepen, extending into her bones, her ribs and lungs. Her screams were continuous now.
The crowd watched, growing to see how this beautiful young girl writhed under the strokes of a lash. Journeymen, housewives, businessmen, soldiers, all standing a respectful distance from the whip, but watching Livia's nude torso wriggling as the whip lashed around her, cutting into her breasts.
The sound of the whip striking her back took on a different flavor as more strokes were added, wounds piled upon wound. A distinct slapping, cracking sound was added as Livia's back covered with blood. There was also a deeper thumping quality to the impacts, as her flesh began to flay off, hanging in rags.
By the time the whipping had ended, Livia hung from the post without moving, no longer screaming. She was semi-conscious, head lolling about, long hair matted with the blood of her back. As with Andronicus, when she was taken down from the whipping post, she collapsed on the ground and dragged a short way up a nearby hill.
Raped
Andronicus was already stretched on top of wooden beams as the soldiers gathered the spikes that would fasten him to the cross. Livia saw what was happening, but did not completely understand it. Her back was on fire, and the pain spread throughout her body. She felt that she had been stabbed repeatedly, and was weak, unable to struggle.
Thrown to the ground, she landed on her stomach with a grunt. Rough hands picked her arms up and rolled her over on top of a large wooden post that lay on the ground next to her. The wood was roughly hewn, and tore into the shreds of flesh on her back, causing her to regain consciousness and cry out. She drew her legs up, feeling the dirt below her bare feet, but was unable to rise. She was held down by two guards.
The centurion stood over her and looked. He considered her damaged but still remarkable body. Deciding for a bit of play to help break up the tedium of crucifixion duty, he grabbed the remnants of Livia's clothing hanging about her waist, and yanked them off. Her legs flopped open, revealing the beautiful and undamaged reward that he sought...
The crowd gathering on the road heard the initial screams of Andronicus, as the first spike was pounded through his right wrist. A few feet from the nailing the crowds observed the centurion pull out a remarkably large member, kneel before the creamy flesh of Livia, and insert himself. She did not cry out as he pushed his way deeper, and shoved in and out with increasing urgency.
Screams were renewed as a second spike entered Andronicus' left wrist, and at the same time the centurion was grunting with orgasmic pleasure. He grabbed Livia's hips, pulling her up from the cross slightly so that he could thrust harder and deeper -- and finally deposit his ejaculate inside of her as his head turned to the sky and he cried out in sexual release.
Livia struggled slightly, but her arms were held securely stretched out on either side. Besides, the centurion was large, and if there was one thing Livia had enjoyed in life, it was a large man. Laying on the cross, she fooled herself into thinking this was to be her punishment, that it would all be over soon. She had been whipped, and raped... and would now be set free. She would make sure the centurion was killed, one way or another, when she got out of this.
As the Centurion removed himself from inside Livia she felt the pang that always marked a man's withdrawal from her. She lived for sexual pleasure, this was why she had found Andronicus, who was remarkably large. She might even find herself with this same Centurion again, sometime.
TerriT
Assistant executioner
Nailed
The crowds saw Livia's naked body clearly for the first time when the Centurion rose and went to where Andronicus was having his legs raised and spike set for his ankles. The Centurion was and expert, experienced in the proper methods of execution, and took pride in doing it properly. When it came to crucifixion, doing it properly meant quick and easy for the soldiers, with a maximum amount of pain and humiliation for the victim. Proper placement of nails in the joints, combined with a good body position, provided all these things.
Livia felt the first taste of the remarkable horror of crucifixion as the spike was positioned over her right wrist, its rough point pressing against the edge of the palm just next to the wrist. The soldier pressed down to assure its position, cutting her flesh. Livia whimpered at this initial bit of pain, when suddenly the hammer came down and impacted with the end of the spike. The metal drove through the flesh, crushing bone and tearing tendons for a good inch with that first strike.
All Livia was aware of was a crushing, tearing, searing pain in her wrist. Whines instantly turned to screams and she began struggling for real, thrashing against the hands that held her firm. The spike was angled, so that while it entered her body at the base of her palm, it descended through her wrist joint, destroying the hand and wrist bones as it went. The pain was excruciating, and she screamed and kicked as three more solid blows drove the nail through her wrist and into the wood beneath. A last blow and the nail was secured in the wood firmly.
The agony that accompanied the destruction of her wrist had Livia writhing on the ground, and her scream attracted the crowd. The circled about, watching the her naked body jerking around, kicking and gasping. Some looked on with horror, others with secret fascination and even delight. It was truly a spectacle.
The second nail was placed against her left wrist, and Livia new what was coming. She struggled hard, jerking her hand, trying to get away, but it was useless. Her arm was held firmly in position, and with four solid blows, the spike drove through her left wrist and pinned her, arms spread wide, to the wooden cross beam below her.
The guards rose, as Livia was now secured to the cross, and would never be able to free herself. They no longer needed to hold her motionless. Instead, they rested for a moment before nailing her feet.
There was debate amongst the men as to how her feet should be nailed. Some said the traditional manner of placing one foot over the other and nailing them both in place with a single spike was outmoded, a hold over from days when metal was scares and spikes needed to be used efficiently. It was better, they argued, to nail her ankles to the sides of the cross, one spike in each ankle.
The Centurion prevailed, stating that while separate spikes was acceptable, that proper placement of the feet forced the victim's legs apart, exposing their sex for all to see. This was part of the humiliation of crucifixion, as well as (in Livia's case especially) an interesting and pleasing display.
Forcing her legs up so that her knees bent at about a 45 degree angle, her feet were placed in position. Two men held her struggling but weakened body as a nail was pressed into the top part of the foot, just at the ankle.
The searing pain that came with the spike shattering the delicate bones of her feet and ankles drove Livia into a frenzy of screams. Her hips, the only part of her that was still free to move without restriction, thrust frantically up and down as if she were engaged in sexual intercourse, exposing herself to the crowd. Her knees spread, unable to reposition together due to the way her feet rested. Her grotesque struggles were remarkable to see, spread on the cross but still laying on the ground.
She was left on the ground for a few minute, facing the sun and sky, feeling the horrible pain in her hands and feet. She panted, alternately crying out for mercy, demanding justice, threatening, and simply crying. Her breasts rose and fell, her stomach contracted and concave from her laying position. Sweat from the hot sun and excruciating pain was covering her body with a moist sheen that made her look at once alluring, desirable, arousing, and repulsive.
Hung
Livia's screams had drawn a crowd, but there were now enough people that it was difficult for everyone to see what had produced them. The soldiers began digging the hole for the cross, and in about 10 minutes had a nice one, perhaps three feet deep. While this went on, Livia lay on the rough wood beams, feeling the horrible cramping nerve pain from the spikes in her wrists and feet. She lay staring at the blue sky, and watched birds wheel above in the air, and became aware of the crowd that surrounded her, observing her.
Even so, she did not have the strength to do anything but try and deal with the pain in her arms and legs. She was aware of her nudity, and also of her complete helplessness. She was simply there, waiting in pain for whatever came next.
What came next was two soldiers gripping the top of her cross, and lifting her up, rotating it to the side. She lay at a slight angle, as the head of the cross was only lifted 3 feet or so from the ground. Once in place, the rotation stopped and a soldier at the bottom guided the cross down and into the hole. He then joined the other two, lifting the wooden structure slowly higher into the air.
As the cross rose, Livia's weight shifted down. Her naked buttocks slid and scraped on the rough wood, and an increasing strain was placed on the nails in her wrists. When the cross slipped the last foot into the hole, the jerk yanked on her wounds and she screamed in agony, her body undulating and pulling unwillingly, trying to deal with the impossible situation it was experiencing. The muscles and tendons on her arms stood out with strain, her ribs pressed out against the flesh that covered them as she gasped and screamed, her stomach receded and became concave -- as her body stretched and strained from its suspension.
The cross stopped in its upright position and Livia's body, now hanging completely from the spikes in her wrists, swung slightly back and forth. Each small movement created a visible ripple of pain in her naked flesh until she stopped and remained motionless. Her long dark hair straggled down in front of her, over the shoulders to the tops of her breasts.
The crowd gathered to observe, now that Livia was up and on display for all too see. Sobbing, struggling, hanging by her wrists, the beautiful girl was an amazing sight. Her entire weight was pulling on her arms, which were spread out in a wide V. Her hands, extending just beyond the metal heads of the spikes which pierced her flesh, were curved in a stiff claw-like position. This was common, as the nerves to her hands were destroyed, and the muscles damaged. There was some blood, but remarkably little. It trickled slightly from her wounds, and down onto the cross where it was soaked into the porous wood. The muscles of her arms and torso were clearly outlined, and her breasts stood out clearly against the flesh enveloping her ribs. Her thin waist was stretched as well, emphasized in this unnatural position.
Because her feet had been nailed together at an angle, Livia's knees were bent and legs spread at a wide angle. The sweat which was gathering on her shiny stomach slid down to her crotch, and into the lips of her soft womanhood, finally dripping down to the blood which slowly oozed from her wounded feet. She was truly on display, a display which was appreciated by a wide variety of travelers and residents of the city.
Livia screamed and swore once again at the soldiers, and then began pleading with the citizens of Rome that gathered around her. She begged to be let down. She promised anything, to anyone. Her words became more incoherent, strained, and her voice hoarse from the screaming and yelling. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, straining to breath... and in spite of the agony wracking her body she realized just how hard it was to breath, hanging from the cross.
She remembered. She remembered the dance that others had done on the cross, when she had come to observe and entertain herself. The agony of lifting up, gasping for air, and then as strength waned and pain was too great, lowering back down. She knew what she must do, though at first she refused. She would rather die that dance for these people on a cross. Hanging there, shuddering, crying, just... hanging... for there was nothing else she could do.
When her breathing slowed to where she had no more air, and her body screamed out for life, she did it. Pressing up on her damaged feet, and pulling on the nails that spread her broken wrist bones apart, she screamed and screamed in a suppressed gurgling as she lifted up... and almost passed out from the pain, dropping back down. The onlookers saw this struggle, and her failure, and cheered her on.
"Go ahead, lift yourself! Breathe! You must, you must!" Cried the crowd to the young girl as she hung before them.
And lift herself she did. With a great burst of energy and a cry of agony, Livia pulled herself up to a standing position, straightening her knees. As she reached this position, air was taken in and exhaled in great gasps, oxygen ran through her body and she stood there, as motionless as possible, until her strength was simply no longer enough. With a slow, painful motion, she slid back down until her weight was on her wrists once again.
The crowds saw Livia's naked body clearly for the first time when the Centurion rose and went to where Andronicus was having his legs raised and spike set for his ankles. The Centurion was and expert, experienced in the proper methods of execution, and took pride in doing it properly. When it came to crucifixion, doing it properly meant quick and easy for the soldiers, with a maximum amount of pain and humiliation for the victim. Proper placement of nails in the joints, combined with a good body position, provided all these things.
Livia felt the first taste of the remarkable horror of crucifixion as the spike was positioned over her right wrist, its rough point pressing against the edge of the palm just next to the wrist. The soldier pressed down to assure its position, cutting her flesh. Livia whimpered at this initial bit of pain, when suddenly the hammer came down and impacted with the end of the spike. The metal drove through the flesh, crushing bone and tearing tendons for a good inch with that first strike.
All Livia was aware of was a crushing, tearing, searing pain in her wrist. Whines instantly turned to screams and she began struggling for real, thrashing against the hands that held her firm. The spike was angled, so that while it entered her body at the base of her palm, it descended through her wrist joint, destroying the hand and wrist bones as it went. The pain was excruciating, and she screamed and kicked as three more solid blows drove the nail through her wrist and into the wood beneath. A last blow and the nail was secured in the wood firmly.
The agony that accompanied the destruction of her wrist had Livia writhing on the ground, and her scream attracted the crowd. The circled about, watching the her naked body jerking around, kicking and gasping. Some looked on with horror, others with secret fascination and even delight. It was truly a spectacle.
The second nail was placed against her left wrist, and Livia new what was coming. She struggled hard, jerking her hand, trying to get away, but it was useless. Her arm was held firmly in position, and with four solid blows, the spike drove through her left wrist and pinned her, arms spread wide, to the wooden cross beam below her.
The guards rose, as Livia was now secured to the cross, and would never be able to free herself. They no longer needed to hold her motionless. Instead, they rested for a moment before nailing her feet.
There was debate amongst the men as to how her feet should be nailed. Some said the traditional manner of placing one foot over the other and nailing them both in place with a single spike was outmoded, a hold over from days when metal was scares and spikes needed to be used efficiently. It was better, they argued, to nail her ankles to the sides of the cross, one spike in each ankle.
The Centurion prevailed, stating that while separate spikes was acceptable, that proper placement of the feet forced the victim's legs apart, exposing their sex for all to see. This was part of the humiliation of crucifixion, as well as (in Livia's case especially) an interesting and pleasing display.
Forcing her legs up so that her knees bent at about a 45 degree angle, her feet were placed in position. Two men held her struggling but weakened body as a nail was pressed into the top part of the foot, just at the ankle.
The searing pain that came with the spike shattering the delicate bones of her feet and ankles drove Livia into a frenzy of screams. Her hips, the only part of her that was still free to move without restriction, thrust frantically up and down as if she were engaged in sexual intercourse, exposing herself to the crowd. Her knees spread, unable to reposition together due to the way her feet rested. Her grotesque struggles were remarkable to see, spread on the cross but still laying on the ground.
She was left on the ground for a few minute, facing the sun and sky, feeling the horrible pain in her hands and feet. She panted, alternately crying out for mercy, demanding justice, threatening, and simply crying. Her breasts rose and fell, her stomach contracted and concave from her laying position. Sweat from the hot sun and excruciating pain was covering her body with a moist sheen that made her look at once alluring, desirable, arousing, and repulsive.
Hung
Livia's screams had drawn a crowd, but there were now enough people that it was difficult for everyone to see what had produced them. The soldiers began digging the hole for the cross, and in about 10 minutes had a nice one, perhaps three feet deep. While this went on, Livia lay on the rough wood beams, feeling the horrible cramping nerve pain from the spikes in her wrists and feet. She lay staring at the blue sky, and watched birds wheel above in the air, and became aware of the crowd that surrounded her, observing her.
Even so, she did not have the strength to do anything but try and deal with the pain in her arms and legs. She was aware of her nudity, and also of her complete helplessness. She was simply there, waiting in pain for whatever came next.
What came next was two soldiers gripping the top of her cross, and lifting her up, rotating it to the side. She lay at a slight angle, as the head of the cross was only lifted 3 feet or so from the ground. Once in place, the rotation stopped and a soldier at the bottom guided the cross down and into the hole. He then joined the other two, lifting the wooden structure slowly higher into the air.
As the cross rose, Livia's weight shifted down. Her naked buttocks slid and scraped on the rough wood, and an increasing strain was placed on the nails in her wrists. When the cross slipped the last foot into the hole, the jerk yanked on her wounds and she screamed in agony, her body undulating and pulling unwillingly, trying to deal with the impossible situation it was experiencing. The muscles and tendons on her arms stood out with strain, her ribs pressed out against the flesh that covered them as she gasped and screamed, her stomach receded and became concave -- as her body stretched and strained from its suspension.
The cross stopped in its upright position and Livia's body, now hanging completely from the spikes in her wrists, swung slightly back and forth. Each small movement created a visible ripple of pain in her naked flesh until she stopped and remained motionless. Her long dark hair straggled down in front of her, over the shoulders to the tops of her breasts.
The crowd gathered to observe, now that Livia was up and on display for all too see. Sobbing, struggling, hanging by her wrists, the beautiful girl was an amazing sight. Her entire weight was pulling on her arms, which were spread out in a wide V. Her hands, extending just beyond the metal heads of the spikes which pierced her flesh, were curved in a stiff claw-like position. This was common, as the nerves to her hands were destroyed, and the muscles damaged. There was some blood, but remarkably little. It trickled slightly from her wounds, and down onto the cross where it was soaked into the porous wood. The muscles of her arms and torso were clearly outlined, and her breasts stood out clearly against the flesh enveloping her ribs. Her thin waist was stretched as well, emphasized in this unnatural position.
Because her feet had been nailed together at an angle, Livia's knees were bent and legs spread at a wide angle. The sweat which was gathering on her shiny stomach slid down to her crotch, and into the lips of her soft womanhood, finally dripping down to the blood which slowly oozed from her wounded feet. She was truly on display, a display which was appreciated by a wide variety of travelers and residents of the city.
Livia screamed and swore once again at the soldiers, and then began pleading with the citizens of Rome that gathered around her. She begged to be let down. She promised anything, to anyone. Her words became more incoherent, strained, and her voice hoarse from the screaming and yelling. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, straining to breath... and in spite of the agony wracking her body she realized just how hard it was to breath, hanging from the cross.
She remembered. She remembered the dance that others had done on the cross, when she had come to observe and entertain herself. The agony of lifting up, gasping for air, and then as strength waned and pain was too great, lowering back down. She knew what she must do, though at first she refused. She would rather die that dance for these people on a cross. Hanging there, shuddering, crying, just... hanging... for there was nothing else she could do.
When her breathing slowed to where she had no more air, and her body screamed out for life, she did it. Pressing up on her damaged feet, and pulling on the nails that spread her broken wrist bones apart, she screamed and screamed in a suppressed gurgling as she lifted up... and almost passed out from the pain, dropping back down. The onlookers saw this struggle, and her failure, and cheered her on.
"Go ahead, lift yourself! Breathe! You must, you must!" Cried the crowd to the young girl as she hung before them.
And lift herself she did. With a great burst of energy and a cry of agony, Livia pulled herself up to a standing position, straightening her knees. As she reached this position, air was taken in and exhaled in great gasps, oxygen ran through her body and she stood there, as motionless as possible, until her strength was simply no longer enough. With a slow, painful motion, she slid back down until her weight was on her wrists once again.
TerriT
Assistant executioner
Humiliation
Beautiful young women were not crucified every day and the crowd observing the execution was swelling as the afternoon sun went down. Livia's lean body hung from the cross in a way that outlined and defined every muscle and tendon, flesh stretched over her skeleton in ways that undulated and rippled in curves.
When collapsed down and hanging from her nailed wrists, Livia's breasts were stretched up slightly and took on a pert, rounded look that was not usually found in naked women. The tortuous position of her body ironically emphasized her youth, health and firm shape.
The spike through her feet kept her legs spread at a wide angle, showing her female genitalia very clearly. The inside of her thighs swooped up in a clean, straight line to this spot in a delightful way. A hint of her buttocks could be seen behind, slightly rounded.
There was very little blood; the executioner had done a good job. Trickles of blood ran down from her wrists, and ran in a small rivulet over her top foot from where the spike entered her foot. Otherwise, Livia was not bleeding. This was important, as loss of blood would hurry her time on the cross, which was to be extended as much as possible to prolong her agony and humiliation.
As Livia pulled on her arms and pushed with her feet to stand on the spike below and gain a few moments of unfettered breathing, she looked down and saw the crowd below her. At that moment the agony of her humiliation flooded over her and was almost as bad as the pain in her wrists, shoulders and back. She saw her mother, staring at her with strange eyes. Behind her were two of her friends, young girls that she counted as close companions. The girls were giggling and talking to each other, looking at Livia sobbing as she stood on a nail pounded through her feet.
A farmer that used some of her father's land moved forward, quite close, until one of the guards stopped him. He stood there and ran his eyes up and down Livia's body. She knew he was cataloging her nakedness in his mind, remembering the look of her sex as well as the look of her suffering. She gasped from the pain in her crushed feet and lowered herself back down, and as she did so her legs spread wider and wider in front of the farmer.
It was at this point that Livia realized she wanted to die. The pain, the humiliation was too much, and she wanted to be put out of her agony. She cried out to the soldiers below her.
"Please... have mercy! Kill me now, let me die. I am punished, my mind is gone, just... stop this pain! Please!" her last word stretched out into a low scream and then a low gurgling as she struggled to draw another breath and exhale once again.
With an unexpected suddenness, Livia's bladder let loose and she urinated onto the ground below her.
Torture
The sun set with no mercy given to either of the crucified pair. Andronicus, the larger and stronger of the two was holding up well. The soldiers speculated that he might survive several days on the cross. Livia on the other hand, while healthy, seemed to have less stamina and might go more quickly. The soldiers that guarded the pair sat around a fire and watched the victims struggling in the firelight.
The next morning the centurion arrived and walked up to Livia.
"You have not had a good night, I see. Not looking good at all." He observed her body, resting his gaze at the telltale signs of his dried semen on one inner thigh. In response, Livia struggled up, took a deep breath and pleaded with the centurion.
"Please... let me die... kill me now." Her voice was hoarse and gasping. He could tell she was well on the way to dying without his help.
He turned to the other soldiers and barked some commands which were carried out quickly.
Livia looked across the road to see her former lover, suspended on his cross and facing her. His fine body reminded her briefly of why she had taken him, and his large male member hanging down reminded her of how it felt to have him inside. She hung her head, and wished for death.
Soldier approached Andronicus with a long, thin rope. One of the men grasped his scrotum and pulled hard, stretching it down. Andronicus moaned at this painful indignity. Another soldier approached with the rope and looped it around the distended testicles, tying it off quickly and firmly. The rope was tight, very tight around this scrotal flesh, and cut off blood flow to his testicles.
Releasing his grip on the man, the first soldier bent over and picked up a large rock that lay nearby. The way he strained as he held the rock, it weighed quite a bit. The other soldier wrapped the thin rope around it several times, making sure it was well secured. When the rock had been wrapped and tied off, the soldier released it. The rock fell, pulling Andronicus' scrotum to its full distended length and then jerked to a stop. A scream announced the new kind of agony which had suddenly shot through the crucified slave's body. His cries went on for some time, then slowly quieted into the moans and cries of the crucified dying.
The centurion approached Livia, and she looked at him with a mixture of fear and hope. "Please... help me... let me die, kill me, please..." Her voice was hoarse, and getting hard to understand. She was dehydrating, the fluids in her body escaping through urination, drooling, sweating and bleeding.
"I will help you," the centurion said, and produced a pole with a sponge. The sponge dripped with liquid as he held it up to Livia's parched mouth. She turned her head, and sucked eagerly, water drooling down her chin and neck, and over her exposed breasts. When it was sucked dry, the centurion backed away, and a few minutes later returned with something in his hands.
He fondled it, his fingers stroking the curved wooden horn. It was a cornu, a type of sedile that was designed to both torture and extend the life of those hanging from the cross. It was one he had made some years ago, and was stained brown from the blood of numerous victims. He smiled up at Livia kindly, and said in a fatherly voice, "I have a seat that will help support you and relieve the pain in your arms."
With another soldier helping him, the centurion pushed Livia up, forcing her body higher. The cornu slipped into place in a slot made for it and once he observed it will secure, they released Livia, allowing her to sink back down on the cross.
As she sunk down, the cornu point dug into the flesh between her legs. She raised up again, trying to find how this new device was to help her, and slid down in front of it. The wooden horn pushed her body out in a curve, stretching it severely and increasing the pain in her arms, shoulders, and back. She cried out in desperation, tears streaming from her eyes, body writhing in its attempt to maintain minimal agony.
Livia lifted up once again, over the sedile, and then back down slowly. She felt what she must do, and knew she had no choice. She guided her pain wracked body over the point of the cornu, and slowly descended, feeling the expanding point entering her body, spreading her privates apart, inserting itself into her vagina in a horrible parody of the sex she had enjoyed with Andronicus.
When her full weight rested on the cornu, the agony of the foot long cornu pressing into her and spreading her painfully replaced the pain of her stretched muscles in arms and back. It replaced the pain, not relieved it. Though she was able to breathe... this was better, she thought. The impailing horn below her provided some support and she could actually exhale...
After an hour of sitting on the cornu, Livia realized that this new painful humiliation was also designed to prolong her agony. Water given to her, a support to her body, all kept her alive a little longer, to suffer and exist with legs spread on display for all to see. She screamed with her last reserve of energy and then slumped down onto the cornu which drove painfully well into her cervix, blood trickling down onto the wood below her spread legs. Livia hung panting from the cross, head forward, long hair covering her face and part of her breasts.
Ending
Night fell once again, and Livia hung from the cross, slightly forward with her arms pulled behind her. The cornu had created a whole new level of pain for her, as her strength had failed and her body hung limply from the spikes in her wrists. She could breath, but the second night was colder than the first and her entire body hurt with the cold, her muscles seized and writhed under her flesh, and blood continued to slowly trickle from her wounds. There had been no more water from a sponge, and there was no heat felt from the fire that warmed the soldiers that guarded her a few yards away. She was alone, a bundle of pain that screamed in her body in the darkness.
The sunrise showed a crowd gathering below, and birds circling above. It was nearing the end, though Livia was only partially conscious to see what was happening. The crowd had come to see her die, the birds were waiting to pick her body apart. In fact, several birds had already landed on the cross and were picking at her flesh, tearing small bits from her. She was aware of this indignity, that her body was actually being torn apart and consumed before she was dead, but it meant little to her.
The centurion approached, and looked at her. Her eyes opened halfway, and looked at him in return. Her dry mouth opened and a croaking sound came from it, but nothing she said could be understood. Nevertheless, the centurion answered as his experience led him to know exactly what she had said.
"Yes, Livia, you will die very soon, and I will help you."
They removed the cornu, tearing her female parts open in the process. It brought a croaking cry from her but no screams. She no longer had the strength to scream. When it was gone, she sagged down all her weight once again on her tortured wrists, arms, and back.
She was no longer sweating, as her body was mostly depleted of fluids. Her sunken stomach showed a slight pulsation from where her heart still beat. Twitches in muscles throughout her body were the primary evidence of her ongoing agony.
The centurion approached with a large wooden shaft. With one swift stroke, he swung the wood against Livia's right leg, a loud cracking noise announcing the shin bone breaking in two. Livia let out a croaking scream and shifted slightly on the cross. A second stroke broke her left leg as well.
With both legs broken and no sedile, Livia hung from the cross. Her weak, dehydrated, frozen and overheated body was unable to lift itself and breathing became almost impossible.
A black bird picked at her left eye socket, tearing bits of soft flesh. The crowd waited, unsure if she had died. Moments later, a last heaving gasp from Livia announced that she was still breathing... and then it was gone. Her body hung from the cross, no longer moving. More birds landed on her and began tearing at her flesh. With no heartbeat to pump blood, it settled in her legs, which took on a mottled purple color, matching the black color of her mangled feet.
Livia's body would remain on the cross, for all to see, for three days. Andronicus had died the night before, though few had noticed.
Even in death, it was observed that Livia presented a kind of beauty seldom seen in Pompeii.
Posted by Polly Plummer at 10:50 PM
Beautiful young women were not crucified every day and the crowd observing the execution was swelling as the afternoon sun went down. Livia's lean body hung from the cross in a way that outlined and defined every muscle and tendon, flesh stretched over her skeleton in ways that undulated and rippled in curves.
When collapsed down and hanging from her nailed wrists, Livia's breasts were stretched up slightly and took on a pert, rounded look that was not usually found in naked women. The tortuous position of her body ironically emphasized her youth, health and firm shape.
The spike through her feet kept her legs spread at a wide angle, showing her female genitalia very clearly. The inside of her thighs swooped up in a clean, straight line to this spot in a delightful way. A hint of her buttocks could be seen behind, slightly rounded.
There was very little blood; the executioner had done a good job. Trickles of blood ran down from her wrists, and ran in a small rivulet over her top foot from where the spike entered her foot. Otherwise, Livia was not bleeding. This was important, as loss of blood would hurry her time on the cross, which was to be extended as much as possible to prolong her agony and humiliation.
As Livia pulled on her arms and pushed with her feet to stand on the spike below and gain a few moments of unfettered breathing, she looked down and saw the crowd below her. At that moment the agony of her humiliation flooded over her and was almost as bad as the pain in her wrists, shoulders and back. She saw her mother, staring at her with strange eyes. Behind her were two of her friends, young girls that she counted as close companions. The girls were giggling and talking to each other, looking at Livia sobbing as she stood on a nail pounded through her feet.
A farmer that used some of her father's land moved forward, quite close, until one of the guards stopped him. He stood there and ran his eyes up and down Livia's body. She knew he was cataloging her nakedness in his mind, remembering the look of her sex as well as the look of her suffering. She gasped from the pain in her crushed feet and lowered herself back down, and as she did so her legs spread wider and wider in front of the farmer.
It was at this point that Livia realized she wanted to die. The pain, the humiliation was too much, and she wanted to be put out of her agony. She cried out to the soldiers below her.
"Please... have mercy! Kill me now, let me die. I am punished, my mind is gone, just... stop this pain! Please!" her last word stretched out into a low scream and then a low gurgling as she struggled to draw another breath and exhale once again.
With an unexpected suddenness, Livia's bladder let loose and she urinated onto the ground below her.
Torture
The sun set with no mercy given to either of the crucified pair. Andronicus, the larger and stronger of the two was holding up well. The soldiers speculated that he might survive several days on the cross. Livia on the other hand, while healthy, seemed to have less stamina and might go more quickly. The soldiers that guarded the pair sat around a fire and watched the victims struggling in the firelight.
The next morning the centurion arrived and walked up to Livia.
"You have not had a good night, I see. Not looking good at all." He observed her body, resting his gaze at the telltale signs of his dried semen on one inner thigh. In response, Livia struggled up, took a deep breath and pleaded with the centurion.
"Please... let me die... kill me now." Her voice was hoarse and gasping. He could tell she was well on the way to dying without his help.
He turned to the other soldiers and barked some commands which were carried out quickly.
Livia looked across the road to see her former lover, suspended on his cross and facing her. His fine body reminded her briefly of why she had taken him, and his large male member hanging down reminded her of how it felt to have him inside. She hung her head, and wished for death.
Soldier approached Andronicus with a long, thin rope. One of the men grasped his scrotum and pulled hard, stretching it down. Andronicus moaned at this painful indignity. Another soldier approached with the rope and looped it around the distended testicles, tying it off quickly and firmly. The rope was tight, very tight around this scrotal flesh, and cut off blood flow to his testicles.
Releasing his grip on the man, the first soldier bent over and picked up a large rock that lay nearby. The way he strained as he held the rock, it weighed quite a bit. The other soldier wrapped the thin rope around it several times, making sure it was well secured. When the rock had been wrapped and tied off, the soldier released it. The rock fell, pulling Andronicus' scrotum to its full distended length and then jerked to a stop. A scream announced the new kind of agony which had suddenly shot through the crucified slave's body. His cries went on for some time, then slowly quieted into the moans and cries of the crucified dying.
The centurion approached Livia, and she looked at him with a mixture of fear and hope. "Please... help me... let me die, kill me, please..." Her voice was hoarse, and getting hard to understand. She was dehydrating, the fluids in her body escaping through urination, drooling, sweating and bleeding.
"I will help you," the centurion said, and produced a pole with a sponge. The sponge dripped with liquid as he held it up to Livia's parched mouth. She turned her head, and sucked eagerly, water drooling down her chin and neck, and over her exposed breasts. When it was sucked dry, the centurion backed away, and a few minutes later returned with something in his hands.
He fondled it, his fingers stroking the curved wooden horn. It was a cornu, a type of sedile that was designed to both torture and extend the life of those hanging from the cross. It was one he had made some years ago, and was stained brown from the blood of numerous victims. He smiled up at Livia kindly, and said in a fatherly voice, "I have a seat that will help support you and relieve the pain in your arms."
With another soldier helping him, the centurion pushed Livia up, forcing her body higher. The cornu slipped into place in a slot made for it and once he observed it will secure, they released Livia, allowing her to sink back down on the cross.
As she sunk down, the cornu point dug into the flesh between her legs. She raised up again, trying to find how this new device was to help her, and slid down in front of it. The wooden horn pushed her body out in a curve, stretching it severely and increasing the pain in her arms, shoulders, and back. She cried out in desperation, tears streaming from her eyes, body writhing in its attempt to maintain minimal agony.
Livia lifted up once again, over the sedile, and then back down slowly. She felt what she must do, and knew she had no choice. She guided her pain wracked body over the point of the cornu, and slowly descended, feeling the expanding point entering her body, spreading her privates apart, inserting itself into her vagina in a horrible parody of the sex she had enjoyed with Andronicus.
When her full weight rested on the cornu, the agony of the foot long cornu pressing into her and spreading her painfully replaced the pain of her stretched muscles in arms and back. It replaced the pain, not relieved it. Though she was able to breathe... this was better, she thought. The impailing horn below her provided some support and she could actually exhale...
After an hour of sitting on the cornu, Livia realized that this new painful humiliation was also designed to prolong her agony. Water given to her, a support to her body, all kept her alive a little longer, to suffer and exist with legs spread on display for all to see. She screamed with her last reserve of energy and then slumped down onto the cornu which drove painfully well into her cervix, blood trickling down onto the wood below her spread legs. Livia hung panting from the cross, head forward, long hair covering her face and part of her breasts.
Ending
Night fell once again, and Livia hung from the cross, slightly forward with her arms pulled behind her. The cornu had created a whole new level of pain for her, as her strength had failed and her body hung limply from the spikes in her wrists. She could breath, but the second night was colder than the first and her entire body hurt with the cold, her muscles seized and writhed under her flesh, and blood continued to slowly trickle from her wounds. There had been no more water from a sponge, and there was no heat felt from the fire that warmed the soldiers that guarded her a few yards away. She was alone, a bundle of pain that screamed in her body in the darkness.
The sunrise showed a crowd gathering below, and birds circling above. It was nearing the end, though Livia was only partially conscious to see what was happening. The crowd had come to see her die, the birds were waiting to pick her body apart. In fact, several birds had already landed on the cross and were picking at her flesh, tearing small bits from her. She was aware of this indignity, that her body was actually being torn apart and consumed before she was dead, but it meant little to her.
The centurion approached, and looked at her. Her eyes opened halfway, and looked at him in return. Her dry mouth opened and a croaking sound came from it, but nothing she said could be understood. Nevertheless, the centurion answered as his experience led him to know exactly what she had said.
"Yes, Livia, you will die very soon, and I will help you."
They removed the cornu, tearing her female parts open in the process. It brought a croaking cry from her but no screams. She no longer had the strength to scream. When it was gone, she sagged down all her weight once again on her tortured wrists, arms, and back.
She was no longer sweating, as her body was mostly depleted of fluids. Her sunken stomach showed a slight pulsation from where her heart still beat. Twitches in muscles throughout her body were the primary evidence of her ongoing agony.
The centurion approached with a large wooden shaft. With one swift stroke, he swung the wood against Livia's right leg, a loud cracking noise announcing the shin bone breaking in two. Livia let out a croaking scream and shifted slightly on the cross. A second stroke broke her left leg as well.
With both legs broken and no sedile, Livia hung from the cross. Her weak, dehydrated, frozen and overheated body was unable to lift itself and breathing became almost impossible.
A black bird picked at her left eye socket, tearing bits of soft flesh. The crowd waited, unsure if she had died. Moments later, a last heaving gasp from Livia announced that she was still breathing... and then it was gone. Her body hung from the cross, no longer moving. More birds landed on her and began tearing at her flesh. With no heartbeat to pump blood, it settled in her legs, which took on a mottled purple color, matching the black color of her mangled feet.
Livia's body would remain on the cross, for all to see, for three days. Andronicus had died the night before, though few had noticed.
Even in death, it was observed that Livia presented a kind of beauty seldom seen in Pompeii.
Posted by Polly Plummer at 10:50 PM
TerriT
Assistant executioner
The Power of Money
She was gorgeous, cute and with a body that reminded me of a cat. Lithe. The way she looked around the studio and the equipment without flinching, I knew she was going to be a good pain slut for us.
"It's a specialty operation," the sadist explained with a kind of bored voice. I supposed he did this every day, interviewing and eliminating girls from consideration. Or perhaps they eliminated themselves. He probably thought I was a lightweight, and would bail as soon as I saw the kink operation.
"Well, I can see that. You seem to have all custom... uh... equipment here." The dungeon we were standing in was a basement, concrete floor and brick walls, completely cleared. There were wooden stocks, metal cages, chains, leather harnesses, medical equipment, hoses, and a tank of some sort in the corner, large enough to hold a horse. The place smelled and looked clean, in spite of the dark atmosphere. I thought about it a bit, and realized this meant they probably had to clean up after sessions. In other words, sessions made a mess... body fluids and what not.
He continued to show me around, telling me about some of the various activities. My attention wandered for a moment, and I lost track of what he was saying. There, in the corner, stood a cross of some sort. It didn't look like a typical cross I was familiar with, and who knows how it was used. But... an upright beam with a cross beam, and notches for ropes and appliances of some sort or another. It was a cross. My heart beat faster. Since I was a teen, I had been fascinated with crucifixion, and had developed a sort of obsession over it.
My attention was brought back to the guy who was saying, "let's head upstairs and discuss your interest."
We headed back up the stairs to his office, which was a complete mess. I sat on the ratty couch and crossed my legs while he sat behind his desk. "OK, so you know what we do, and what we pay. You want to give it a go?"
"Sure," I said nonchalantly. I needed the money, and had done bondage gigs before. In fact, I kind of liked them, in some really strange way. "Did you need me to do any kind of audition, or like, take my clothes off or something?"
He chuckled and looked a little happy for the first time. "No, auditioning is kind of moot. Its not like the girls act here, their reactions are real, the bondage and pain is real. It is really up to me to make you squirm. And yes, you will squirm."
He said this last with a smile that gave me chills. I began to realize he really was a sadist and enjoyed his work.
"Um, one thing. I need a little more money than you mentioned. I am willing to go 24 hours, but I want double the money. I am worth it. I doubt you get many girls in here that have my looks." I knew I was right on that point. I have a pixie, kind of natural girl-next-door cuteness that guys swoon over.
He laughed. "So, you want to start at the farm, do you? Well, its not like you are a newbie. OK, I will give you 50% more for 24 hours, but at the farm. Its a place I run out in the woods, about 50 miles from here. And... you have to finish the scene or no money. You game?"
I didn't like the idea of being out in the middle of nowhere, alone with this guy and the camera crew. But... I needed the money. "75% raise and its done."
"Done," he said, and his grin looked hungry.
Two weeks later I was hog tied with duct tape and shoved in the back of a van laying on my stomach. I was fully clothed, but gagged with dirty underwear and with a hood over my head. Breathing was difficult. My twisted position was painful, with cramps in my back and legs. The gag made me drool.
We bumped along in traffic for almost two hours, and then bumped along a rough road. The ropes dug into my wrists and ankles, and my back cramped. I made noises through my gag, grunting and keening my displeasure, but received no response.
The van stopped and the back door was opened. The cool air hit my body but didn't penetrate the hood over my head. I felt faint from the lack of air, my breathing was heavy and labored. Rough hands dragged me out of the back, and the hood was untied and removed.
The fresh air was wonderful, and for a bit I lay on the ground just breathing. The rope that tied my ankles back to my wrists was removed and I was able to stretch out, though my wrists and ankles were still bound painfully.
As I began to get some oxygen back in my system I started paying attention to my surroundings. I was laying on the ground, clothed in the dress I was told to wear for the shoot. The van was next to me, and there was a barn off to the side. Trees surrounded the clearing, and there was a light cool breeze.
I tried to speak through the gag, but all that came out was "Mpphmmml lskpppmmmp." I had to pee. Badly. The video guy that was there with the sadist was filming me mumble through the gag while the sadist was off doing something else for a bit. The dress was hiked up high from being dragged out of the van and the video guy moved around to take some shots of my ass and legs.
The sadist showed up, dragging something from the barn. I looked at it with fear in my face. I knew this because I had begun to become really afraid of what these guys were going to do. It was the best paying job I had ever had, but there was going to be a reason for it.
A wood beam, and another wood beam; a cross. The guy was dragging a huge, heavy cross made of 6x6 timber. My eyes must have turned into saucers when I saw it and I started grunting and wriggling frantically. The video guy just kept filming as the sadist heaved the cross and dropped it next to me with a loud thump that I could feel through the ground.
The duct tape was removed from my mouth, and the 1000 miles of dirty underwear reeled out. I spat and moved my tongue to get the taste out of my mouth. It didn't work. "What the fuck... are you going to crucify me? You didn't say you were going to crucify me, fuck!"
The look in her eyes was priceless when she saw the cross and finally figured out what was happening to her. I could feel the arousal deep inside me as I cut her dress off of her, revealing the fantastic body that I knew she had. Firm breasts with hard nipples, slim waist and rounded hips. Her thighs were muscular and smooth, and a shaved pussy greeted me as she moved her legs apart without thinking. Feeling her struggle underneath me was amazing.
The sadist didn't say anything. Instead he produced some incredibly huge scissors and started cutting my dress off. I rolled around in the dirt a bit, but that just seemed to help him get the fabric off. He snipped my bra and panties, and moments later I was rolling around in the dirt, stark naked. The video guy moved in for a couple of closeups of my pussy and scared face.
I started reminding myself I was being paid for this. Paid well, too. It was just a scene, and I just needed to get through the next 22 hours or so, and I would be set for at least 2 months of rent, food, clothing, books, school, everything. I kept reminding myself of this as my naked flesh was dragged across the packed earth to the cross, lifted and then laid down on the central upright beam.
The ropes tying my hands were undone, and my right arm dragged out from under me to the crossbeam which was under my head and shoulders. I struggled a bit, though I wasn't really trying to get loose. I wanted the money, and this was a job. Still, there was a feeling inside that was hard to overcome; I struggled against the sadist as he straddled me to hold me down and quickly wrapped multiple strands of rope around one wrist and then the other.
The speed with which he secured me to that crossbeam was awesome. It took seconds, and instead of struggling against him, I was yanking and pulling against the ropes. My arms were stretched out wide, and were going nowhere. Rather than damage myself from struggling prematurely, I relaxed and lay there. The cross upright dug into my back, making my position uncomfortable in a number of ways. The video guy shifted from taking shots of my face to running down my body and showing my legs spread on either side of the wood.
I lay looking up at the sky, wondering what I was getting myself into. Where was the sadist? What was going on? How long were they going to hang me from this accursed cross? Was I actually getting aroused at the thought?
Yep. My old fetish was upon me. The idea that I was finally attached to the cross and would soon be hanging from it was an amazing turn on. Unexpected, really, since I knew that it was going to hurt in ways I wasn't used to. Laid out on the cross, arms wide, I was getting off on the video guy as well. My exhibitionist tendencies were surfacing.
The sadist reappeared, untied my ankles and then tied a rope around my waist. The other end of the rope went to the back end of an SUV parked on the side of the clearing. The video guy stopped taping for a bit and helped the sadist as they turned the cross over onto its side. It was hard, since I was attached to it, but they got it positioned and slowly got me to my feet. The cross weighed heavily on my back.
This was weird. What was I doing with the cross on my back? Weren't they going to hang me up someplace? But as the video guy started taping again and the sadist went over and started the SUV, I realized I had another ordeal in front of me. "NO! Oh, fuck no! Please, don't make me carry this... "
The SUV began rolling slowly up a dirt road which ran through the trees and up a nearby hill. Seconds later the rope had become taught and I was jerked behind it. I had to walk, and quickly too, in order to keep from falling and being dragged. The damn cross was heavy. It must have weighed 50 pounds at least... and I was naked. Walking in bare feet on the dirt road was painful; rocks and sticks were digging into my flesh and the jerking of the cross on my back was leaving some nasty abrasions, I could tell.
She was gorgeous, cute and with a body that reminded me of a cat. Lithe. The way she looked around the studio and the equipment without flinching, I knew she was going to be a good pain slut for us.
"It's a specialty operation," the sadist explained with a kind of bored voice. I supposed he did this every day, interviewing and eliminating girls from consideration. Or perhaps they eliminated themselves. He probably thought I was a lightweight, and would bail as soon as I saw the kink operation.
"Well, I can see that. You seem to have all custom... uh... equipment here." The dungeon we were standing in was a basement, concrete floor and brick walls, completely cleared. There were wooden stocks, metal cages, chains, leather harnesses, medical equipment, hoses, and a tank of some sort in the corner, large enough to hold a horse. The place smelled and looked clean, in spite of the dark atmosphere. I thought about it a bit, and realized this meant they probably had to clean up after sessions. In other words, sessions made a mess... body fluids and what not.
He continued to show me around, telling me about some of the various activities. My attention wandered for a moment, and I lost track of what he was saying. There, in the corner, stood a cross of some sort. It didn't look like a typical cross I was familiar with, and who knows how it was used. But... an upright beam with a cross beam, and notches for ropes and appliances of some sort or another. It was a cross. My heart beat faster. Since I was a teen, I had been fascinated with crucifixion, and had developed a sort of obsession over it.
My attention was brought back to the guy who was saying, "let's head upstairs and discuss your interest."
We headed back up the stairs to his office, which was a complete mess. I sat on the ratty couch and crossed my legs while he sat behind his desk. "OK, so you know what we do, and what we pay. You want to give it a go?"
"Sure," I said nonchalantly. I needed the money, and had done bondage gigs before. In fact, I kind of liked them, in some really strange way. "Did you need me to do any kind of audition, or like, take my clothes off or something?"
He chuckled and looked a little happy for the first time. "No, auditioning is kind of moot. Its not like the girls act here, their reactions are real, the bondage and pain is real. It is really up to me to make you squirm. And yes, you will squirm."
He said this last with a smile that gave me chills. I began to realize he really was a sadist and enjoyed his work.
"Um, one thing. I need a little more money than you mentioned. I am willing to go 24 hours, but I want double the money. I am worth it. I doubt you get many girls in here that have my looks." I knew I was right on that point. I have a pixie, kind of natural girl-next-door cuteness that guys swoon over.
He laughed. "So, you want to start at the farm, do you? Well, its not like you are a newbie. OK, I will give you 50% more for 24 hours, but at the farm. Its a place I run out in the woods, about 50 miles from here. And... you have to finish the scene or no money. You game?"
I didn't like the idea of being out in the middle of nowhere, alone with this guy and the camera crew. But... I needed the money. "75% raise and its done."
"Done," he said, and his grin looked hungry.
She showed up looking fantastic in the rag of a dress we had given her. It clung to her hard body, clearly showing the curves and muscles underneath. Her long wavey brunette hair looked perfect, and she looked healthy and ready for us. I could hardly wait to break her mind and body, seeing her struggle and writhe as I humiliated and tortured her.Two weeks later I was hog tied with duct tape and shoved in the back of a van laying on my stomach. I was fully clothed, but gagged with dirty underwear and with a hood over my head. Breathing was difficult. My twisted position was painful, with cramps in my back and legs. The gag made me drool.
We bumped along in traffic for almost two hours, and then bumped along a rough road. The ropes dug into my wrists and ankles, and my back cramped. I made noises through my gag, grunting and keening my displeasure, but received no response.
The van stopped and the back door was opened. The cool air hit my body but didn't penetrate the hood over my head. I felt faint from the lack of air, my breathing was heavy and labored. Rough hands dragged me out of the back, and the hood was untied and removed.
The fresh air was wonderful, and for a bit I lay on the ground just breathing. The rope that tied my ankles back to my wrists was removed and I was able to stretch out, though my wrists and ankles were still bound painfully.
As I began to get some oxygen back in my system I started paying attention to my surroundings. I was laying on the ground, clothed in the dress I was told to wear for the shoot. The van was next to me, and there was a barn off to the side. Trees surrounded the clearing, and there was a light cool breeze.
I tried to speak through the gag, but all that came out was "Mpphmmml lskpppmmmp." I had to pee. Badly. The video guy that was there with the sadist was filming me mumble through the gag while the sadist was off doing something else for a bit. The dress was hiked up high from being dragged out of the van and the video guy moved around to take some shots of my ass and legs.
The sadist showed up, dragging something from the barn. I looked at it with fear in my face. I knew this because I had begun to become really afraid of what these guys were going to do. It was the best paying job I had ever had, but there was going to be a reason for it.
A wood beam, and another wood beam; a cross. The guy was dragging a huge, heavy cross made of 6x6 timber. My eyes must have turned into saucers when I saw it and I started grunting and wriggling frantically. The video guy just kept filming as the sadist heaved the cross and dropped it next to me with a loud thump that I could feel through the ground.
The duct tape was removed from my mouth, and the 1000 miles of dirty underwear reeled out. I spat and moved my tongue to get the taste out of my mouth. It didn't work. "What the fuck... are you going to crucify me? You didn't say you were going to crucify me, fuck!"
The look in her eyes was priceless when she saw the cross and finally figured out what was happening to her. I could feel the arousal deep inside me as I cut her dress off of her, revealing the fantastic body that I knew she had. Firm breasts with hard nipples, slim waist and rounded hips. Her thighs were muscular and smooth, and a shaved pussy greeted me as she moved her legs apart without thinking. Feeling her struggle underneath me was amazing.
The sadist didn't say anything. Instead he produced some incredibly huge scissors and started cutting my dress off. I rolled around in the dirt a bit, but that just seemed to help him get the fabric off. He snipped my bra and panties, and moments later I was rolling around in the dirt, stark naked. The video guy moved in for a couple of closeups of my pussy and scared face.
I started reminding myself I was being paid for this. Paid well, too. It was just a scene, and I just needed to get through the next 22 hours or so, and I would be set for at least 2 months of rent, food, clothing, books, school, everything. I kept reminding myself of this as my naked flesh was dragged across the packed earth to the cross, lifted and then laid down on the central upright beam.
The ropes tying my hands were undone, and my right arm dragged out from under me to the crossbeam which was under my head and shoulders. I struggled a bit, though I wasn't really trying to get loose. I wanted the money, and this was a job. Still, there was a feeling inside that was hard to overcome; I struggled against the sadist as he straddled me to hold me down and quickly wrapped multiple strands of rope around one wrist and then the other.
The speed with which he secured me to that crossbeam was awesome. It took seconds, and instead of struggling against him, I was yanking and pulling against the ropes. My arms were stretched out wide, and were going nowhere. Rather than damage myself from struggling prematurely, I relaxed and lay there. The cross upright dug into my back, making my position uncomfortable in a number of ways. The video guy shifted from taking shots of my face to running down my body and showing my legs spread on either side of the wood.
I lay looking up at the sky, wondering what I was getting myself into. Where was the sadist? What was going on? How long were they going to hang me from this accursed cross? Was I actually getting aroused at the thought?
Yep. My old fetish was upon me. The idea that I was finally attached to the cross and would soon be hanging from it was an amazing turn on. Unexpected, really, since I knew that it was going to hurt in ways I wasn't used to. Laid out on the cross, arms wide, I was getting off on the video guy as well. My exhibitionist tendencies were surfacing.
The sadist reappeared, untied my ankles and then tied a rope around my waist. The other end of the rope went to the back end of an SUV parked on the side of the clearing. The video guy stopped taping for a bit and helped the sadist as they turned the cross over onto its side. It was hard, since I was attached to it, but they got it positioned and slowly got me to my feet. The cross weighed heavily on my back.
This was weird. What was I doing with the cross on my back? Weren't they going to hang me up someplace? But as the video guy started taping again and the sadist went over and started the SUV, I realized I had another ordeal in front of me. "NO! Oh, fuck no! Please, don't make me carry this... "
The SUV began rolling slowly up a dirt road which ran through the trees and up a nearby hill. Seconds later the rope had become taught and I was jerked behind it. I had to walk, and quickly too, in order to keep from falling and being dragged. The damn cross was heavy. It must have weighed 50 pounds at least... and I was naked. Walking in bare feet on the dirt road was painful; rocks and sticks were digging into my flesh and the jerking of the cross on my back was leaving some nasty abrasions, I could tell.
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TerriT
Assistant executioner
"Fuck... oh, damn, this fucking hurts... ow! Fuck... please... " I rambled, sometimes just swearing, sometimes moaning, sometimes yelping from pain when I stepped on something sharp or the cross caught on something and I had to jerk it to get it loose. No matter what, the SUV just moved forward, insisting patiently that I keep up.
It wasn't easy for her to keep up with the car, but she did a good job. She was strong, this one, in mind and body. That cross was heavy and you could see her struggle to keep it up as we moved up the dirt track to the execution spot. Her hair hung down, covering her breasts which swayed from side to side as she walked behind the car.
The only break I got was when the sadist stopped the SUV to allow the video guy to catch up and climb in. He started taping me from the rear, focusing on my poor feet as I tried to pick my way over the sharpest rocks, and then focusing on my face, which I am sure looked like I was in quite a bit of pain. Because I was.
The cross got heavier and the road climbed higher. I was exhausted, my breath coming in pants and moans. I had long since stopped complaining, because talking just kept me from breathing. My nudity no longer got me off, my exhibitionism didn't matter. My legs were what mattered, tired and cramping as I climbed, dragging the 75 pounds of solid wood behind me.
After what seemed like hours, but was probably only about 30 minutes, the SUV pulled into a sort of meadow on the hillside. The grass was tall there, and scratched my bare legs as I came to a halt behind the parked SUV. I collapsed and panted, falling to my knees, my arms aching from the stress of having them tied apart for so long as I pulled the heavy cross. I was miserable, my legs hurt, my arms and shoulders hurt, my feet hurt, and the cross hadn't even been stuck in the ground yet.
The video guy took some nice footage of me with my arms out wide, bent over the earth trying to keep from puking.
"Please... please don't do this. I don't want to be crucified. I don't want you to hang me up here. It hurts, it fucking hurts..." I had gained my voice and had started to beg.
The sadist came over, having untied the rope from the SUV and stood over me.
"Only another few yards to go, bitch, and then you get to rest. Come on, stand and lets get going. Almost there!"
I pushed hard, lifting my body weight along with the weight of the cross, reaching a standing position. I can't remember when I had wanted to be untied more. Following the sadist up to the middle of the meadow, I dragged the cross over bumpy ground that jerked and jarred my arms and shoulders. My back felt like it was on fire from the abrasions and my stomach was still considering throwing up.
I fell on the ground when we reached the spot the sadist had in mind. As I lay there, I saw there was already a mound of earth next to a hole. They had prepared this place, ready for the cross and me. I started to cry and beg again. "Look, just give me a rest for a bit. Please don't do this... please don't hurt me any more."
The video guy was taping me all this time, getting footage of me begging. It was real, was the thing. Being dragged naked up that hill while dragging a heavy cross behind me had beaten me. I had no more will left in me. I was just begging.
"OK, bitch," the sadist said with his face right next to mine on the ground. "We can untie you and let you go right now. But if we do, you get no money. You want the money, its up on the cross you go. So, how about it? Think about the money. You decide."
I turned my head into the ground and cried out in frustration for a moment, and then faced him. With a grimace of pain and defiance, I said "Fine! I can do this, asshole. Do it."
She was beautiful, laying there waiting to be raised up and hang for me. Her fear was showing, and she had started begging. I challenged her, dangling the money carrot. She was a slut, a whore, and it was so easy.
The sadist smiled, and then left my field of vision. Moments later the video guy and the sadist had the cross and were slowly raising it up. At first, I went to my knees, and then stood, as the cross slid into the hole at an angle. Then, with a jerk and a yank, I swung up into the air as the cross upright beam levered up and the base slid down into the ground.
With a *thump* the cross descended two or three feet into the hole and my body jerked downward on my arms, wrists, and shoulders. A shock of pain rattled me and I screamed for a moment as I hung from my arms. The beam wavered back and forth, insecure in the wide hole below me. I felt I was going to fall at any moment, and I was a good 5 feet off the ground, up in the air, looking down at the sadist and the video guy filling in the hole with dirt and wedges of wood.
It took maybe 5 minutes until the cross was stable and I was hanging there without its wobbling and jerking me back and forth. The video was rolling again, and I was crying from the pain that had started on the way up the hill but was now 10 times worse as the weight of my body was placed entirely on my arms and shoulders. Cramps in my back set in, and my hands were numb.
The sadist was enjoying this, you could tell. All my weight had come to a jerking halt on my arms, and it felt like my left shoulder was dislocated. I was crying, sobbing, and could see the video camera zoom in on my face for a nice close shot of my agony.
My legs dangled free, and instinctively tried to find something to support my weight. There was nothing. I simply hung there. I finally forced them to stop kicking around because it was just making the rest of my body hurt more.
She screamed when the cross slipped into the hole. A sweet sound. I stood back and looked at her hanging before me. There is something about a beautiful woman stretched, whether on the rack or hanging from a cross or winch; their bodies elongate and show hips protruding below, breasts pert above, and ribs pronounced above their concave stomachs which move as they try to breathe. I simply enjoyed the sight for a bit.
Once I stopped kicked and was simply hanging there, the sadist produced some sort of triangular block of wood which he slid into a hole in the cross about where my feet were. It was a support for me to stand on. Problem was, the block of wood sloped down and away. It was almost impossible to get any weight on, because my feet slipped off. Struggling and straining, trying different approaches, I got one foot on and the other behind the cross beam to keep me from slipping off. That helped a lot. I was able to partly stand on one leg and support myself, taking the weight off my shoulders and wrists, and allowing blood flow back into my hands.
The video guy had taped me getting situated on the wooden stand, while the sadist had returned to the SUV to watch and enjoy my torment. After a while I realized he had his cock out of his pants and was slowly stroking himself as he watched my struggles. I don't know why, but I can't remember ever being more humiliated than I was at that moment. I knew thousands of guys had probably wanked over images of me in fetish gear before... but actually seeing someone getting off, right in front of me, as I suffered... it took something out of me. I felt like nothing but a piece of meat. Which was pretty accurate at that point, to tell the truth.
My foot kept slipping and I shifted my weight as best I could. Switching feet helped some, but no matter what, there was weight on my arms and my legs were constantly straining to hold me up. The air was cool, but the sun, which was now setting, was warm and I sweated. The sweat trickled down my face and started to itch. I couldn't get free to scratch, and it began driving me insane.
How strange that something as small as a trickle of sweat, an itch, a tiny need to scratch or wipe, would bring me almost to the breaking point. I struggled, jerking and yanking at the ropes that held my arms spread out above me. The cross rocked a little, and I slipped off the foot support, jerking my arms once again and eliciting a cry of pain. My whole body hurt. My hands were aching (though numb), my arms were stretched ragged, my shoulders and upper back cramped, and my legs strained and cramped to stay on top of that slanted foot rest.
"Ahhhhhhggggg... oh, please. God please don't torture me any more!" My head was raised and I faced the sky, screaming from rage and pain and frustration. The sadist walked over, zipping his cock back up in his pants, and observed me for a moment. He touched my body, sliding fingers over my skin, feeling me as I writhed.
"Are you sure you want that? You only have about 14 hours to go, you know and then you can get paid." His fingers were sliding over my pussy as he said this.
I pressed my lips together, refusing to say a word, but felt the trickle of tears as they descended my cheeks.
Seeing her suffer up there was amazing. Her body writhed, trying to find a position that would hurt a little less. Her breasts were perfect, drawn up pertly by her raised arms. When she became too exhausted she leaned forward, letting her hair and breasts hang forward, her head down. The constant cries of frustration, pain and grunts of effort as she struggled to remain upright, were glorious.
It was really quite a nice location they had selected for my mock execution. The meadow was on a hill that overlooked a beautiful valley. Trees covered the area, and the rolling hills in the distance took on a purplish look as the sun descended below the horizon. I looked at the beauty surrounding me, and it contrasted with the misery that was screaming around inside my body.
The engine on the SUV started up. The sadist and video guy were climbing in. They were leaving me alone. It pulled back and then turned and slowly headed down the dirt track up which I had dragged the cross. I screamed at them once as the car disappeared, and then I was alone.
It wasn't easy for her to keep up with the car, but she did a good job. She was strong, this one, in mind and body. That cross was heavy and you could see her struggle to keep it up as we moved up the dirt track to the execution spot. Her hair hung down, covering her breasts which swayed from side to side as she walked behind the car.
The only break I got was when the sadist stopped the SUV to allow the video guy to catch up and climb in. He started taping me from the rear, focusing on my poor feet as I tried to pick my way over the sharpest rocks, and then focusing on my face, which I am sure looked like I was in quite a bit of pain. Because I was.
The cross got heavier and the road climbed higher. I was exhausted, my breath coming in pants and moans. I had long since stopped complaining, because talking just kept me from breathing. My nudity no longer got me off, my exhibitionism didn't matter. My legs were what mattered, tired and cramping as I climbed, dragging the 75 pounds of solid wood behind me.
After what seemed like hours, but was probably only about 30 minutes, the SUV pulled into a sort of meadow on the hillside. The grass was tall there, and scratched my bare legs as I came to a halt behind the parked SUV. I collapsed and panted, falling to my knees, my arms aching from the stress of having them tied apart for so long as I pulled the heavy cross. I was miserable, my legs hurt, my arms and shoulders hurt, my feet hurt, and the cross hadn't even been stuck in the ground yet.
The video guy took some nice footage of me with my arms out wide, bent over the earth trying to keep from puking.
"Please... please don't do this. I don't want to be crucified. I don't want you to hang me up here. It hurts, it fucking hurts..." I had gained my voice and had started to beg.
The sadist came over, having untied the rope from the SUV and stood over me.
"Only another few yards to go, bitch, and then you get to rest. Come on, stand and lets get going. Almost there!"
I pushed hard, lifting my body weight along with the weight of the cross, reaching a standing position. I can't remember when I had wanted to be untied more. Following the sadist up to the middle of the meadow, I dragged the cross over bumpy ground that jerked and jarred my arms and shoulders. My back felt like it was on fire from the abrasions and my stomach was still considering throwing up.
I fell on the ground when we reached the spot the sadist had in mind. As I lay there, I saw there was already a mound of earth next to a hole. They had prepared this place, ready for the cross and me. I started to cry and beg again. "Look, just give me a rest for a bit. Please don't do this... please don't hurt me any more."
The video guy was taping me all this time, getting footage of me begging. It was real, was the thing. Being dragged naked up that hill while dragging a heavy cross behind me had beaten me. I had no more will left in me. I was just begging.
"OK, bitch," the sadist said with his face right next to mine on the ground. "We can untie you and let you go right now. But if we do, you get no money. You want the money, its up on the cross you go. So, how about it? Think about the money. You decide."
I turned my head into the ground and cried out in frustration for a moment, and then faced him. With a grimace of pain and defiance, I said "Fine! I can do this, asshole. Do it."
She was beautiful, laying there waiting to be raised up and hang for me. Her fear was showing, and she had started begging. I challenged her, dangling the money carrot. She was a slut, a whore, and it was so easy.
The sadist smiled, and then left my field of vision. Moments later the video guy and the sadist had the cross and were slowly raising it up. At first, I went to my knees, and then stood, as the cross slid into the hole at an angle. Then, with a jerk and a yank, I swung up into the air as the cross upright beam levered up and the base slid down into the ground.
With a *thump* the cross descended two or three feet into the hole and my body jerked downward on my arms, wrists, and shoulders. A shock of pain rattled me and I screamed for a moment as I hung from my arms. The beam wavered back and forth, insecure in the wide hole below me. I felt I was going to fall at any moment, and I was a good 5 feet off the ground, up in the air, looking down at the sadist and the video guy filling in the hole with dirt and wedges of wood.
It took maybe 5 minutes until the cross was stable and I was hanging there without its wobbling and jerking me back and forth. The video was rolling again, and I was crying from the pain that had started on the way up the hill but was now 10 times worse as the weight of my body was placed entirely on my arms and shoulders. Cramps in my back set in, and my hands were numb.
The sadist was enjoying this, you could tell. All my weight had come to a jerking halt on my arms, and it felt like my left shoulder was dislocated. I was crying, sobbing, and could see the video camera zoom in on my face for a nice close shot of my agony.
My legs dangled free, and instinctively tried to find something to support my weight. There was nothing. I simply hung there. I finally forced them to stop kicking around because it was just making the rest of my body hurt more.
She screamed when the cross slipped into the hole. A sweet sound. I stood back and looked at her hanging before me. There is something about a beautiful woman stretched, whether on the rack or hanging from a cross or winch; their bodies elongate and show hips protruding below, breasts pert above, and ribs pronounced above their concave stomachs which move as they try to breathe. I simply enjoyed the sight for a bit.
Once I stopped kicked and was simply hanging there, the sadist produced some sort of triangular block of wood which he slid into a hole in the cross about where my feet were. It was a support for me to stand on. Problem was, the block of wood sloped down and away. It was almost impossible to get any weight on, because my feet slipped off. Struggling and straining, trying different approaches, I got one foot on and the other behind the cross beam to keep me from slipping off. That helped a lot. I was able to partly stand on one leg and support myself, taking the weight off my shoulders and wrists, and allowing blood flow back into my hands.
The video guy had taped me getting situated on the wooden stand, while the sadist had returned to the SUV to watch and enjoy my torment. After a while I realized he had his cock out of his pants and was slowly stroking himself as he watched my struggles. I don't know why, but I can't remember ever being more humiliated than I was at that moment. I knew thousands of guys had probably wanked over images of me in fetish gear before... but actually seeing someone getting off, right in front of me, as I suffered... it took something out of me. I felt like nothing but a piece of meat. Which was pretty accurate at that point, to tell the truth.
My foot kept slipping and I shifted my weight as best I could. Switching feet helped some, but no matter what, there was weight on my arms and my legs were constantly straining to hold me up. The air was cool, but the sun, which was now setting, was warm and I sweated. The sweat trickled down my face and started to itch. I couldn't get free to scratch, and it began driving me insane.
How strange that something as small as a trickle of sweat, an itch, a tiny need to scratch or wipe, would bring me almost to the breaking point. I struggled, jerking and yanking at the ropes that held my arms spread out above me. The cross rocked a little, and I slipped off the foot support, jerking my arms once again and eliciting a cry of pain. My whole body hurt. My hands were aching (though numb), my arms were stretched ragged, my shoulders and upper back cramped, and my legs strained and cramped to stay on top of that slanted foot rest.
"Ahhhhhhggggg... oh, please. God please don't torture me any more!" My head was raised and I faced the sky, screaming from rage and pain and frustration. The sadist walked over, zipping his cock back up in his pants, and observed me for a moment. He touched my body, sliding fingers over my skin, feeling me as I writhed.
"Are you sure you want that? You only have about 14 hours to go, you know and then you can get paid." His fingers were sliding over my pussy as he said this.
I pressed my lips together, refusing to say a word, but felt the trickle of tears as they descended my cheeks.
Seeing her suffer up there was amazing. Her body writhed, trying to find a position that would hurt a little less. Her breasts were perfect, drawn up pertly by her raised arms. When she became too exhausted she leaned forward, letting her hair and breasts hang forward, her head down. The constant cries of frustration, pain and grunts of effort as she struggled to remain upright, were glorious.
It was really quite a nice location they had selected for my mock execution. The meadow was on a hill that overlooked a beautiful valley. Trees covered the area, and the rolling hills in the distance took on a purplish look as the sun descended below the horizon. I looked at the beauty surrounding me, and it contrasted with the misery that was screaming around inside my body.
The engine on the SUV started up. The sadist and video guy were climbing in. They were leaving me alone. It pulled back and then turned and slowly headed down the dirt track up which I had dragged the cross. I screamed at them once as the car disappeared, and then I was alone.
TerriT
Assistant executioner
My legs gave out, and I hung from my outstretched arms for a while, my head sagging, eyes closed. It felt almost peaceful, and the pain in most of my body left as I relaxed. It was only the tendons, bones and muscles of my arms and hands that were screaming out in agony. After a while, I could not ignore them any more and pressed back down with one foot on the narrow foothold. Lifting up, I could feel the relief in my arms, but sweat had trickled down my legs and made my feet slippery. As my foot slid off the support, I jerked back down and yanked my arms once again. I screamed, and the empty air in the meadow seemed to absorb the scream and cast it aside as if it had no meaning.
It was dark; the moon had not risen. There were some lights scattered in the valley in front of me. I imagined homes where people were sitting down to watch TV, children being put to bed, and eventually the adults making love and then falling asleep in each others arms. All this while I hung on a wooden cross above them, dangling and struggling, in horrible pain that slowly increased as my body lost strength and my mind lost tolerance.
I smelled urine. It was a strong smell, and I realized it came from me. The inside of my legs must be covered in it. In fact, I felt the rumblings of a bowel movement inside my intestines. I yelled out for help, asking that anyone that could hear me would come and help. It was no use. I was in a beautiful and isolated area. I began to believe that I might die here.
Diarrhea struck me all at once. The pressure built and then pushed out as my bowels let loose in a massive mix of feces, liquid and gas. The smell was sickening, and the feces covered the back of my legs and trickled down slowly. I had lost both bladder and bowel control now, I knew my body was really suffering up here.
Once again, I let my feet slip off the tilted support and simply hung by my arms. The pain had increased, but there was little I could do. I could no longer support myself.
A wolf came by sometime late that night. It sniffed around, and even tried to nip a bit. I was too high up for it, though it came close. Later, I heard howling.
The SUV came bumping back up the hill sometime later. It's headlights shown in the darkness from quite some ways. When it arrived the headlights covered the whole clearing, including me up on the wooden horror that held me.
I would have screamed at the sadist as he climbed out of the vehicle, but my voice had cracked and basically I could only manage a hoarse whisper. There was something wrong with me, I could tell. It wasn't just the strain from hanging from the cross, it was something worse. The sadist headed over to me with a ladder which he propped against the cross. The video guy was taping of course, the whole exchange.
The sadist got up to my head and took out a bottle. Water. Oh, I suddenly realized what I needed, what was wrong with me. I was dehydrated from no water and the diarrhea. He held the bottle to my mouth and I began gulping, the water flooding my mouth and splashing over my neck, breasts and stomach. I drank the whole bottle, and began to feel a little better. Better enough to begin concentrating on the pain in my back and the lack of feeling in my hands. I couldn't move my fingers.
Giving her water to rehydrate her allowed me to get close to her suffering. Seeing her face close up as she struggled with her situation, the pain, the desire, the fear, the hopelessness that had set in-- it gave me an erection immediately. She was so lovely in her agony.
"Six more hours dear," the sadist said quietly. He actually nuzzled my neck, kissing me slightly, as he spoke. "You can quit now, but all that pain, all that agony, will be for nothing. Keep going, six more hours... that's all..."
I didn't say anything, just hung for a while before struggling up and then falling back down. I let out a loud moan as the weight ripped my shoulders once again.
"Let's give you a little more support, shall we?" The sadist said, and I looked at him with a mixture of hope and fear. I had no idea what he was going to do to me. He wasn't in the business of making girls more comfortable.
The video kept going as he trudged to the SUV and got out some sort of wooden board. He came back to the cross, climbed one rung of the ladder and then said "lift yourself up a bit. I am going to give you a seat to carry some of your weight."
I pushed, raising myself up a bit. The sadist took the short board and slipped it between my legs, pushing it up snugly against my pussy. It fit in another notch of the cross, and he pounded in an additional nail to help keep it in place. He climbed down and removed the ladder. The video guy zoomed in as I lowered my weight onto the 2x4 that stuck out from the cross about a foot.
Thing was, the 2x4 was positioned vertically, the thin side pushing up into my pussy. It hurt. Not as bad as my arms and wrists and back (I don't think anything could have hurt more at that point), but the edges were sharp and dug into my soft flesh. Nevertheless I sat down on it, and breathed a huge sigh.
It didn't take long for me to realize the sedile he had provided was basically adding a wooden pony ride to my crucifixion. After that long on the cross, I was happy for it. It hurt, and after a while, it ached and hurt a lot. But it was at least a choice. It relieved the weight on my shoulders and back, and the cramping subsided some. I could alternate the pain, moving it back and forth, choosing which part of my body would bear the agony at any given time.
The sunrise was beautiful. It flooded from behind me, lighting up the whole meadow and valley below. The hills were green, and a slight breeze pushed past my sweaty flesh and helped dry it.
"How.. much... longer..." I croaked.
"2 hours, dear," the sadist had his cock out again, and the video guy was going to town examining every aspect of my stretched and agonized body. He zoomed in on my ass cheeks where they split on each side of the cross upright beam, on my pussy where it pressed and split on the wood board, on my breasts that wobbled and heaved as I breathed with difficulty, on my face and the stains of hours of tears, on my straggled hair, on my purple hands that appeared to be in a permanently curled, claw like shape.
The beauty of the morning meant little to me, hanging from the cross. It had been something like 21 hours since I had been tied to it. Memory of what my life was like before had slipped away. It seemed like I was there simply waiting to die, and that in a couple of hours my death would come and relieve me of the pain. My entire body shook, none of the muscles worked. I simply waited, waited for something to happen.
It finally did. The two of them carefully climbed up and untied me. When the ropes gave way, I screamed once again. My arms had been in a raised position for so long that all the muscles cramped as they moved down. Returning blood flow created pain in places that had long since gone numb. Laying stretched out on the ground, I vomited, getting it over me, though all I had to vomit was the water I had received a few hours earlier.
I would have loved to leave her there for another day, two days, three... whatever it took until her body gave out and she succumbed. But then, she really was beautiful and there was money to be made. She would be back, I could tell. Anyone that suffered this much for the money... she would be back.
I lay sobbing on the ground as several buckets of water were thrown over me, washing off the vomit, the feces and urine that covered my body. I was then picked up off the ground, unable to walk, and thrown into the back of the SUV. The trip down the hillside was bumpy, but I hardly noticed. My whole body was wracked in pain from blood which was now flowing back into numb spots, and muscles learning to settle back into place.
They helped me walk into the barn, where they sat me on a wooden chair and gave me a bottle of water and a granola bar. When I was ready for the ride back, the video guy got his camera again, and started taping as the sadist hogtied me.
"What are you doing?" I croaked.
"You have an hour left, babe. We are driving back, but you get to ride in the back, bound and gagged like the pain slut you are," he was pulling my legs back and tying them to my wrists so I was bent backward. "An hour left. When we get back to the studio, you get paid for the whore you are."
I opened my mouth to protest, but instead of sound, my mouth was filled with dirty rags. Duct tape quickly secured them inside and all I could do was moan as they picked me up and threw me in the back of the van.
When I was finally released and paid, they counted cash out for me. Hundreds. 80 of them. My day hanging in agony in the middle of the forest was still with me, but I could feel it fading. The stack of 80 bills in my hand felt thick, and I knew I was set for the next two or three months. It felt good.
As I slowly walked to my car, the sadist came with me, and as I slid gingerly into the driver's seat, he leaned down and said, "So babe... you did good. You want to come back for another scene sometime, when you get low on money? We can think of something unique and fun for you."
I looked at him with a steel face, about ready to curse and damn him to hell. Instead, I surprised myself and said, "Yeah. Maybe. But I want more money."
The sadist laughed, straightened up and said, "You'll be back. We will arrange something."
Posted by Polly Plummer at 12:24 PM (Monday, October 4, 2010)
It was dark; the moon had not risen. There were some lights scattered in the valley in front of me. I imagined homes where people were sitting down to watch TV, children being put to bed, and eventually the adults making love and then falling asleep in each others arms. All this while I hung on a wooden cross above them, dangling and struggling, in horrible pain that slowly increased as my body lost strength and my mind lost tolerance.
I smelled urine. It was a strong smell, and I realized it came from me. The inside of my legs must be covered in it. In fact, I felt the rumblings of a bowel movement inside my intestines. I yelled out for help, asking that anyone that could hear me would come and help. It was no use. I was in a beautiful and isolated area. I began to believe that I might die here.
Diarrhea struck me all at once. The pressure built and then pushed out as my bowels let loose in a massive mix of feces, liquid and gas. The smell was sickening, and the feces covered the back of my legs and trickled down slowly. I had lost both bladder and bowel control now, I knew my body was really suffering up here.
Once again, I let my feet slip off the tilted support and simply hung by my arms. The pain had increased, but there was little I could do. I could no longer support myself.
A wolf came by sometime late that night. It sniffed around, and even tried to nip a bit. I was too high up for it, though it came close. Later, I heard howling.
The SUV came bumping back up the hill sometime later. It's headlights shown in the darkness from quite some ways. When it arrived the headlights covered the whole clearing, including me up on the wooden horror that held me.
I would have screamed at the sadist as he climbed out of the vehicle, but my voice had cracked and basically I could only manage a hoarse whisper. There was something wrong with me, I could tell. It wasn't just the strain from hanging from the cross, it was something worse. The sadist headed over to me with a ladder which he propped against the cross. The video guy was taping of course, the whole exchange.
The sadist got up to my head and took out a bottle. Water. Oh, I suddenly realized what I needed, what was wrong with me. I was dehydrated from no water and the diarrhea. He held the bottle to my mouth and I began gulping, the water flooding my mouth and splashing over my neck, breasts and stomach. I drank the whole bottle, and began to feel a little better. Better enough to begin concentrating on the pain in my back and the lack of feeling in my hands. I couldn't move my fingers.
Giving her water to rehydrate her allowed me to get close to her suffering. Seeing her face close up as she struggled with her situation, the pain, the desire, the fear, the hopelessness that had set in-- it gave me an erection immediately. She was so lovely in her agony.
"Six more hours dear," the sadist said quietly. He actually nuzzled my neck, kissing me slightly, as he spoke. "You can quit now, but all that pain, all that agony, will be for nothing. Keep going, six more hours... that's all..."
I didn't say anything, just hung for a while before struggling up and then falling back down. I let out a loud moan as the weight ripped my shoulders once again.
"Let's give you a little more support, shall we?" The sadist said, and I looked at him with a mixture of hope and fear. I had no idea what he was going to do to me. He wasn't in the business of making girls more comfortable.
The video kept going as he trudged to the SUV and got out some sort of wooden board. He came back to the cross, climbed one rung of the ladder and then said "lift yourself up a bit. I am going to give you a seat to carry some of your weight."
I pushed, raising myself up a bit. The sadist took the short board and slipped it between my legs, pushing it up snugly against my pussy. It fit in another notch of the cross, and he pounded in an additional nail to help keep it in place. He climbed down and removed the ladder. The video guy zoomed in as I lowered my weight onto the 2x4 that stuck out from the cross about a foot.
Thing was, the 2x4 was positioned vertically, the thin side pushing up into my pussy. It hurt. Not as bad as my arms and wrists and back (I don't think anything could have hurt more at that point), but the edges were sharp and dug into my soft flesh. Nevertheless I sat down on it, and breathed a huge sigh.
It didn't take long for me to realize the sedile he had provided was basically adding a wooden pony ride to my crucifixion. After that long on the cross, I was happy for it. It hurt, and after a while, it ached and hurt a lot. But it was at least a choice. It relieved the weight on my shoulders and back, and the cramping subsided some. I could alternate the pain, moving it back and forth, choosing which part of my body would bear the agony at any given time.
The sunrise was beautiful. It flooded from behind me, lighting up the whole meadow and valley below. The hills were green, and a slight breeze pushed past my sweaty flesh and helped dry it.
"How.. much... longer..." I croaked.
"2 hours, dear," the sadist had his cock out again, and the video guy was going to town examining every aspect of my stretched and agonized body. He zoomed in on my ass cheeks where they split on each side of the cross upright beam, on my pussy where it pressed and split on the wood board, on my breasts that wobbled and heaved as I breathed with difficulty, on my face and the stains of hours of tears, on my straggled hair, on my purple hands that appeared to be in a permanently curled, claw like shape.
The beauty of the morning meant little to me, hanging from the cross. It had been something like 21 hours since I had been tied to it. Memory of what my life was like before had slipped away. It seemed like I was there simply waiting to die, and that in a couple of hours my death would come and relieve me of the pain. My entire body shook, none of the muscles worked. I simply waited, waited for something to happen.
It finally did. The two of them carefully climbed up and untied me. When the ropes gave way, I screamed once again. My arms had been in a raised position for so long that all the muscles cramped as they moved down. Returning blood flow created pain in places that had long since gone numb. Laying stretched out on the ground, I vomited, getting it over me, though all I had to vomit was the water I had received a few hours earlier.
I would have loved to leave her there for another day, two days, three... whatever it took until her body gave out and she succumbed. But then, she really was beautiful and there was money to be made. She would be back, I could tell. Anyone that suffered this much for the money... she would be back.
I lay sobbing on the ground as several buckets of water were thrown over me, washing off the vomit, the feces and urine that covered my body. I was then picked up off the ground, unable to walk, and thrown into the back of the SUV. The trip down the hillside was bumpy, but I hardly noticed. My whole body was wracked in pain from blood which was now flowing back into numb spots, and muscles learning to settle back into place.
They helped me walk into the barn, where they sat me on a wooden chair and gave me a bottle of water and a granola bar. When I was ready for the ride back, the video guy got his camera again, and started taping as the sadist hogtied me.
"What are you doing?" I croaked.
"You have an hour left, babe. We are driving back, but you get to ride in the back, bound and gagged like the pain slut you are," he was pulling my legs back and tying them to my wrists so I was bent backward. "An hour left. When we get back to the studio, you get paid for the whore you are."
I opened my mouth to protest, but instead of sound, my mouth was filled with dirty rags. Duct tape quickly secured them inside and all I could do was moan as they picked me up and threw me in the back of the van.
When I was finally released and paid, they counted cash out for me. Hundreds. 80 of them. My day hanging in agony in the middle of the forest was still with me, but I could feel it fading. The stack of 80 bills in my hand felt thick, and I knew I was set for the next two or three months. It felt good.
As I slowly walked to my car, the sadist came with me, and as I slid gingerly into the driver's seat, he leaned down and said, "So babe... you did good. You want to come back for another scene sometime, when you get low on money? We can think of something unique and fun for you."
I looked at him with a steel face, about ready to curse and damn him to hell. Instead, I surprised myself and said, "Yeah. Maybe. But I want more money."
The sadist laughed, straightened up and said, "You'll be back. We will arrange something."
Posted by Polly Plummer at 12:24 PM (Monday, October 4, 2010)
prtn
Governor
is this the end of power of money?. Thank you for keeping posting
RedOrc
Magistrate
This is my all time favourite Polly Plummer story. The way the prelate and his pervert wife torment the helpless girl really excites me. It is the first of several stories about this delightful couple.Crucified Female
The prelate's young wife sat with her legs on either side of her husband's hips, rocking back and forth. The moonlight showed the tight curves of her naked body as she moved forward, then back, pushing her hips down and forward, back and out. The prelate's hands caressed her young flesh, moving from her stomach to her sides, and then up to her soft breasts as she breathed heavily from arousal.
Others had told him Julia was too young to be a good wife, but he had loved her and desired her, and she was turning out to be the perfect lover. The feeling deep inside his groin was becoming more intense as her soft, textured flesh stroked his penis deep within her. His hips moved with her, encouraging her, as she encouraged him, until in a gasping paroxysm of pleasure, he ejaculated inside her belly.
Her body shone with sweat as she opened her eyes, smiled, and slowly lowered herself onto his chest. He made her happy, and it was her joy to know she had pleased him. She lay on him, feeling his breathing, as he slowly became soft and slid out of her.
At length Julia said softly, "My husband, I have not been able to forget what you showed me on the hill of death a few weeks ago."
He kissed the top of her head, his fingers sliding over her smooth skin.
"And what do you think, now?" he said to her.
"I want to do it again. If you approve, only if you approve. It ... aroused me."
He lay silent, stroking her naked back, and then finally spoke. "It would make my happy to share this with you again, if you please."
She rose to her elbows, long hair drifting down over his chest as she looked in his eyes with disguised eagerness. "Yes, I would like it. Is there someone on the hill tonight?"
The prelate laughed at her eagerness. "Yes, there is someone on the hill. A woman though. Tonight might not be the best night."
Julia's face was serious and thoughtful for a moment before she spoke. "Why not? I would like to see a woman. I've never touched a woman before. Can we go?"
She crawled off her husband and stood looking in the direction of the execution hill. Her husband rose and began to dress. "Yes, of course. By all means. She was hung just this afternoon and will still be conscious. Get dressed."
The two of them dressed, and then left by the private garden door to the small footpath that led to the edge of the city. They glided silently, the tall veteran warrior and his slender, smaller wife behind him a half a step. They climbed the hill, the torches of the guards visible at the top. As they neared the crest, Julia could see the cross facing the city, and the figure of a young woman hanging from it, lit by the orange firelight.
The woman retained much of her beauty in spite of having been whipped and nailed to wooden beams. Her body was shapely, slender but with good curves. Her breasts hung forward, heavy and dangling as the woman's body hung slightly away from the cross behind her. Nails had been expertly driven through her feet at an angle so as to force the condemned's legs apart. The dark thatch between her legs was exposed clearly along with the folds of pink flesh of her genitalia. Her arms extended up and slightly behind her to where the spikes were driven through her wrists. Fingers curled into the shape of claws, stiff and unmoving above the spikes.
Hair obscured much of the face, dark brown and scraggly now, but what Julia could see revealed a very pretty girl of about 18, face dirty with tears and dust, now distorted with a permanent visage of agony. Julia gasped slightly at the unexpected sight of such a lovely young girl crucified and dying before her.
"What has she done?"
The prelate responded as they gazed at the condemned. "She is a prostitute from the north that came to the city, and stole from several of her customers."
The prelate turned to the guards and commanded them to withdraw. Familiar with his practices, the centurion gathered the men and they descended the hill to prevent any intruders from coming close.
Julia simply stood observing the crucified woman for a while. She observed the sagging agony, the small shifting movements of a body in pain trying to find relief where there was none. Small grunts came from the the woman as she labored to draw each breath. Her skin shone with sweat from the heat and pain, and the wetness created very slight reflections that emphasized the curves of her body. A trickling of blood smeared each hand where the nails had penetrated, as well as the feet.
Finally, Julia stepped forward and examined the woman's legs spread before her. She reached up and ran one hand along the inner thigh, from the knee to where the leg joined the body in a soft curve. The touch aroused the condemned woman and she grunted, and then cried out. Her body shook and writhed, shifting in place as if trying to avoid the touch, though there was nothing she could do to avoid it. Spewing forth sounds that Julia did not understand, the crucified woman cried out in a foreign language. Words scrambled and panicked, pleading, angry, sobbing.
"She comes from Gallia," the prelate said as he joined his wife close to the cross. "She speaks latin, but has probably forgotten it in her agony."
With a slow, gentle movement Julia continued stroking the naked flesh of the woman, finding the folds of her genitals and massaging them.
"I've never touched another woman." Julia was intent, curious, focused. She reached her other hand up and used both to stretch and spread the folds of soft skin apart, exposing the condemned's fleshy tunnel.
"Many men have been inside her," the prelate commented, reaching out and using a thumb and forefinger to spread her lips and expose the small nub of flesh which was the center of sexual pleasure.
"Touch her," he said.
Julia slid one finger inside the soft flesh, and when it penetrated all the way used her thumb to press against the woman's clitoris. She was rewarded by immediate grunts and moans from above and a stream of uninterpretable words. Then the legs tensed, straining and writhing back and forth, causing cries of pain above, and yet they still strained until the whore's body began to lift up removing Julia's tormenting hand from the crucified's vagina. She raised herself to an almost standing position, arms straight out to either side, breathing in deep gulps of air, her stomach palpitating as she gasped.
As she stood on the nails driven through the bones of her feet, she screamed out in agony, pain unbelievable, and yet continued to push down, keeping her body up, gasping for air between sobs. Finally the pain was too much or she reached exhaustion and slipped quickly back down, her knees spreading outward as they bent.
Julia's hand was ready and as the whore descended the cross two fingers slid up inside her and begin wiggling around. Julia found the spots that gave her the most pleasure when she made love to her husband, and began a rhythmic stroking.
At first, it seemed to have no effect. Julia simply continued stroking, sliding fingers in and out, massaging as she did to herself when she was alone. She knew what made her feel good and she did the same to this woman. Soon the gasps of pain and slight shivers of the nude body before her changed slightly. Pleasure was creeping in, penetrating the agonized existence of the condemned.
Quickening her pace, Julia dug deeper, pretending her fingers were a penis, penetrating and sliding over the woman's clitoris. The girl's hips began a very slight movement, in sync with Julia's ministrations. The grunts of pain matched the same rhythm.
Julia looked up at the woman's face, hanging down from the cross above. Sweat tricked down over the heavy breasts that wobbled slightly, and above that the beautiful tear streaked face of the young woman looked down at her, eyes filled with horror as she saw Julia looking back up at her. The absolute humiliation and despair of her body being masturbated and forced into arousal as she was slowly and publicly dying was more than the woman's mind could take. Her eyes took on a crazed look, the agony that rippled through her body mixed with the pleasure being forced on her, intensifying it, and with a howl she lifted her head to the sky, thrust her hips out and reached a massive sexual climax.
The prelate stood behind his wife, wrapped his arms around her waist and nuzzled her neck. He had almost had an orgasm just watching his young woman torturing and pleasuring the condemned woman on the cross. He was hard, raging, pulsatingly hard. Julia withdrew her hand from inside the whore and sniffed. She then reached her fingers to her husband who took them in his mouth, tasting the juices of agony from the crucified girl.
"I have something to show you. We use it sometimes to enhance the torture of the execution." The prelate moved over to a pile of equipment left by the soldiers. He returned with an oddly shaped piece of curved wood about two feet long. It looked something like a very rough wooden horn, wide at the bottom and narrowing to a point as it curved up.
"This is a cornu. I had it made based on information I received from Rome."
Julia looked at it with amazement. She couldn't figure out what it was or how it was used. As Julia reached out and touched its blackened and smooth surface, the crucified woman moaned, grunted and screamed as she pushed herself up once again, knees straightening, arms pulling, every muscle tensed. The prelate quickly went over to the cross and positioned the cornu with its widest point next to the cross upright. A protruding notch in the cornu slid into place inside a hole which had been drilled in the wood of the cross. Once in place, the cornu formed a curved spike that extended out from the wood beam and then up, pointing toward the shaking groin of the woman screaming above.
Once again, the agony overcame the woman and she sank down on the cross. This time, well before she descended all the way to where her arms stretched out and jerked her to a stop, the point of the cornu rammed home against her soft genital flesh. She screamed, raised herself up an inch or so, but the pain in her feet and legs was too much. She descended again, her hips moving against the new object of torment that sought to pierce and penetrate her body from below.
The cornu smashed against the condemned's soft flesh and then slid to the nearest opening-- her vagina. As the weight of the woman bore down on the pointed horror, it sank deep inside of her. A horrible twisted grimace came over the beautiful if dirty face as the point sunk home. The gradual increase in size of the cornu spread the flesh wider and wider as she sank down, until it was distended and white, stretched horrifically.
The crucified woman began sobbing. She breathed easier, as the weight of most of her body was now focused where she was impaled by the cornu. Julia remembered its length and knew the point must have dug all the way in and was pressing the woman's internal organs, causing terrible pain inside her stomach. She shuddered to herself, just as the crucified woman shuddered and tried to rise up off the impalement device.
"What is the purpose of this thing? Does it quicken her death?" Julia spoke in wonder to her husband.
"No, no. It is like a seat, a place her body can rest and will help her breathe. When she grows weaker, it will actually keep her alive longer, though the agony is greater, for it slowly impales and tears the flesh below, as you can see. It extends and increases the length and intensity of her pain."
"Oh...." Julia's heart was pounding.
The lean legs of the crucified woman were straining to lift again, to relieve the pressure of the spike which impaled her. With a cry she pressed upward, her tight flesh surrounding the cornu as if it were a penis, clinging to it as she rose. As the tip exited her womanhood, the whore thrust her hips out as if to avoid the cornu's penetration and sank down.
The attempt at relief didn't really help. Instead of penetrating her vagina, the cornu sank into another hole - the anus. Ramming home into this firm flesh, the unyielding cornu impaled the girl once again. Her screams and moans were panicked, her hips attempted to move but were held fast and unmoving by the spike that ascended deep into her bowels. With no strength left, the woman sank down, involuntarily letting the wide wooden horn spread her anus and sink deep within her. She sat on the spike, hips turned slightly out, exposing her sex even more fully than before.
Julia's excitement flushed her cheeks as she watched the whore on the cross. She could not imagine anything more horrible, more humiliating, more demeaning that to be stretched out like that, fully naked and exposed, in horrible agony for all to see, on display and forced to impale herself on the insidious device. It made her aroused, excited, and she reached out as if to touch and experience the agony of crucifixion herself. She leaned forward and placed her lips on the genital lips of the whore and began to suck. The whore was attempting to move but couldn't; the nails in her feet and spike in her bowels kept her still, available, exposed as Julia sucked and licked her clitoris, shoving her tongue inside the opening where the cornu had spread the flesh wide moments before.
Behind her, the prelate stood in a state of incredible arousal. Seeing his gorgeous young wife servicing the crucified woman like this, concentrating on giving pleasure during the pain, was all he could take. He pushed his robe aside and exposed his erect member, pressing up behind Julia as she sucked the flesh of the whore before her. He lifted Julia's dress and with a single easy thrust pushed his member deep inside his wife. She automatically spread her legs slightly, never stopping her oral attentions to the dying girl before her.
Thrusting hard against Julia, the prelate reached around her hips, holding her and placing one hand in front, pushing down to reach her clitoris, which he stimulated directly as he slid in and out of her from behind. Julia moaned and shifted her hips to accommodate her husband's entry. His thrusts were so hard they pushed her, so to keep her balance she placed both of her hands on the crucified girl's thighs, pushing them wide as she braced herself. The girl screamed as this caused her nailed feet to twist on the nails, but moments later she moaned as Julia's constant, expert sucking and licking brought her closer to climax once again.
As the crucified whore cried out in mixed agony and the pleasure of sexual orgasm, Julia felt her own climax sweep her body and she shuddered and moaned. The prelate had one hand on her breast, feeling her erect and hardened nipples as moments later he moaned and grunted as he ejaculated a huge load of semen deep inside his wife.
Having spent himself, the prelate pulled out of his young wife and sank to the ground in exhaustion. Julia sank down next to him, and they lay back next to the warming fire, his arms around her. They watched the crucified woman for a while longer as she squirmed and writhed on the cornu, finally managing to lift herself off one more time, only to descend with the spike impaling her deep inside her vagina once again. She slumped, exhausted, and did not move.
"Is she dead? Will she die soon?" Julia looked on curiously.
"No, no. With the cornu, I doubt if she will die for another two days, if the soldiers give her water."
"Could we come tomorrow night? I want to see her again."
The prelate frowned. "Perhaps. She won't be in good shape. She will live but will probably smell and not move much. We shall see."
He stood, lifting his wife to stand beside him, and they turned to head back to the palace. The prelate thought of how quickly his young wife had adapted to the palace and his own desires, and marveled. He felt the stirrings of another erection, and knew that he would enter her again that night in their chambers.
Posted by Polly Plummer at 12:09 AM
Thanks for that Sebastian!!!
TerriT
Assistant executioner
Yes it's the end.is this the end of power of money?. Thank you for keeping posting
TerriT
Assistant executioner
@admin
Regarding this action:
"Your post in the thread Polly Plummers Crux Blog Archive was moved to Polly Plummer's Crux- and BDSM-Blogs. Reason: We've already this thread on topic. "
Unfortunately this treat is not in the story section but in the pic section.
If someone is looking for stories, they won't stumble across the treat.
Regarding this action:
"Your post in the thread Polly Plummers Crux Blog Archive was moved to Polly Plummer's Crux- and BDSM-Blogs. Reason: We've already this thread on topic. "
Unfortunately this treat is not in the story section but in the pic section.
If someone is looking for stories, they won't stumble across the treat.
TerriT
Assistant executioner
Humiliation of Crucifixion
Arana was a tall, thin girl of mixed Roman and Greek descent known as being the most beautiful woman in the city. Her legs were lean and muscular, breasts perfectly formed, with a thin waist that emphasized her hips. Men in the city had all looked and dreamt of her for several years, and she knew it. Her dark brunette hair was always washed, smooth, and the envy of all the women.
The brief trial was attended heavily. Word was spread that Arana was on trial for sedition against the empire, and her fame drew every man that could afford the time to attend. They hoped for a glimpse of the beauty, perhaps stripped to the waist for a whipping or some other punishment. Such a spectacle would provide masturbation fodder for weeks to come.
Arana had been shaking with fear as the charges were read; her legal representation, a former lover, failed to counter most of the charges and the judge deliberated only a moment before announcing the death sentence.
Crucifixion. Immediately.
Arana felt the room wobble and then go black as she fainted and fell on the floor. When she awoke, her wrists were bound tightly and she was hanging from the city whipping post in the center square. She was desperately thirsty, for the sun beat down and she was sweating profusely. The ropes bit deeply into her wrists, and a smear of blood stained the rough fiber as she wriggled.
She quickly forgot about her gradually numbing hands as she surveyed the huge crowd that had gathered for the traditional pre-crucifixion scourging. It seemed the entire town had come to see her pain. Their eyes stared at her, filled with lust, hate, fear, love, desire... so many emotions. All eyes focused intently on her, waiting for her pain to fulfill or shock them. Tears sprang to her eyes as she sobbed. Her cries caused a stir in the crowd. Many sighed, some laughed or ridiculed her, a few seemed upset. By far, the most common reaction was cheering, as if her tears fed some desire or lust.
A rough hand grabbed her toga from behind and yanked, jerking her back, yanking her suspended wrists tightly, tearing the cloth of her clothes downward. The cloth ripped and fell away from her back, exposing the smooth flesh in preparation for the lash.
"The front," "More, more!" "Tear the cloth away," "Expose her!" the crowd cried. Arana sobbed in humiliation as the executioner tore the front of her shift away, exposing her dangling breasts. The crowd cheered at the site of the perfectly sized lobes projected on either side of the whipping post, nipples pointed straight out, curves sloping down and around in a half oval that met her chest beneath with perfect smoothness. Arana closed her eyes tightly, feeling the open air brushing against her bare flesh, trying to shut out the cheering and drooling crowd.
Without warning, the lash slashed out and pain exploded across the flesh of her back and shoulders. Arana screamed and arched her back. The crowd made a uniform noise, as if they all had taken in a breath at the same time. As the lash struck her again, Arana felt her body involuntarily wriggling, trying to get away but unable to move more than a few inches. She looked out across the sea of faces. So many of them were men, men she knew, and most were looking on with lust, desire, enjoyment.
The scourge continued to strike her, again and again, and Arana looked at the pleasure that her pain and screams were providing for so many in the crowds. She became aware of how they reacted when she moved as the whip made her struggle, and when she did the crowd seemed to follow and enjoy her movements. Her body had been used as a tool in the past, enticing and teasing men. Now its agony was providing pleasure to men and women alike.
For the women were also looking on with delight. The knotted leather of the scourge sliced across her flesh once again, licking the side of her right breast. As she jumped and sagged to the left, Arana saw that a number of the women in the crowd were talking excitedly amongst themselves, smiling and even laughing at her uncontrollable jerking. Arana lowered her eyes and bit her lip, unable to look at the whole town viewing her naked breasts, and her body reacting to the pain of the lash.
When the whipping was over, they unhooked her arms from the whipping post, allowing her to collapse at its base. She curled slightly, crying softly. Her back was wet and the blood was already caking as it mixed with the dirt on the ground.
She wasn't allowed to rest. Moments after falling to the ground, she was heaved up and made to stand, bare from the waist up, in the middle of the city square. She tried to hide her naked breasts by bringing her arms up, holding the shreds of cloth from her torn shift. Those in the front of the crowd saw her attempt at modesty and laughed. A few of the women jeered, making ugly remarks about how she wasn't going to be so pretty soon.
A heavy beam of wood had been dragged to her side. The 6"x6" beam was about 5 feet long and rough cut. She was forced by the guards to pick the beam up to her shoulders, and several loops of rope secured the beam to her outstretched arms. She realized that this beam was part of the cross that would kill her, and that she was being forced to carry it to the execution hill, just outside of the city gates. It was heavy, and her loss of blood made her weak. As she sank down to her knees, another lash of the whip cut across her lower back, and she struggled back to her feet and began walking.
The cross beam held her arms up and out, and she was unable to cover her naked breasts. The crowd made way for her as she walked, and with each effort-filled step her breasts bobbed slightly. She could see everyone observing, seeing her nakedness, and she hung her head. Her long hair covered her face and prevented anyone from seeing her mental anguish as she trudged on.
Before long they crowd had followed Arana all the way to the bottom of the hill. The lash encouraged her up the low slope to the top, which rose only about 10 feet or so above the road below. The hill was a gentle one, with a large open area at the top. The guards kept the crowd from surging to the top of the hill, but they were still only a few feet away when Arana collapsed on her back, looking up at the blue, hot sky with her arms still stretched out, tied to the beam that would be with her until her death. She lay panting, trying to ignore the crowds as they pushed forward to look at her pain.
She lay recovering from the exhausting trek out of the city. The sky remained blue above her as she rested on the ground and stared up. Until, that is, the vision of the centurion, the leader of the guards, appeared above her. What remained of her clothing was yanked and pulled, tearing and sliding down. She struggled, trying to keep them from removing her last protection from exposing herself completely, but it was no use. The cloth tore away and she felt the breeze slide across her bare skin. The exposure of her breasts had been nothing. Her sex was now exposed for all the city to see as she lay on the ground.
Rough hands forced her legs apart and she felt something pushing between them. Moments later she was penetrated and she looked up to see the face of the centurion above her as he shoved himself deep within her. She cried out in humiliation and fear as he thrust repeatedly. Unable to get away or to really fight back because she was tied to the heavy beam, Arana simply wriggled beneath the heavy soldier as he raped her. This excited the watching crowd. Several of the guards had positioned themselves so that they could see the penetration clearly.
When the centurion finally grunted and thrust to a climax, a small cheer went up. It had been a good show, one that most of the guards and men in the crowd wished they could duplicate. Arana was shapely and beautiful, very enticing as she lay tied and on the ground, legs slightly spread exposing her sex for all to see. She realized in a moment that the rape was over, and brought her legs together, trying to regain some tiny bit of privacy. She turned her head and sobbed quietly.
The time had come, and several of the soldiers approached Arana where she lay on the ground. One held her from moving by holding her chest (and feeling her breasts as he did). Another turned her arm wrist up, ready for nailing. The third took a long spike and positioned the point against the palm of her hand. The spike was pressed against the heel of her palm, just before the wrist, and angled in slightly.
Arana looked in disbelief as the heavy mallet was raised high and then came down with a force that drove the spike into her flesh and into the bones at the meeting of the hand and wrist. The sound of the thunk was echoed by the squishing sound of flesh and cracking of bones as the spike shattered her hand. Pain worse than anything she had felt before suddenly shot from her wrist up her arm and into her back as nerves were smashed and pushed aside. Her screams cut the air once again as she began to kick and jerk, trying to get free.
The crowd gathered closer to watch the involuntary writhing of the condemned from the intense pain. Screams filled the air, drowning out the satisfied murmering of the citizens gathered to watch Arana's humiliating execution. Two more thunks from the huge mallet and the spike was through her hand and embedded deep in the wood beneath. The soldiers let go and Arana instinctively tried to free her arm, but the shattering of nerves kept her from controlling or manipulating her hand. Pulling just ground the spike against bone and nerves, making her scream again, and she quickly stopped.
The other arm was turned and exposed. The crowd shifted their focus to Arana's other side as they watched the careful placement of the spike, the pitiful cries from the condemned girl as her bare chest heaved in sobs, and the hammer rising up. A few of the men in the audience pushed for position as they discretely touched themselves. Seeing Arana's naked body was enough to arouse any man, but seeing her writhe was simply too much for some.
The second spike sliced through and crushed Arana's hand as the first had, separating bone and mangling nerves in a way designed to cause agony. The crowd observed the torture of the condemned as she jerked and convulsed, both hands now firmly affixed to the patibulum. There was no longer any need to hold her in place.
Arana was a tall, thin girl of mixed Roman and Greek descent known as being the most beautiful woman in the city. Her legs were lean and muscular, breasts perfectly formed, with a thin waist that emphasized her hips. Men in the city had all looked and dreamt of her for several years, and she knew it. Her dark brunette hair was always washed, smooth, and the envy of all the women.
The brief trial was attended heavily. Word was spread that Arana was on trial for sedition against the empire, and her fame drew every man that could afford the time to attend. They hoped for a glimpse of the beauty, perhaps stripped to the waist for a whipping or some other punishment. Such a spectacle would provide masturbation fodder for weeks to come.
Arana had been shaking with fear as the charges were read; her legal representation, a former lover, failed to counter most of the charges and the judge deliberated only a moment before announcing the death sentence.
Crucifixion. Immediately.
Arana felt the room wobble and then go black as she fainted and fell on the floor. When she awoke, her wrists were bound tightly and she was hanging from the city whipping post in the center square. She was desperately thirsty, for the sun beat down and she was sweating profusely. The ropes bit deeply into her wrists, and a smear of blood stained the rough fiber as she wriggled.
She quickly forgot about her gradually numbing hands as she surveyed the huge crowd that had gathered for the traditional pre-crucifixion scourging. It seemed the entire town had come to see her pain. Their eyes stared at her, filled with lust, hate, fear, love, desire... so many emotions. All eyes focused intently on her, waiting for her pain to fulfill or shock them. Tears sprang to her eyes as she sobbed. Her cries caused a stir in the crowd. Many sighed, some laughed or ridiculed her, a few seemed upset. By far, the most common reaction was cheering, as if her tears fed some desire or lust.
A rough hand grabbed her toga from behind and yanked, jerking her back, yanking her suspended wrists tightly, tearing the cloth of her clothes downward. The cloth ripped and fell away from her back, exposing the smooth flesh in preparation for the lash.
"The front," "More, more!" "Tear the cloth away," "Expose her!" the crowd cried. Arana sobbed in humiliation as the executioner tore the front of her shift away, exposing her dangling breasts. The crowd cheered at the site of the perfectly sized lobes projected on either side of the whipping post, nipples pointed straight out, curves sloping down and around in a half oval that met her chest beneath with perfect smoothness. Arana closed her eyes tightly, feeling the open air brushing against her bare flesh, trying to shut out the cheering and drooling crowd.
Without warning, the lash slashed out and pain exploded across the flesh of her back and shoulders. Arana screamed and arched her back. The crowd made a uniform noise, as if they all had taken in a breath at the same time. As the lash struck her again, Arana felt her body involuntarily wriggling, trying to get away but unable to move more than a few inches. She looked out across the sea of faces. So many of them were men, men she knew, and most were looking on with lust, desire, enjoyment.
The scourge continued to strike her, again and again, and Arana looked at the pleasure that her pain and screams were providing for so many in the crowds. She became aware of how they reacted when she moved as the whip made her struggle, and when she did the crowd seemed to follow and enjoy her movements. Her body had been used as a tool in the past, enticing and teasing men. Now its agony was providing pleasure to men and women alike.
For the women were also looking on with delight. The knotted leather of the scourge sliced across her flesh once again, licking the side of her right breast. As she jumped and sagged to the left, Arana saw that a number of the women in the crowd were talking excitedly amongst themselves, smiling and even laughing at her uncontrollable jerking. Arana lowered her eyes and bit her lip, unable to look at the whole town viewing her naked breasts, and her body reacting to the pain of the lash.
When the whipping was over, they unhooked her arms from the whipping post, allowing her to collapse at its base. She curled slightly, crying softly. Her back was wet and the blood was already caking as it mixed with the dirt on the ground.
She wasn't allowed to rest. Moments after falling to the ground, she was heaved up and made to stand, bare from the waist up, in the middle of the city square. She tried to hide her naked breasts by bringing her arms up, holding the shreds of cloth from her torn shift. Those in the front of the crowd saw her attempt at modesty and laughed. A few of the women jeered, making ugly remarks about how she wasn't going to be so pretty soon.
A heavy beam of wood had been dragged to her side. The 6"x6" beam was about 5 feet long and rough cut. She was forced by the guards to pick the beam up to her shoulders, and several loops of rope secured the beam to her outstretched arms. She realized that this beam was part of the cross that would kill her, and that she was being forced to carry it to the execution hill, just outside of the city gates. It was heavy, and her loss of blood made her weak. As she sank down to her knees, another lash of the whip cut across her lower back, and she struggled back to her feet and began walking.
The cross beam held her arms up and out, and she was unable to cover her naked breasts. The crowd made way for her as she walked, and with each effort-filled step her breasts bobbed slightly. She could see everyone observing, seeing her nakedness, and she hung her head. Her long hair covered her face and prevented anyone from seeing her mental anguish as she trudged on.
Before long they crowd had followed Arana all the way to the bottom of the hill. The lash encouraged her up the low slope to the top, which rose only about 10 feet or so above the road below. The hill was a gentle one, with a large open area at the top. The guards kept the crowd from surging to the top of the hill, but they were still only a few feet away when Arana collapsed on her back, looking up at the blue, hot sky with her arms still stretched out, tied to the beam that would be with her until her death. She lay panting, trying to ignore the crowds as they pushed forward to look at her pain.
She lay recovering from the exhausting trek out of the city. The sky remained blue above her as she rested on the ground and stared up. Until, that is, the vision of the centurion, the leader of the guards, appeared above her. What remained of her clothing was yanked and pulled, tearing and sliding down. She struggled, trying to keep them from removing her last protection from exposing herself completely, but it was no use. The cloth tore away and she felt the breeze slide across her bare skin. The exposure of her breasts had been nothing. Her sex was now exposed for all the city to see as she lay on the ground.
Rough hands forced her legs apart and she felt something pushing between them. Moments later she was penetrated and she looked up to see the face of the centurion above her as he shoved himself deep within her. She cried out in humiliation and fear as he thrust repeatedly. Unable to get away or to really fight back because she was tied to the heavy beam, Arana simply wriggled beneath the heavy soldier as he raped her. This excited the watching crowd. Several of the guards had positioned themselves so that they could see the penetration clearly.
When the centurion finally grunted and thrust to a climax, a small cheer went up. It had been a good show, one that most of the guards and men in the crowd wished they could duplicate. Arana was shapely and beautiful, very enticing as she lay tied and on the ground, legs slightly spread exposing her sex for all to see. She realized in a moment that the rape was over, and brought her legs together, trying to regain some tiny bit of privacy. She turned her head and sobbed quietly.
The time had come, and several of the soldiers approached Arana where she lay on the ground. One held her from moving by holding her chest (and feeling her breasts as he did). Another turned her arm wrist up, ready for nailing. The third took a long spike and positioned the point against the palm of her hand. The spike was pressed against the heel of her palm, just before the wrist, and angled in slightly.
Arana looked in disbelief as the heavy mallet was raised high and then came down with a force that drove the spike into her flesh and into the bones at the meeting of the hand and wrist. The sound of the thunk was echoed by the squishing sound of flesh and cracking of bones as the spike shattered her hand. Pain worse than anything she had felt before suddenly shot from her wrist up her arm and into her back as nerves were smashed and pushed aside. Her screams cut the air once again as she began to kick and jerk, trying to get free.
The crowd gathered closer to watch the involuntary writhing of the condemned from the intense pain. Screams filled the air, drowning out the satisfied murmering of the citizens gathered to watch Arana's humiliating execution. Two more thunks from the huge mallet and the spike was through her hand and embedded deep in the wood beneath. The soldiers let go and Arana instinctively tried to free her arm, but the shattering of nerves kept her from controlling or manipulating her hand. Pulling just ground the spike against bone and nerves, making her scream again, and she quickly stopped.
The other arm was turned and exposed. The crowd shifted their focus to Arana's other side as they watched the careful placement of the spike, the pitiful cries from the condemned girl as her bare chest heaved in sobs, and the hammer rising up. A few of the men in the audience pushed for position as they discretely touched themselves. Seeing Arana's naked body was enough to arouse any man, but seeing her writhe was simply too much for some.
The second spike sliced through and crushed Arana's hand as the first had, separating bone and mangling nerves in a way designed to cause agony. The crowd observed the torture of the condemned as she jerked and convulsed, both hands now firmly affixed to the patibulum. There was no longer any need to hold her in place.
TerriT
Assistant executioner
The long wooden post of the cross stood already embedded in place. Crucifixions were frequent enough that the soldiers didn't want to be constantly digging holes and raising the crosses. Instead, ladders were placed against the stipes and Arana was slowly dragged upright by two soldiers lifting the patibulum higher up the post. As she was dragged back and up, her legs kicked and struggled, flopping about uselessly. The crowd sighed in approval at her fight, which made the sight of her crucifixion and ordeal more exciting. Her slim thighs stretched and flexed, the muscles trying to gain a vantage to relieve the pull from the ever rising beam which dragged her nailed wrists higher and higher, until her feet were pulled off the ground and she merely kicked in the air.
The cross beam was set in place and the soldiers that had lifted the poor girl into place descended. Arana now hung from her nailed wrists, her whole body weight born by the spikes which secured her to the wood. While she struggled, the pain was almost too much for her, and her struggles subsided as they simply jerked the spikes against the torn nerves of her wrists and caused even more agony. She began to go limp, as the pain overcame her.
To help her a little, two soldiers grabbed her ankles and lifted her legs. She hardly struggled now and it was easy for them to bend her legs to spread apart at the knees and cross her feet, one over the other. A third spike was brought and placed at the top of the foot, just below the ankle. The heavy hammer was raised again and slammed down on the spike, driving it through her top foot and through until it penetrated the bottom one. Arana screamed yet again, this new agony filling the bottom half of her body, and as the hammer struck again and again, driving the nail through her delicate bones and mangling equally delicate nerves, she lost consciousness.
A bucket of water was brought and dumped over Arana's head. The water revived her, as well as making her naked flesh glisten in the bright afternoon sun. She cried out as if waking from a bad dream and began a weak sort of writhing on the cross.
The nailing of the victim complete, the crowd came closer. Guards prevented them from touching the exposed victim, but for those lucky enough to push their way to the front, the woman's exposed body could be seen in great detail. Her naked breasts bounced slightly from her struggles, and small nipples stood out clearly. Her feet were nailed in such a way that her knees spread to expose her female parts for all to see. Both men and women crowded around now, observing both her body and her movements as she writhed.
The crowd milled, some shocked and unable to come close, but most pushing for their turn to observe the torture of the young woman up close. Those that observed for too long were pushed aside by those that grew tired of waiting.
Arana became agonizingly aware of this process. She was nailed out on display, like an object of curiosity. Her agony and paroxysms of pain were now the public entertainment of the day. Unable to even brush her long hair out of her eyes, she had no choice but to endure every indignity.
A soldier reached up and spread the lips between her legs. A small bit of white fluid trickled out and down her inner thigh. This raised a murmur of appreciation from those closest who surged forward. Arana began to cry as much from the horror of her situation as from the pain.
She was meat. A piece of meat on display, without even the dignity of an animal held in a cage for all to observe. It wasn't just her naked body on display, it was her pain. Her writhing brought appreciative cheers from the crowd.
Arana tried to lift herself on her nailed feet. The pain shot through her ankles and legs as sharply broken bones moved and cut into fresh nerves. She sagged back down quickly, but the weight of her body jerking on her wrists made her scream in agony, to the delight of the crowd. She tried again, stealing herself for the pain and moving higher this time until she was able to lock her knees. In this way she was able to close her legs and obtain a tiny bit of privacy; but it didn't last long. Her strength gave out and she sank back down, once again writhing and crying out in agony as her weight pulled on her wrists.
Flies were gathering around her face, crawling across her lips and eyes. She wanted desperately to brush them away, but could not. They itched, they tickled, they irritated on her face and later between her legs.... but she could do nothing. She endured because she had no choice.
She cried out for mercy. She cried out to be killed. The crowd approved of her cries, but did not want her gone so quickly.
Without realizing it, Arana lost bladder control and a gushing stream of urine descended, catching one of the soldiers off guard. This caused the crowd to roar in amusement. The soldier, angry at being pissed on took a whip and sliced the leather across Arana's breasts leaving a trickling red line.
The amusement proceeded for some time until the sun began to go down. The crowds began to dissipate, the people returning home to tell neighbors of the show and settle in for their evening meal. Arana, of course, would have no meal, for she was to slowly die of starvation, dehydration and exposure, while nailed to a wooden cross, arms wide, legs bent and exposed, suffering for all who wished to see.
Her neighbor wished to see. The girl she had spent many happy days with, a dear friend and confidant, arrived to see the spectacle. She stood at the foot of the cross, inches from where the nail penetrated Arana's feet, observing the hole and trickling blood. Arana looked down and felt a sense of hopelessness and humiliation flood across her as she saw her friend examining her body. She cried out for the mercy of death, but her friend simply observed her more closely, taking the opportunity to walk around the cross and observe Arana's naked buttocks, back, arms, and her ribs as they stood out from under the stretched flesh of her elongated body.
The soldiers had become lax as the day went on, and the friend reached out and touched Arana's leg, and then slid her hand up the inside of her thighs. Reaching her female softness, her friend fondled Arana for a while, and then with a sigh turned her back on the victim and left.
Arana's parents came late in the evening. Still completely conscious, Arana was able to discern her mother's form as it climbed the low hill to where she hung. Her parents simply stood and observed for a while, not showing pity or concern, but simply looking at the naked form of their daughter stretched taught and hanging by nails, suffering.
As her parents left, pain erupted in Arana's lower abdomen and she cried out as she lost bowel control. Her parents turned just in time to see Arana release a huge and continual stream of diarrhea which splashed the wooden cross and her legs before splattering on the ground below her. The stench rose and filled Arana's nose, and she screamed in frustration at her complete inability to control even her most basic dignity.
The night was a long one. The condemned looked skyward frequently, watching the stars move across the sky more slowly than could be imagined. She knew death would come, and she prayed for it, quietly, loudly, screaming it out. Yet when the sunrise finally arrived she was frustratingly, horribly alive.
"Please..." she begged in a hoarse voice to a soldier that leaned on the cross below her. He looked up and sighed... left for a while and returned with a spear. Her heart leaped for a moment, thinking that he was going to kill her. Then she saw the sponge on the end as he lifted it to her face. It smelled of wine.
It was a taunt, she knew. The wine would be mixed with vinegar, and was designed to increase her sense of thirst. And yet... it was liquid... she needed it so badly, her body would not let her turn away. She let the sponge be placed immediately next to her lips and slowly she opened her mouth and sucked. The foul taste of the vinegar immediately shriveled her tongue and lips and she turned her head away, more desperately thirsty than ever before.
There was activity below her. Her sense of dignity was almost completely gone, she mostly was just wishing for death as quickly as possible. The activity below turned out to be a wooden spike being shoved through a hole in the stipes, a sedile designed to extend her life in a painful manner. The spike slid through the wood and then up toward her body... and pressed up between her legs. It penetrated. It dug in. It lifted her up. She could feel her weight slowly easing off her wrists but she also found the wooden spike was tearing her insides as it penetrated deep. She tried once again to lift herself on her feet, failed, and fell down on the spike.
She was now impaled by a monster, sharp, wooden phallus. This further humiliation was not only painful, but would prolong her agony and postpone her death. As the day went on, it provided much amusement for the crowd that once again gathered below her. A new torture, livening and making the whole even more fun for everyone but Arana. Once again, her suffering was taking new shapes and providing interesting new experiences for those who observed her so closely.
Consciousness began to leave the crucified girl. She found her awareness of time was slipping and that the faces of those that mocked her in the crowd changed without her seeing people come and go. The pain never left, in fact, parts of her were hurting that hadn't hurt at first. From her feet, the pain extended up her legs to her groin, throughout her abdomen, her chest and back cramps, arms on fire from nerve damage and finally her head throbbed with pressure as if it would explode.
As she slipped into a final unconsciousness, she saw one of the soldiers looking up at her naked body and masturbating. As he moaned and jerked, and finally spurted over her feet and lower legs, she slipped into darkness and did not return.
She was dead within an hour. She did not feel and was unaware of her last humiliation as her body hung and slowly rotted on the cross for two weeks after that.
Posted by Polly Plummer at 6:15 PM (Monday, January 10, 2011)
The cross beam was set in place and the soldiers that had lifted the poor girl into place descended. Arana now hung from her nailed wrists, her whole body weight born by the spikes which secured her to the wood. While she struggled, the pain was almost too much for her, and her struggles subsided as they simply jerked the spikes against the torn nerves of her wrists and caused even more agony. She began to go limp, as the pain overcame her.
To help her a little, two soldiers grabbed her ankles and lifted her legs. She hardly struggled now and it was easy for them to bend her legs to spread apart at the knees and cross her feet, one over the other. A third spike was brought and placed at the top of the foot, just below the ankle. The heavy hammer was raised again and slammed down on the spike, driving it through her top foot and through until it penetrated the bottom one. Arana screamed yet again, this new agony filling the bottom half of her body, and as the hammer struck again and again, driving the nail through her delicate bones and mangling equally delicate nerves, she lost consciousness.
A bucket of water was brought and dumped over Arana's head. The water revived her, as well as making her naked flesh glisten in the bright afternoon sun. She cried out as if waking from a bad dream and began a weak sort of writhing on the cross.
The nailing of the victim complete, the crowd came closer. Guards prevented them from touching the exposed victim, but for those lucky enough to push their way to the front, the woman's exposed body could be seen in great detail. Her naked breasts bounced slightly from her struggles, and small nipples stood out clearly. Her feet were nailed in such a way that her knees spread to expose her female parts for all to see. Both men and women crowded around now, observing both her body and her movements as she writhed.
The crowd milled, some shocked and unable to come close, but most pushing for their turn to observe the torture of the young woman up close. Those that observed for too long were pushed aside by those that grew tired of waiting.
Arana became agonizingly aware of this process. She was nailed out on display, like an object of curiosity. Her agony and paroxysms of pain were now the public entertainment of the day. Unable to even brush her long hair out of her eyes, she had no choice but to endure every indignity.
A soldier reached up and spread the lips between her legs. A small bit of white fluid trickled out and down her inner thigh. This raised a murmur of appreciation from those closest who surged forward. Arana began to cry as much from the horror of her situation as from the pain.
She was meat. A piece of meat on display, without even the dignity of an animal held in a cage for all to observe. It wasn't just her naked body on display, it was her pain. Her writhing brought appreciative cheers from the crowd.
Arana tried to lift herself on her nailed feet. The pain shot through her ankles and legs as sharply broken bones moved and cut into fresh nerves. She sagged back down quickly, but the weight of her body jerking on her wrists made her scream in agony, to the delight of the crowd. She tried again, stealing herself for the pain and moving higher this time until she was able to lock her knees. In this way she was able to close her legs and obtain a tiny bit of privacy; but it didn't last long. Her strength gave out and she sank back down, once again writhing and crying out in agony as her weight pulled on her wrists.
Flies were gathering around her face, crawling across her lips and eyes. She wanted desperately to brush them away, but could not. They itched, they tickled, they irritated on her face and later between her legs.... but she could do nothing. She endured because she had no choice.
She cried out for mercy. She cried out to be killed. The crowd approved of her cries, but did not want her gone so quickly.
Without realizing it, Arana lost bladder control and a gushing stream of urine descended, catching one of the soldiers off guard. This caused the crowd to roar in amusement. The soldier, angry at being pissed on took a whip and sliced the leather across Arana's breasts leaving a trickling red line.
The amusement proceeded for some time until the sun began to go down. The crowds began to dissipate, the people returning home to tell neighbors of the show and settle in for their evening meal. Arana, of course, would have no meal, for she was to slowly die of starvation, dehydration and exposure, while nailed to a wooden cross, arms wide, legs bent and exposed, suffering for all who wished to see.
Her neighbor wished to see. The girl she had spent many happy days with, a dear friend and confidant, arrived to see the spectacle. She stood at the foot of the cross, inches from where the nail penetrated Arana's feet, observing the hole and trickling blood. Arana looked down and felt a sense of hopelessness and humiliation flood across her as she saw her friend examining her body. She cried out for the mercy of death, but her friend simply observed her more closely, taking the opportunity to walk around the cross and observe Arana's naked buttocks, back, arms, and her ribs as they stood out from under the stretched flesh of her elongated body.
The soldiers had become lax as the day went on, and the friend reached out and touched Arana's leg, and then slid her hand up the inside of her thighs. Reaching her female softness, her friend fondled Arana for a while, and then with a sigh turned her back on the victim and left.
Arana's parents came late in the evening. Still completely conscious, Arana was able to discern her mother's form as it climbed the low hill to where she hung. Her parents simply stood and observed for a while, not showing pity or concern, but simply looking at the naked form of their daughter stretched taught and hanging by nails, suffering.
As her parents left, pain erupted in Arana's lower abdomen and she cried out as she lost bowel control. Her parents turned just in time to see Arana release a huge and continual stream of diarrhea which splashed the wooden cross and her legs before splattering on the ground below her. The stench rose and filled Arana's nose, and she screamed in frustration at her complete inability to control even her most basic dignity.
The night was a long one. The condemned looked skyward frequently, watching the stars move across the sky more slowly than could be imagined. She knew death would come, and she prayed for it, quietly, loudly, screaming it out. Yet when the sunrise finally arrived she was frustratingly, horribly alive.
"Please..." she begged in a hoarse voice to a soldier that leaned on the cross below her. He looked up and sighed... left for a while and returned with a spear. Her heart leaped for a moment, thinking that he was going to kill her. Then she saw the sponge on the end as he lifted it to her face. It smelled of wine.
It was a taunt, she knew. The wine would be mixed with vinegar, and was designed to increase her sense of thirst. And yet... it was liquid... she needed it so badly, her body would not let her turn away. She let the sponge be placed immediately next to her lips and slowly she opened her mouth and sucked. The foul taste of the vinegar immediately shriveled her tongue and lips and she turned her head away, more desperately thirsty than ever before.
There was activity below her. Her sense of dignity was almost completely gone, she mostly was just wishing for death as quickly as possible. The activity below turned out to be a wooden spike being shoved through a hole in the stipes, a sedile designed to extend her life in a painful manner. The spike slid through the wood and then up toward her body... and pressed up between her legs. It penetrated. It dug in. It lifted her up. She could feel her weight slowly easing off her wrists but she also found the wooden spike was tearing her insides as it penetrated deep. She tried once again to lift herself on her feet, failed, and fell down on the spike.
She was now impaled by a monster, sharp, wooden phallus. This further humiliation was not only painful, but would prolong her agony and postpone her death. As the day went on, it provided much amusement for the crowd that once again gathered below her. A new torture, livening and making the whole even more fun for everyone but Arana. Once again, her suffering was taking new shapes and providing interesting new experiences for those who observed her so closely.
Consciousness began to leave the crucified girl. She found her awareness of time was slipping and that the faces of those that mocked her in the crowd changed without her seeing people come and go. The pain never left, in fact, parts of her were hurting that hadn't hurt at first. From her feet, the pain extended up her legs to her groin, throughout her abdomen, her chest and back cramps, arms on fire from nerve damage and finally her head throbbed with pressure as if it would explode.
As she slipped into a final unconsciousness, she saw one of the soldiers looking up at her naked body and masturbating. As he moaned and jerked, and finally spurted over her feet and lower legs, she slipped into darkness and did not return.
She was dead within an hour. She did not feel and was unaware of her last humiliation as her body hung and slowly rotted on the cross for two weeks after that.
Posted by Polly Plummer at 6:15 PM (Monday, January 10, 2011)
TerriT
Assistant executioner
Crucifixion of a Slave
Antonia heard the soldier come into the courtyard and speak with her mistress, Cornelia. They stood in the early morning light that flooded the central square of the house. This wasn't unusual, the master of the house was an important man in their town and there were frequently visits from officials of various kinds. It was a little unusual for the soldier to be speaking with her mistress, however.
Antonia was a beautiful girl with long dark hair and smooth olive skin. One of five slaves in the household she served inside the home cleaning and keeping things in order, as well as serving meals and assisting her owner, the mistress of the house, with dressing and the like. She didn't mind the work too much. Her village had been razed by the Romans when she was only seven and she had been sold into slavery, which had actually been a step up in the world. At 19, she was used to her life as a slave and was happy. She had more to eat and better shelter than when she had been in her village.
Her mistresses voice raised and echoed through the courtyard into the room Antonia was sweeping. "But what am I to be compensated! Isn't it enough I lose one, must I lose them all? How can you tell me this!"
Something was wrong. Cornelia sounded upset and was complaining to the guard about something. She caught the guard saying something about "it's the law" and the Emperor, but nothing else. Their voices faded as they left the central courtyard. Antonia finished cleaning the room and then went to collect some water from the nearby well.
As she trudged to the stone circle a few residences away, two roman soldiers approached her. "Are you Antonia, of the household of Hadrian?"
"Yes. What is it?" Antonia began to feel uneasy. She was a good worker and had never been in trouble and this was the first time a soldier had asked specifically for her. When the two soldiers took her arms, quickly shackling her wrists behind her back, the unease spread to fear.
"What are you doing? I am fetching water for the household, this is my mistresses orders, I am doing nothing wrong! Please, don't hurt me, I am a good servant of Cornelia and Hadrian, and I must return there or they will miss me--"
Her increasingly high, tense voice was cut short when one of the guards hit her in the mouth and said perfunctorily, "Shut up. Your mistress is aware. Come with us."
Walking through the streets of the town with her wrists in irons, between two soldiers, Antonia felt as if every eye was on her. She hung her head, crying quietly, not understanding. Her lips and jaw ached from being punched. A little blood trickled down her chin, but she could do nothing as her hands were shackled securely behind her.
The soldiers took her to a barn at the end of the town, opened the doors, and pushed her inside. The door closed behind her with a rattle. She stood for a moment trying to let her eyes adjust to the relative darkness inside.
"Antonia! Is that you?" It was the voice of Marcus, the strong young man of 21 years that she had recently taken as her lover. Marcus was also a slave in Hadrian's house, though he worked more of the outdoor tasks. Antonia gasped and fell against her lover's chest. His arms were secured behind his back, as well.
"Marcus, what is happening? Why are we here?" Now that her eyes had adjusted, she could see that the barn contained herself, Marcus, Hadrian's other house slave Salus (a tall lean woman of about 30), and Teod, an older male slave that dealt with the horses and was the spouse of Salus. These other slaves from her household were sitting on the floor on the far side of the barn, leaning against each other as if they were very afraid. Their fear installed dread in Antonia.
"Marcus. Where is Septimus?" The dread in Antonia's voice made it shake. She pressed her body against her lover's as if they could meld and somehow make the dread dissipate.
"I don't know Antonia. I haven't seen him since yesterday." Marcus intoned the words as if they were somehow terrible news. "None of us have seen him."
"Gone! Gone is where he is! The little bastard. Spawn of jackals!" The sudden vehemence of Teod's outburst shocked Antonia. At first she didn't comprehend. She might not have liked Septimus, the last of the slaves of the house of Hadrian, but what was it about him that had made Teod hate him so?
Then, with a shaking, quiet voice that belied the horrible fear she felt, Salus spoke. "Escaped. Ran away. Gone and taken some of Cornelia's gold with him. Who knows where he is, though I don't suppose he will get far."
"So we are being kept here because they think we will run away as well? That makes no sense. This is silly! Why are we locked up here?" Antonia did not yet understand, and began speaking quickly, trying to explain away the situation.
Marcus kissed her, and with tears in his eyes, explained what she once had known but long forgotten. "When a slave runs away, they don't just track him down and kill him. They kill all the slaves of his household. Whether they catch him or not, I don't expect us to live much longer."
Antonia went numb for a moment, wishing that Marcus could wrap his arms around her and hold her. She now understand the anger and hatred that came from Teod. Tears welled up in her eyes and slowly trickled down her cheeks as she realized that her time was short, as was the time of her fellow slaves, shackled and held in this barn.
The soldiers returned to the barn about noon, when the sun was high and the heat of the day was climbing. The barn doors opened and several of the soldiers entered. Antonia was able to peek outside and saw more soldiers than she had ever seen in her life. A centurion led them, and was giving instructions. Some of the soldiers were working, doing something she didn't understand off to the side of the building.
Four of the soldiers went over to Salus and Teod and grabbed them. Teod struggled suddenly and violently, trying to break free. Salus cried out as the guards rammed the blunt end of their spears into his body, knocking him breathless to the floor. They then picked him up and dragged him out of the barn, the sobbing Salus being led behind them.
Antonia shivered in fear and hid behind Marcus trying to look small. Four more guards entered the barn and took Marcus. Marcus was the youngest and strongest of the slaves, and they took no chances with him. Swords at the ready, the held him tightly as they guided him out of the barn. A few minutes later they returned for Antonia.
When they first took hold of Antonia, the girl automatically tried to struggle and get away. It was an instinctive reaction, but their strong grip on her arms and a squeeze of her neck quickly reminded her that her thin frame was no match for these warriors. They shoved her out into the noon sun and guided her to the side of the barn where they thrust her down to the ground next to Salus and Teod. Righting herself from having fallen on her stomach, she heard Salus quietly crying next to her. Before them Marcus knelt completely naked, his clothes a shredded mess on the ground. The soldiers had a heavy beam and were tying it to Marcus' arms and shoulders, stretched out.
"What are they doing?" Whispered Antonia to Salus. She didn't answer but Teod said "they are forcing us to carry the instrument of our death to the execution place."
"That wood? What? I don't understand, Teod. Will they crush us with wood beams?"
Toed laughed, "No, dear. They will nail us to the wood beams and hang us out on display. We are being crucified, didn't you know?"
Antonia went numb and sat looking at the dirt under her legs as the soldiers grabbed Teod and dragged him out to the place where Marcus knelt, the heavy beam tilted to one side until it touched the ground. She knew of crucifixion, of course. She had never seen it, though, and had never thought of it as a reality in their town. But here it was, and she was about to suffer the cruelest fate that could be imagined in Roman occupied territory.
Teod struggled against the soldiers as they ripped his clothes off. In response, two soldiers held his arms wide as a third took a long, evil looking whip that had knots tied in the strips of leather and began beating the back of the hapless slave. Teod screamed at the first few strokes, struggling helplessly as red lines formed across his flesh, followed by blood trickling down. The beating continued until Teod was no longer struggling, having fallen to his knees.
Once the fight had been beaten out of him, the soldiers dragged another heavy beam over. Lifting Teod's limp arms up, they wrapped the wood beam to his limbs and shoulders. When they were done and let go of the beam, its weight pulled Teod down to the ground.
Salus was next. Sobbing and struggling ineffectively, her clothes were ripped from her body, exposing her breasts which bobbled as she struggled, and then her hips and the soft hair between her legs. The lips of her womanhood could be clearly seen outlined against the bright sun behind her. A few strokes of the whip brought forth some agonized screams from the woman before the rough men tied the beam to her arms and shoulders. It was very heavy for her and she fell to the ground immediately.
Antonia had been looking at this scene with fear that overwhelmed her senses. She could not believe what was happening; she was numb inside, and while tears rolled down her cheeks she did not resist when the soldiers lifted her up and dragged her next to the naked Salus. But, when she felt rough hands grab her clothing and begin tearing it off, she instinctively pulled away. With a rough shove, she was placed over a wooden hitching post and the whip sliced through her clothes to bite into her back. The pain was so sudden, so biting, that she screamed until every bit of air was gone from her lungs. Moments later she felt the cool breeze against her skin, and she knew she was naked.
One soldier held her arms stretched out before her as she was bent over the wooden hitching post; he did not release her. She knew that a beam would soon be tied to her arms like her beloved Marcus, but it wasn't happening... she waited, wondering, crying.
Antonia heard the soldier come into the courtyard and speak with her mistress, Cornelia. They stood in the early morning light that flooded the central square of the house. This wasn't unusual, the master of the house was an important man in their town and there were frequently visits from officials of various kinds. It was a little unusual for the soldier to be speaking with her mistress, however.
Antonia was a beautiful girl with long dark hair and smooth olive skin. One of five slaves in the household she served inside the home cleaning and keeping things in order, as well as serving meals and assisting her owner, the mistress of the house, with dressing and the like. She didn't mind the work too much. Her village had been razed by the Romans when she was only seven and she had been sold into slavery, which had actually been a step up in the world. At 19, she was used to her life as a slave and was happy. She had more to eat and better shelter than when she had been in her village.
Her mistresses voice raised and echoed through the courtyard into the room Antonia was sweeping. "But what am I to be compensated! Isn't it enough I lose one, must I lose them all? How can you tell me this!"
Something was wrong. Cornelia sounded upset and was complaining to the guard about something. She caught the guard saying something about "it's the law" and the Emperor, but nothing else. Their voices faded as they left the central courtyard. Antonia finished cleaning the room and then went to collect some water from the nearby well.
As she trudged to the stone circle a few residences away, two roman soldiers approached her. "Are you Antonia, of the household of Hadrian?"
"Yes. What is it?" Antonia began to feel uneasy. She was a good worker and had never been in trouble and this was the first time a soldier had asked specifically for her. When the two soldiers took her arms, quickly shackling her wrists behind her back, the unease spread to fear.
"What are you doing? I am fetching water for the household, this is my mistresses orders, I am doing nothing wrong! Please, don't hurt me, I am a good servant of Cornelia and Hadrian, and I must return there or they will miss me--"
Her increasingly high, tense voice was cut short when one of the guards hit her in the mouth and said perfunctorily, "Shut up. Your mistress is aware. Come with us."
Walking through the streets of the town with her wrists in irons, between two soldiers, Antonia felt as if every eye was on her. She hung her head, crying quietly, not understanding. Her lips and jaw ached from being punched. A little blood trickled down her chin, but she could do nothing as her hands were shackled securely behind her.
The soldiers took her to a barn at the end of the town, opened the doors, and pushed her inside. The door closed behind her with a rattle. She stood for a moment trying to let her eyes adjust to the relative darkness inside.
"Antonia! Is that you?" It was the voice of Marcus, the strong young man of 21 years that she had recently taken as her lover. Marcus was also a slave in Hadrian's house, though he worked more of the outdoor tasks. Antonia gasped and fell against her lover's chest. His arms were secured behind his back, as well.
"Marcus, what is happening? Why are we here?" Now that her eyes had adjusted, she could see that the barn contained herself, Marcus, Hadrian's other house slave Salus (a tall lean woman of about 30), and Teod, an older male slave that dealt with the horses and was the spouse of Salus. These other slaves from her household were sitting on the floor on the far side of the barn, leaning against each other as if they were very afraid. Their fear installed dread in Antonia.
"Marcus. Where is Septimus?" The dread in Antonia's voice made it shake. She pressed her body against her lover's as if they could meld and somehow make the dread dissipate.
"I don't know Antonia. I haven't seen him since yesterday." Marcus intoned the words as if they were somehow terrible news. "None of us have seen him."
"Gone! Gone is where he is! The little bastard. Spawn of jackals!" The sudden vehemence of Teod's outburst shocked Antonia. At first she didn't comprehend. She might not have liked Septimus, the last of the slaves of the house of Hadrian, but what was it about him that had made Teod hate him so?
Then, with a shaking, quiet voice that belied the horrible fear she felt, Salus spoke. "Escaped. Ran away. Gone and taken some of Cornelia's gold with him. Who knows where he is, though I don't suppose he will get far."
"So we are being kept here because they think we will run away as well? That makes no sense. This is silly! Why are we locked up here?" Antonia did not yet understand, and began speaking quickly, trying to explain away the situation.
Marcus kissed her, and with tears in his eyes, explained what she once had known but long forgotten. "When a slave runs away, they don't just track him down and kill him. They kill all the slaves of his household. Whether they catch him or not, I don't expect us to live much longer."
Antonia went numb for a moment, wishing that Marcus could wrap his arms around her and hold her. She now understand the anger and hatred that came from Teod. Tears welled up in her eyes and slowly trickled down her cheeks as she realized that her time was short, as was the time of her fellow slaves, shackled and held in this barn.
The soldiers returned to the barn about noon, when the sun was high and the heat of the day was climbing. The barn doors opened and several of the soldiers entered. Antonia was able to peek outside and saw more soldiers than she had ever seen in her life. A centurion led them, and was giving instructions. Some of the soldiers were working, doing something she didn't understand off to the side of the building.
Four of the soldiers went over to Salus and Teod and grabbed them. Teod struggled suddenly and violently, trying to break free. Salus cried out as the guards rammed the blunt end of their spears into his body, knocking him breathless to the floor. They then picked him up and dragged him out of the barn, the sobbing Salus being led behind them.
Antonia shivered in fear and hid behind Marcus trying to look small. Four more guards entered the barn and took Marcus. Marcus was the youngest and strongest of the slaves, and they took no chances with him. Swords at the ready, the held him tightly as they guided him out of the barn. A few minutes later they returned for Antonia.
When they first took hold of Antonia, the girl automatically tried to struggle and get away. It was an instinctive reaction, but their strong grip on her arms and a squeeze of her neck quickly reminded her that her thin frame was no match for these warriors. They shoved her out into the noon sun and guided her to the side of the barn where they thrust her down to the ground next to Salus and Teod. Righting herself from having fallen on her stomach, she heard Salus quietly crying next to her. Before them Marcus knelt completely naked, his clothes a shredded mess on the ground. The soldiers had a heavy beam and were tying it to Marcus' arms and shoulders, stretched out.
"What are they doing?" Whispered Antonia to Salus. She didn't answer but Teod said "they are forcing us to carry the instrument of our death to the execution place."
"That wood? What? I don't understand, Teod. Will they crush us with wood beams?"
Toed laughed, "No, dear. They will nail us to the wood beams and hang us out on display. We are being crucified, didn't you know?"
Antonia went numb and sat looking at the dirt under her legs as the soldiers grabbed Teod and dragged him out to the place where Marcus knelt, the heavy beam tilted to one side until it touched the ground. She knew of crucifixion, of course. She had never seen it, though, and had never thought of it as a reality in their town. But here it was, and she was about to suffer the cruelest fate that could be imagined in Roman occupied territory.
Teod struggled against the soldiers as they ripped his clothes off. In response, two soldiers held his arms wide as a third took a long, evil looking whip that had knots tied in the strips of leather and began beating the back of the hapless slave. Teod screamed at the first few strokes, struggling helplessly as red lines formed across his flesh, followed by blood trickling down. The beating continued until Teod was no longer struggling, having fallen to his knees.
Once the fight had been beaten out of him, the soldiers dragged another heavy beam over. Lifting Teod's limp arms up, they wrapped the wood beam to his limbs and shoulders. When they were done and let go of the beam, its weight pulled Teod down to the ground.
Salus was next. Sobbing and struggling ineffectively, her clothes were ripped from her body, exposing her breasts which bobbled as she struggled, and then her hips and the soft hair between her legs. The lips of her womanhood could be clearly seen outlined against the bright sun behind her. A few strokes of the whip brought forth some agonized screams from the woman before the rough men tied the beam to her arms and shoulders. It was very heavy for her and she fell to the ground immediately.
Antonia had been looking at this scene with fear that overwhelmed her senses. She could not believe what was happening; she was numb inside, and while tears rolled down her cheeks she did not resist when the soldiers lifted her up and dragged her next to the naked Salus. But, when she felt rough hands grab her clothing and begin tearing it off, she instinctively pulled away. With a rough shove, she was placed over a wooden hitching post and the whip sliced through her clothes to bite into her back. The pain was so sudden, so biting, that she screamed until every bit of air was gone from her lungs. Moments later she felt the cool breeze against her skin, and she knew she was naked.
One soldier held her arms stretched out before her as she was bent over the wooden hitching post; he did not release her. She knew that a beam would soon be tied to her arms like her beloved Marcus, but it wasn't happening... she waited, wondering, crying.
TerriT
Assistant executioner
A rough boot kicked the insides of her shins, knocking them farther apart. A soldier stood behind her, she felt him press up against her buttocks and then felt his erection as it probed between her legs. She twisted her hips to try and move away but the heavy boots kicked her legs almost out from under her and she settled her stomach on the hitching post with a loud "ooooooof". The soldiers cock pushed hard, separating the soft flesh of her sex and painfully penetrating her dry vagina. The soldier began thrusting hard, each thrust a pain but as he thrust the pain subsided and Antonia felt her body reacting to the sex. She could not help it, her body lubricated itself and her hips thrust against the probing soldier behind her. Hands grabbed her dangling breasts and held them, squeezing her nipples painfully as they swelled and the soldiers thrusts became more urgent.
It was over fairly quickly, with a jerking spasm and loud moaning grunt, the soldier ejaculated his seed into the slave. She hung her head in shame at having been publicly used this way, and that her body had betrayed her and actually enjoyed it. She had mated with Marcus, of course, but he had been the only one. Until now.
Still the soldier held her arms, forcing her to bend over the hitching post rail. How could this be? Antonia wondered, what more they could do to her before killing her? The answer came as another soldier pressed behind her and as she cried out in desperation, "NO!", entered her now slick and lubricated vagina with a single thrust. This man had a smaller penis than the last, but was more eager and thrust harder; Antonia's hips and stomach were jammed against the wooden rail as the enthusiastic soldier pushed over and over again using deep and hard strokes. He also shuddered and spurt his semen inside of her, and then as he pulled out laughed and joined in a cheer with other soldiers.
And so it went on. After a few more men, the soldier holding her arms became tired and wanted his turn. He reached his hand down to take some of the semen leaking from between her legs and smeared it up to her anus, pushing it in and using it as a lubricant before he thrust his member deep inside her buttocks. Antonia did not react any more other than to continue crying with dry tears; at times grunting from the air being squeezed from her lungs from the violence of the sex that was thrust upon her from behind. The men liked to hear her grunt; they pushed hard on her.
How many times she was raped, by how many men, she didn't know. She was meat now. Defiled and humiliated. She welcomed death and wished they would kill her quickly. When they were done, they let go of her and she slipped off the hitching rail and down to the ground, motionless. Her face hit the ground and her mouth filled with dirt.
Antonia was aware when the soldiers pulled her arms out on either side of her. Then the heavy beam was laid across her shoulders and rope was wound around her wrists and arms, tying her to the wood. It didn't hurt, though it was heavy; the young slave was still trying to understand what was happening to her and her lover, and the other slaves of her household.
"UP! Stand up! Lift yourselves, get up and stand! Push!" The guard that was in charge, a centurion, was yelling at the slaves. Antonia heard the crack of the whip and Salus screamed once again. Marcus and Teod were grunting and moaning. Then a searing pain streaked across Antonia's lower back as the whip sliced her skin open. She screamed again, but could hear the centurion demanding "Up, whore! Stand up. Lift the cross! We march through town now!"
Antonia struggled and tried to lift the heavy wood beam, but could not. After a moments trying, two of the guards lifted the ends of the beam allowing her to stand and get it balanced. They let go, and the weight bore down on her, almost too much to bear. But if she kept it balanced she could remain standing and if she bent slightly she took most of the weight on her shoulders and was able to lift. It was the heaviest thing she had ever had to carry, and it surprised her that she could. The searing pain of the whip inspired her to expend more strength than she ever knew she had.
"March! Forward!" The crack of the whip again, a grunt from Marcus and the four of them began walking, staggering, down the street. Antonia saw Marcus' naked form walking in front of her, his strong legs and back holding up the beam. Even with all that was happening, she could not help but be aroused and think of Marcus making love to her. She loved him so, and felt herself becoming aroused watching him walked naked before her.
Her own nudity did not bother her until they walked through the central square of town. There many people had gathered, especially men, and they were watching and commenting, even calling out to the four slaves on their death walk. The men shouted out lewd comments to her, commenting on her breasts (which dangled before her as she was hunched over carrying the heavy beam on her shoulders), and her buttocks. In fact, it was clear they were observing every part of her body and this made Antonia flush with humiliation. She staggered and could not help but spread her legs as she walked in order to keep the beam stable.
Every once in a while, one of the slaves would slump down, or fall; this always resulted in the whip biting deep into their body. Marcus' back was covered with red stripes, and Antonia felt her ass and legs burning like fire from the repeated kiss of the leather. Each time the whip struck her, a cheer rose from the crowd, which humiliated her even more. Black despair covered her mind and body, and she sank to her knees in the dirt.
Two guards lifted the beam up and the centurion whipped Antonia mercilessly. She screamed and struggled but no matter how she moved her body remained exposed to the hissing leather that wrapped around her, delivering pain worse than she had ever experienced. The crowd was pleased with this show, Antonia's flesh rippled and sweat from her skin spread in a fine mist as the leather struck her. The tip of the whip found her breasts, caressing a nipple. Her helpless, exposed body jerked and exposed itself to the fascinated crowd.
Finally, the whipping stopped. She was dragged forward, the two guards holding the ends of the beam moving along the street until they reached a small hill just outside the town. There, Antonia fell to the ground, exhausted and unable to struggle further.
She lay in the hot sun for some time, hearing the soldiers working nearby. Without warning, there was a scream. Antonia turned her head and lifted it, looking through the straggled hair which hung before her face to see what was happening. Salus was on her back, arms stretched out against the beam, and four or five soldiers were holding her down as she struggled and screamed again. One soldier was lifting a hammer, which descended and struck something, causing Salus to scream. This went on for a while, though Antonia could not see exactly what was happening.
Finally, the soldiers stood and began lifting Salus' wooden beam and Antonia could see what had happened. As Salus was slowly raised, Antonia saw that her arms had been nailed to the wood beneath her, and the heavy beam was now attached to the upright of the cross. The spikes which held Salus spread wide were barely visible, they had been pounded in all the way; there was some blood trickling from the wounds, but not much.
Antonia struggled to go to Salus, not thinking but reacting with instinct to try and help. It was difficult to lift the heavy beam but she got up into a kneeling position just as Salus' cross slipped into a hole that had been dug just below her feet. The sudden drop of about two feet jerked to a stop and Salus' body was jerked down on the cross as well, causing yet another agonized scream from the crucified slave. Her face was contorted in suffering, the weight of her body hung from her outstretched arms and the nails that held her in place. She sobbed and cried out as she hung from the wood.
A yell interrupted her attention from Salus and she turned slightly. A few feet from her was Marcus. There were six soldiers holding him down, and two were pounding spikes into his wrists. She could see this clearly this time; the spikes positioned at the wrists, and the hammer suddenly driving them into the soft flesh. His arms bloated and twisted slightly as Marcus screamed at the horrible pain of the spikes spreading and cracking his wrist bones. He also struggled, but to no avail. His naked body was shiny with sweat, and Antonia could not help but think of when he had lain next to her, and inside her. She wished she could help him now, she would give her life for him, but instead she fell to the ground, unable to keep the heavy wood beam up any longer.
She saw Marcus raised into position, heard his cries mingled with those of Salus. She called out to him, cried for him, begged the soldiers for mercy for him. Instead, the soldiers came to her, untied her from the beam and pulled her over to the upright of another cross. A few well placed nails attached her own crossbeam to the cross's upright and she was dragged, struggling once again, and thrown down on her back on top of the splintered wood of the cross.
Antonia was small and thin, and so only three soldiers attended her nailing. Her left arm was first. Stretched out but not to it's limit, a soldier took her arm and positioned the wrist facing up. He held the wrist in place as he took a spike and pressed the point into a place just above the palm of her hand, at the wrist. Antonia watched this and felt the point of the spike as it was positioned. A wave of panic came over her and she struggled and screamed in fear as she watched the hammer go up and then descend.
Her arm exploded in pain as the spike cut through the flesh, tendons and muscle of her wrist. A second blow of the hammer and the pain increased to a horrible, ghastly level and she saw spots in front of her eyes as the pain gripped her. The third blow and the spike was through and into the wood. With the fourth blow the nail was in, and her left arm was firmly fastened to her cross.
The process was repeated with her right arm. She looked over in panic and tried to struggle. The soldiers held her down, their hands pressing her naked flesh and groping her breasts as they did. The hammer drove the spike in and she nearly fainted from the agony that was spreading across her arms to encompass her shoulders. Her voice was hoarse and worn from constant screaming, but she couldn't stop. Her mind could no longer remember who she was, what she had done, why this was happening; the pain flooded her mind and pushed everything else out.
It was over fairly quickly, with a jerking spasm and loud moaning grunt, the soldier ejaculated his seed into the slave. She hung her head in shame at having been publicly used this way, and that her body had betrayed her and actually enjoyed it. She had mated with Marcus, of course, but he had been the only one. Until now.
Still the soldier held her arms, forcing her to bend over the hitching post rail. How could this be? Antonia wondered, what more they could do to her before killing her? The answer came as another soldier pressed behind her and as she cried out in desperation, "NO!", entered her now slick and lubricated vagina with a single thrust. This man had a smaller penis than the last, but was more eager and thrust harder; Antonia's hips and stomach were jammed against the wooden rail as the enthusiastic soldier pushed over and over again using deep and hard strokes. He also shuddered and spurt his semen inside of her, and then as he pulled out laughed and joined in a cheer with other soldiers.
And so it went on. After a few more men, the soldier holding her arms became tired and wanted his turn. He reached his hand down to take some of the semen leaking from between her legs and smeared it up to her anus, pushing it in and using it as a lubricant before he thrust his member deep inside her buttocks. Antonia did not react any more other than to continue crying with dry tears; at times grunting from the air being squeezed from her lungs from the violence of the sex that was thrust upon her from behind. The men liked to hear her grunt; they pushed hard on her.
How many times she was raped, by how many men, she didn't know. She was meat now. Defiled and humiliated. She welcomed death and wished they would kill her quickly. When they were done, they let go of her and she slipped off the hitching rail and down to the ground, motionless. Her face hit the ground and her mouth filled with dirt.
Antonia was aware when the soldiers pulled her arms out on either side of her. Then the heavy beam was laid across her shoulders and rope was wound around her wrists and arms, tying her to the wood. It didn't hurt, though it was heavy; the young slave was still trying to understand what was happening to her and her lover, and the other slaves of her household.
"UP! Stand up! Lift yourselves, get up and stand! Push!" The guard that was in charge, a centurion, was yelling at the slaves. Antonia heard the crack of the whip and Salus screamed once again. Marcus and Teod were grunting and moaning. Then a searing pain streaked across Antonia's lower back as the whip sliced her skin open. She screamed again, but could hear the centurion demanding "Up, whore! Stand up. Lift the cross! We march through town now!"
Antonia struggled and tried to lift the heavy wood beam, but could not. After a moments trying, two of the guards lifted the ends of the beam allowing her to stand and get it balanced. They let go, and the weight bore down on her, almost too much to bear. But if she kept it balanced she could remain standing and if she bent slightly she took most of the weight on her shoulders and was able to lift. It was the heaviest thing she had ever had to carry, and it surprised her that she could. The searing pain of the whip inspired her to expend more strength than she ever knew she had.
"March! Forward!" The crack of the whip again, a grunt from Marcus and the four of them began walking, staggering, down the street. Antonia saw Marcus' naked form walking in front of her, his strong legs and back holding up the beam. Even with all that was happening, she could not help but be aroused and think of Marcus making love to her. She loved him so, and felt herself becoming aroused watching him walked naked before her.
Her own nudity did not bother her until they walked through the central square of town. There many people had gathered, especially men, and they were watching and commenting, even calling out to the four slaves on their death walk. The men shouted out lewd comments to her, commenting on her breasts (which dangled before her as she was hunched over carrying the heavy beam on her shoulders), and her buttocks. In fact, it was clear they were observing every part of her body and this made Antonia flush with humiliation. She staggered and could not help but spread her legs as she walked in order to keep the beam stable.
Every once in a while, one of the slaves would slump down, or fall; this always resulted in the whip biting deep into their body. Marcus' back was covered with red stripes, and Antonia felt her ass and legs burning like fire from the repeated kiss of the leather. Each time the whip struck her, a cheer rose from the crowd, which humiliated her even more. Black despair covered her mind and body, and she sank to her knees in the dirt.
Two guards lifted the beam up and the centurion whipped Antonia mercilessly. She screamed and struggled but no matter how she moved her body remained exposed to the hissing leather that wrapped around her, delivering pain worse than she had ever experienced. The crowd was pleased with this show, Antonia's flesh rippled and sweat from her skin spread in a fine mist as the leather struck her. The tip of the whip found her breasts, caressing a nipple. Her helpless, exposed body jerked and exposed itself to the fascinated crowd.
Finally, the whipping stopped. She was dragged forward, the two guards holding the ends of the beam moving along the street until they reached a small hill just outside the town. There, Antonia fell to the ground, exhausted and unable to struggle further.
She lay in the hot sun for some time, hearing the soldiers working nearby. Without warning, there was a scream. Antonia turned her head and lifted it, looking through the straggled hair which hung before her face to see what was happening. Salus was on her back, arms stretched out against the beam, and four or five soldiers were holding her down as she struggled and screamed again. One soldier was lifting a hammer, which descended and struck something, causing Salus to scream. This went on for a while, though Antonia could not see exactly what was happening.
Finally, the soldiers stood and began lifting Salus' wooden beam and Antonia could see what had happened. As Salus was slowly raised, Antonia saw that her arms had been nailed to the wood beneath her, and the heavy beam was now attached to the upright of the cross. The spikes which held Salus spread wide were barely visible, they had been pounded in all the way; there was some blood trickling from the wounds, but not much.
Antonia struggled to go to Salus, not thinking but reacting with instinct to try and help. It was difficult to lift the heavy beam but she got up into a kneeling position just as Salus' cross slipped into a hole that had been dug just below her feet. The sudden drop of about two feet jerked to a stop and Salus' body was jerked down on the cross as well, causing yet another agonized scream from the crucified slave. Her face was contorted in suffering, the weight of her body hung from her outstretched arms and the nails that held her in place. She sobbed and cried out as she hung from the wood.
A yell interrupted her attention from Salus and she turned slightly. A few feet from her was Marcus. There were six soldiers holding him down, and two were pounding spikes into his wrists. She could see this clearly this time; the spikes positioned at the wrists, and the hammer suddenly driving them into the soft flesh. His arms bloated and twisted slightly as Marcus screamed at the horrible pain of the spikes spreading and cracking his wrist bones. He also struggled, but to no avail. His naked body was shiny with sweat, and Antonia could not help but think of when he had lain next to her, and inside her. She wished she could help him now, she would give her life for him, but instead she fell to the ground, unable to keep the heavy wood beam up any longer.
She saw Marcus raised into position, heard his cries mingled with those of Salus. She called out to him, cried for him, begged the soldiers for mercy for him. Instead, the soldiers came to her, untied her from the beam and pulled her over to the upright of another cross. A few well placed nails attached her own crossbeam to the cross's upright and she was dragged, struggling once again, and thrown down on her back on top of the splintered wood of the cross.
Antonia was small and thin, and so only three soldiers attended her nailing. Her left arm was first. Stretched out but not to it's limit, a soldier took her arm and positioned the wrist facing up. He held the wrist in place as he took a spike and pressed the point into a place just above the palm of her hand, at the wrist. Antonia watched this and felt the point of the spike as it was positioned. A wave of panic came over her and she struggled and screamed in fear as she watched the hammer go up and then descend.
Her arm exploded in pain as the spike cut through the flesh, tendons and muscle of her wrist. A second blow of the hammer and the pain increased to a horrible, ghastly level and she saw spots in front of her eyes as the pain gripped her. The third blow and the spike was through and into the wood. With the fourth blow the nail was in, and her left arm was firmly fastened to her cross.
The process was repeated with her right arm. She looked over in panic and tried to struggle. The soldiers held her down, their hands pressing her naked flesh and groping her breasts as they did. The hammer drove the spike in and she nearly fainted from the agony that was spreading across her arms to encompass her shoulders. Her voice was hoarse and worn from constant screaming, but she couldn't stop. Her mind could no longer remember who she was, what she had done, why this was happening; the pain flooded her mind and pushed everything else out.
TerriT
Assistant executioner
The sensation of being lifted up brought her awareness back to her surroundings. The pain was horrible, but she was able to understand that she was being lifted into place, to hang from the cross. Her chest heaved and breasts bobbled as she gasped from the pain as her body began sliding down the wood, her back scraped down the upright of the cross, and splinters dug into her, inch after inch. Suddenly, she dropped down and her body descended until it stopped with a jerk that yanked on her arms. The nails held her in place, but the iron tore more muscles and nerves, cracking bone and causing another wave of massive pain as she hung in place, feet dangling, all her weight on her shattered wrists.
Antonia fainted from the pain.
What woke her was another piercing, agonizing pain that originated in her feet. She had little comprehension of what was happening; her legs were bent, her feet pressed against the cross. A horrible pain covered her feet and she tried to look down.
Surprisingly, she was able to see her feet. They had been nailed to the cross with a single spike; her legs were bent at an odd angle that spread her knees apart, exposing herself. She shifted her weight a little to try and ease the pain in her feet and felt a sudden, mind numbing agony from her wrists.
Antonia twisted to the side, trying to relieve the pressure on one of her wrists. Her buttock projected to the side of the cross and her legs twisted in an unnatural manner, causing the nail in her feet to scrape against bone. She screamed, and shifted back, and then screamed again at the nail in her left wrist scraping and pulling apart the shattered bone in her arm. She panted for a moment, trying to get her breath, then tried again, moving carefully in another direction, trying to find a way to minimize the pain. This time, her shoulders and back began cramping terribly and she leaned forward slightly, away from the cross, trying to stretch and relieve the cramps. This caused immediate agony from both wrists and her feet.
In desperation, Antonia thrust herself out, hoping that her weight could dislodge one of her wrists from the spikes. Instead, it just forced her wrists to shred further, with new sensitive tissue tearing and the agony renewing and spreading.
Though she was not aware of it, a crowd had gathered and was watching the four slave's agony on the cross. Antonia was the focus of most of the crowd, partly because she was young and her naked body continued to appear very alluring. It was also because she was writhing on the cross much more actively, twisting and turning, pushing forward and back, all of which excited the crowd. Her breathing, cries and straining caused her chest and breasts, covered with a sheen of sweat, to expand and contract. Her ribs were clearly seen below her flesh, and her breasts bounced from her futile struggles. Her feet were nailed in such a way that her legs spread and all could see her private sex.
The other three slaves were struggling in the same manner, attempting to find some way to lessen the pain. There was no way, of course, the torture of the cross was designed to be relentless, agonizing, and permanent. And yet, there was nothing they could do but try. The pain urged them on, pushing them to struggle, twist and writhe.
When Antonia began to be exhausted and slowed her struggles, she saw that she was positioned directly across from Marcus. Marcus hung from his cross, stretched with flesh taught and muscles pulled so they could be seen clearly. Antonia, in spite of her pain, looked at Marcus with both love and desire. His body looked strong and handsome, even in this terrible position.
And then Antonia saw something else. Her senses were not quite right, but she knew what she was seeing because she had seen it before. Marcus had an erection. His penis was engorged, large and full and hard, sticking straight out and a little up. Antonia wanted Marcus at that moment, though he was several feet away from her and she would never feel his sex again. Antonia lowered her head and hung on the cross in despair.
Marcus was having trouble breathing, and Antonia noticed that she was as well. As she grew exhausted, it became harder to breathe as she hung nailed from the wood. She saw Marcus struggle, and with great pain he lifted himself up on his nailed feet. He cried out in pain, but breathed deeply as he reached a standing position.
As Marcus reached the standing position, Antonia noticed that there was something on Marcus's cross, behind his body. It seemed to be a rod of some sort, just behind his buttocks. He had revealed it when he rose.
Marcus had been given a sedile. But this was not just any sedile, this was a simple rod which extended up and out from the cross, and had been inserted into his anus. Antonia saw that as Marcus rose, the phallic rod slid out of his rectum, almost (but not quite) exiting his anus. When Marcus no longer had the strength to endure the upright position, he sank back down to the hanging position, and the rod sank back inside his bowels.
Antonia struggled to raise herself as well. It was more painful than she had imagined, her feet felt like they were on fire and pain ripped up her legs as she pushed. Pulling on the nails in her wrists, she finally screamed in agony but reached the upright position where she was able to breath a little better. It lasted but a few seconds and she quickly slid back down.
As horrible as the crucifixion dance was for Antonia, it was worse for Marcus. Each time he raised himself up, the sedile slid out; when he slid back down, it impaled him deeply. This motion essentially had Marcus fucking himself, and the subsequent embarrassing sexual arousal could be seen by all. Next to Antonia, Marcus drew the next largest crowd.
The slaves crosses were not tall. Their feet were nailed only a foot or two off the ground, and they hung almost at eye level for the crowd that observed them. The result was an obscene display where the crucified slaves appeared to mingle with the crowd, as if they were a part of the milling excitement themselves. The contrast between two people standing next to each other, one dressed and smiling, the other naked, nailed and in agony was truly vile.
Marcus continued his labored up and down motion, slowly fucking himself until his erection grew larger and harder than Antonia had ever seen it. With a hideous groan of pain and pleasure, his penis jerked and Marcus ejaculated a load of white semen onto the ground below him. The crowd that had been watching almost cheered and seemed extremely excited by this unexpected occurrence.
In the mean time, Antonia's misery had flooded from her wrists down her arms and across her back. Cramps settled into her shoulders and down to her hips. The backs of her legs ached and twitched by themselves while her muscles tried to regain some control and use. She had stopped writhing in place, though she still rose and sank periodically.
Antonia fainted from the pain.
What woke her was another piercing, agonizing pain that originated in her feet. She had little comprehension of what was happening; her legs were bent, her feet pressed against the cross. A horrible pain covered her feet and she tried to look down.
Surprisingly, she was able to see her feet. They had been nailed to the cross with a single spike; her legs were bent at an odd angle that spread her knees apart, exposing herself. She shifted her weight a little to try and ease the pain in her feet and felt a sudden, mind numbing agony from her wrists.
Antonia twisted to the side, trying to relieve the pressure on one of her wrists. Her buttock projected to the side of the cross and her legs twisted in an unnatural manner, causing the nail in her feet to scrape against bone. She screamed, and shifted back, and then screamed again at the nail in her left wrist scraping and pulling apart the shattered bone in her arm. She panted for a moment, trying to get her breath, then tried again, moving carefully in another direction, trying to find a way to minimize the pain. This time, her shoulders and back began cramping terribly and she leaned forward slightly, away from the cross, trying to stretch and relieve the cramps. This caused immediate agony from both wrists and her feet.
In desperation, Antonia thrust herself out, hoping that her weight could dislodge one of her wrists from the spikes. Instead, it just forced her wrists to shred further, with new sensitive tissue tearing and the agony renewing and spreading.
Though she was not aware of it, a crowd had gathered and was watching the four slave's agony on the cross. Antonia was the focus of most of the crowd, partly because she was young and her naked body continued to appear very alluring. It was also because she was writhing on the cross much more actively, twisting and turning, pushing forward and back, all of which excited the crowd. Her breathing, cries and straining caused her chest and breasts, covered with a sheen of sweat, to expand and contract. Her ribs were clearly seen below her flesh, and her breasts bounced from her futile struggles. Her feet were nailed in such a way that her legs spread and all could see her private sex.
The other three slaves were struggling in the same manner, attempting to find some way to lessen the pain. There was no way, of course, the torture of the cross was designed to be relentless, agonizing, and permanent. And yet, there was nothing they could do but try. The pain urged them on, pushing them to struggle, twist and writhe.
When Antonia began to be exhausted and slowed her struggles, she saw that she was positioned directly across from Marcus. Marcus hung from his cross, stretched with flesh taught and muscles pulled so they could be seen clearly. Antonia, in spite of her pain, looked at Marcus with both love and desire. His body looked strong and handsome, even in this terrible position.
And then Antonia saw something else. Her senses were not quite right, but she knew what she was seeing because she had seen it before. Marcus had an erection. His penis was engorged, large and full and hard, sticking straight out and a little up. Antonia wanted Marcus at that moment, though he was several feet away from her and she would never feel his sex again. Antonia lowered her head and hung on the cross in despair.
Marcus was having trouble breathing, and Antonia noticed that she was as well. As she grew exhausted, it became harder to breathe as she hung nailed from the wood. She saw Marcus struggle, and with great pain he lifted himself up on his nailed feet. He cried out in pain, but breathed deeply as he reached a standing position.
As Marcus reached the standing position, Antonia noticed that there was something on Marcus's cross, behind his body. It seemed to be a rod of some sort, just behind his buttocks. He had revealed it when he rose.
Marcus had been given a sedile. But this was not just any sedile, this was a simple rod which extended up and out from the cross, and had been inserted into his anus. Antonia saw that as Marcus rose, the phallic rod slid out of his rectum, almost (but not quite) exiting his anus. When Marcus no longer had the strength to endure the upright position, he sank back down to the hanging position, and the rod sank back inside his bowels.
Antonia struggled to raise herself as well. It was more painful than she had imagined, her feet felt like they were on fire and pain ripped up her legs as she pushed. Pulling on the nails in her wrists, she finally screamed in agony but reached the upright position where she was able to breath a little better. It lasted but a few seconds and she quickly slid back down.
As horrible as the crucifixion dance was for Antonia, it was worse for Marcus. Each time he raised himself up, the sedile slid out; when he slid back down, it impaled him deeply. This motion essentially had Marcus fucking himself, and the subsequent embarrassing sexual arousal could be seen by all. Next to Antonia, Marcus drew the next largest crowd.
The slaves crosses were not tall. Their feet were nailed only a foot or two off the ground, and they hung almost at eye level for the crowd that observed them. The result was an obscene display where the crucified slaves appeared to mingle with the crowd, as if they were a part of the milling excitement themselves. The contrast between two people standing next to each other, one dressed and smiling, the other naked, nailed and in agony was truly vile.
Marcus continued his labored up and down motion, slowly fucking himself until his erection grew larger and harder than Antonia had ever seen it. With a hideous groan of pain and pleasure, his penis jerked and Marcus ejaculated a load of white semen onto the ground below him. The crowd that had been watching almost cheered and seemed extremely excited by this unexpected occurrence.
In the mean time, Antonia's misery had flooded from her wrists down her arms and across her back. Cramps settled into her shoulders and down to her hips. The backs of her legs ached and twitched by themselves while her muscles tried to regain some control and use. She had stopped writhing in place, though she still rose and sank periodically.
TerriT
Assistant executioner
Late in the day, Antonia lost all control over her body functions. It started as she peed, a heavy spray squirting out and down. Some of the crowd was actually caught in the urine flow and rapidly moved away. Her loss of bladder control was followed by a loss of bowel control. A sickening flow of feces was expelled from her buttocks and spread down the lower part of the cross. The smell drove many of the crowd away. Antonia's suffering was steadily increasing, the pain surrounding her entire body and now penetrating it. Her insides were burning and cramping as well as her limbs.
Antonia cried out for mercy with all her strength. She did not know what mercy could be shown, whether she could be killed quickly or released from the hideous cross. She simply had to beg, and beg she did. "Please, please... someone... help me. Kill me, stop this pain, stop this horror!" she sobbed.
A few minutes later a soldier appeared with a large, dripping wet sponge attached to a stick. Some small bit of mercy was being offered to her, and Antonia opened her mouth, took in the sponge and sucked hard. She almost vomited when she tasted the liquid; it was vinegar. Her already parched mouth shrank and shriveled and her thirst double, tripled. A laugh from the soldier, as she realized there was no mercy, there was only agony that would go on forever.
There were a number of slaves in the crowd, brought by owners to show them what happened when a slave tried to escape. Torture, exposure, humiliation, and death awaited them if any one of their number should attempt to run away. This was the real reason that the four slaves were being publicly executed in this horrible manner; as an example to drive fear into the rest of the slave population.
During the evening, many men left their homes and came down to see the crucified as they slowly died. Many men had gather around Antonia. She had always been attractive, and now that she was nailed naked in public, she attracted many of those that had secretly lusted after her. Some of the men, now that the wives and women of the village were home, actually exposed themselves in front of her, using her exposure and agony to arouse themselves. Marcus was not the only one who ejaculated his seed at her feet that evening.
As the night proceeded, Antonia realized the pain from the spikes had almost left her; her wrists and hands were numb, as were her feet. If she moved to raise herself, the pain came back as the nails ground down against new bone and nerves, but the pain eventually subsided into a deep ache across her entire body. The cold of the night penetrated her, and for a while, she shivered uncontrollably.
Near dawn, Antonia's owner, Cornelia, came and stood next to her, carefully studying her. She said nothing, but merely studied Antonia's down turned face. Finally, she reached out, caressed one of Antonia's breasts and then left.
In the morning, it became clear that Salus and Teod were dead. The hung unmoving from their crosses, not attempting to breath. Flies gathered around them in swarms. Many of the flies came to Antonia as well, crawling all over her body, making her itch. She could not scratch, and this new torture, as small as it was, seemed to push her over the edge of madness. Antonia began to babble, drooling saliva down over her neck and breasts. Flies crawled over her face and into her open mouth. She made no attempt to get rid of them.
One of the soldiers posted as a guard came over to Antonia and shooed away the flies. He checked to see if Antonia was alive, pressing his hand to her naked breast, chest and stomach. She was. She reacted to his touch. He in turn felt her nipples, pinching them and watching her jerk. The drool dried; there was no more. Antonia was dehydrating quickly.
"A shame," the soldier said, sliding his hands over Antonia's naked body.
He walked over to Marcus, who was barely breathing. The centurion came over and took a spear and plunged it into Marcus's side, near his heart. Marcus barely jerked at this last violation of his body, and blood flooded out of the wound. A few minutes later he was dead.
Antonia was the last to die. She lasted until that afternoon. She saw her lover, Marcus, as he died. She felt the flies swarm her face, and the leer of the lingering men and soldiers. The agony was throughout all of her throughout the day, cramps in every muscle, hunger and thirst eating her from inside. Her humiliation was complete, as her body was touched by the soldiers at will, her legs spread and arms outstretched in a hideous parody of a woman accepting her lover.
Finally, she lapsed into sweet unconsciousness and hung from the cross, oblivious to all around her. Her last breath came as the sun set on that second day. It was so shallow, no one noticed it.
The four slaves remained nailed to their crosses for several days as a reminder to all of the unforgiving nature and absolute obedience demanded by the Romans.
Posted by Polly Plummer at 10:35 PM (Wednesday, August 31, 2011)
Antonia cried out for mercy with all her strength. She did not know what mercy could be shown, whether she could be killed quickly or released from the hideous cross. She simply had to beg, and beg she did. "Please, please... someone... help me. Kill me, stop this pain, stop this horror!" she sobbed.
A few minutes later a soldier appeared with a large, dripping wet sponge attached to a stick. Some small bit of mercy was being offered to her, and Antonia opened her mouth, took in the sponge and sucked hard. She almost vomited when she tasted the liquid; it was vinegar. Her already parched mouth shrank and shriveled and her thirst double, tripled. A laugh from the soldier, as she realized there was no mercy, there was only agony that would go on forever.
There were a number of slaves in the crowd, brought by owners to show them what happened when a slave tried to escape. Torture, exposure, humiliation, and death awaited them if any one of their number should attempt to run away. This was the real reason that the four slaves were being publicly executed in this horrible manner; as an example to drive fear into the rest of the slave population.
During the evening, many men left their homes and came down to see the crucified as they slowly died. Many men had gather around Antonia. She had always been attractive, and now that she was nailed naked in public, she attracted many of those that had secretly lusted after her. Some of the men, now that the wives and women of the village were home, actually exposed themselves in front of her, using her exposure and agony to arouse themselves. Marcus was not the only one who ejaculated his seed at her feet that evening.
As the night proceeded, Antonia realized the pain from the spikes had almost left her; her wrists and hands were numb, as were her feet. If she moved to raise herself, the pain came back as the nails ground down against new bone and nerves, but the pain eventually subsided into a deep ache across her entire body. The cold of the night penetrated her, and for a while, she shivered uncontrollably.
Near dawn, Antonia's owner, Cornelia, came and stood next to her, carefully studying her. She said nothing, but merely studied Antonia's down turned face. Finally, she reached out, caressed one of Antonia's breasts and then left.
In the morning, it became clear that Salus and Teod were dead. The hung unmoving from their crosses, not attempting to breath. Flies gathered around them in swarms. Many of the flies came to Antonia as well, crawling all over her body, making her itch. She could not scratch, and this new torture, as small as it was, seemed to push her over the edge of madness. Antonia began to babble, drooling saliva down over her neck and breasts. Flies crawled over her face and into her open mouth. She made no attempt to get rid of them.
One of the soldiers posted as a guard came over to Antonia and shooed away the flies. He checked to see if Antonia was alive, pressing his hand to her naked breast, chest and stomach. She was. She reacted to his touch. He in turn felt her nipples, pinching them and watching her jerk. The drool dried; there was no more. Antonia was dehydrating quickly.
"A shame," the soldier said, sliding his hands over Antonia's naked body.
He walked over to Marcus, who was barely breathing. The centurion came over and took a spear and plunged it into Marcus's side, near his heart. Marcus barely jerked at this last violation of his body, and blood flooded out of the wound. A few minutes later he was dead.
Antonia was the last to die. She lasted until that afternoon. She saw her lover, Marcus, as he died. She felt the flies swarm her face, and the leer of the lingering men and soldiers. The agony was throughout all of her throughout the day, cramps in every muscle, hunger and thirst eating her from inside. Her humiliation was complete, as her body was touched by the soldiers at will, her legs spread and arms outstretched in a hideous parody of a woman accepting her lover.
Finally, she lapsed into sweet unconsciousness and hung from the cross, oblivious to all around her. Her last breath came as the sun set on that second day. It was so shallow, no one noticed it.
The four slaves remained nailed to their crosses for several days as a reminder to all of the unforgiving nature and absolute obedience demanded by the Romans.
Posted by Polly Plummer at 10:35 PM (Wednesday, August 31, 2011)
TerriT
Assistant executioner
(Storie 14/41)
Modern Judicial Crucifixion
"I sentence you both to be nailed to a cross, there to hang until you are dead and for five days thereafter."
With a loud bang the judge lowered his gavel, declaring the sentence on the two lovers who had dared challenge the government. The delivery of the sentence was followed by an immediate crush of reporters and photographers, trying to get images of the poor girl and boy as they stood in shock at the defense table. This was the first time the new capital sentencing rules had been used, allowing a slow, torturous public death for enemies of the state.
Kyle and Amy were the youngest culprits to be caught in the recent purge of undesirables - those who questioned the state's position on environmental, social and political regulation. They had run an underground web site posting seditious information for the last two years, urging dissent and disobedience against the government's mandatory birth control.
Amy started to cry, sobbing openly as a pair of dark blue uniformed guards fastened her wrists behind her back. Her sobs were interrupted by a grunt as her elbows were roughly forced behind her and strapped together -- the first of a series of humiliations she would suffer. Kyle stood silently as his arms were bound behind him, determined to present a dignified face in the fatal situation. With cameras clicking and shouts from the gallery, the condemned were lead from the courtroom.
----
"This is Anna Markowski, reporting for SMNCB here at the Central Division Federal Penitentiary, where the couple convicted of sedition just a month ago will be publicly put to death by crucifixion in just a few moments. As promised, we will cover the event live, as it happens." Anna stood in front of the camera, angled so that the hill could be seen clearly behind her. There were a number of prison guards waiting along with police that kept the milling and expectant crowd under control. The pretty reporter continued to babble about the coming torture and execution as if it were a sports event until the crowd suddenly became silent and then began to cheer.
Off to the side of the hill was the gray stone outer wall of the prison. Running about 10 feet high and topped with multiple strands of razor wire, it presented an ominous and foreboding image. A small metal door set into the wall had opened, which was what caused the crowd to quiet, followed by the emergence of several guards, which caused the crowd to cheer.
Moments later the condemned girl emerged. She was smaller than the guards, a petite 5'2" with long brown hair which fluttered about her shoulders in the breeze. She was remarkably pretty, with an oval lightly freckled face and girl-next-door looks; the orange jumpsuit she wore only hinted at a shapely body with thin legs and waist, as well as substantial breasts. Her wrists were shackled to a waist strap and her feet were bare. Two women guards held her upper arms and guided her out of the prison toward the hill.
As Amy climbed the hill Kyle emerged from the door in the prison wall. Dressed and led in the same manner, the handsome young man stood tall but was obviously the worse for wear from his time in prison. He sported several bruises and cuts on his face. He shuffled in a slow, reluctant way toward the hill.
"The young couple are being lead up the hill to their place of execution. Let's take a closer look at this, shall we?" The reporter handed off to some in studio anchors and zoom cameras showed the execution site from above. The girl had just arrived and was standing surrounded by about 20 guards, some of which had begun preparing her. The camera zoomed in as the beautiful girl was released from her shackles. It carefully covered her entire body as the orange jumpsuit was unzipped and pulled from her shoulders, revealing perfectly formed breasts hovering above a flat stomach.
----
Kyle trudged up the hill, the guards holding his arms tightly and guiding him firmly. They wanted no trouble and were ready to beat him into submission, as they had done several times in the last week. He no longer had much fight left in him and simply climbed to the top where the wide clearing held a cluster of guards. It was cold outside, a brisk breeze making him shake a little. The guards didn't care. His comfort was the last of their interests right then. They were in the process of torturing him and Amy to death.
The cluster of guards in front of him broke up as he arrived and saw Amy standing in the center of their circle. She was naked now. He gasped a little as he saw her perfect body. Six months ago he fucked that body every night, and he recalled the straining, sweating, grasping climaxes they had shared. His cock grew erect at the thought and sight of her standing naked before him once again, her arms raised and trying to cover her breasts either from failed modesty or because of the cold.
He was unshackled. As soon as he was free he lowered one shoulder and butted a guard out of his way as he charged toward his girl. He got about 10 feet when a baton struck his shin and broke it. With a scream he fell and rolled on the ground. A dozen rough hands grabbed him on the ground and stripped the orange prison outfit from him. He wore nothing underneath and seconds later he was naked, laying on the ground in a fetal position, crying. He heard Amy calling his name from far away.
----
"Oh, it looks like the male is down and out! What happened there, Anna?" The news anchor passed the coverage back to the on scene reporter.
"Well, Jim, it appears that the male condemned tried to get loose and was subdued. His leg appears to be broken. This is going to put a kink into things because with a broken leg he isn't going to be able to force himself up on the cross and will most likely suffocate much sooner. Oh, wait, here they go! They are going to actually begin the nailing! Let's take a look from our close up cameras!"
The news coverage view switched to a closer view of Kyle being dragged over to a rough wooden cross which lay on the ground nearby. Five prison guards held him down firmly, as he thrashed around both in pain from his broken bone and from panic. A sixth guard, this one wearing solid black, approached with a device that looked like a large, odd gun in his hand.
The pretty reporter's face appeared in a small box in the corner of the TV coverage screen as she narrated the events.
"That's the executioner there, wearing all black. He carries a sort of industrial nail gun, modified to take the larger spikes required for this procedure. You see how he is placing it in a very specific place; the nail must go through the base of the hand, where the palm turns into the wrist, and at a specific angle. This will prevent the condemned man from pulling his hands free. It also severs a set of nerves and crushes the wrist bones, causing a level of agony--- oh, there it is! You saw the slight jerk of the gun and bit of smoke! That was the gun going off!"
Kyle's body had jerked suddenly when the nail had penetrated his wrist, and his screaming had become more agonized and urgent. The camera zoomed into his face for a moment, and then slid down to the muscles of his arm as they strained and struggled, and then finally to the gray metal nail head protruding from his wrist.
Anna continued narrating, and the camera switched to a view where Amy was being shoved down onto her own cross. "There goes the female condemned! She is in better shape than the male, and will thus probably last longer on the cross. There she is being held in place by the guards... they don't appear to be taking much care, you see that one knee thrust into her hips and groin. Oww... that has got to hurt... and here comes the executioner. Note the angle of the gun as he places it to the wrist... and BAM, yes, there it is. You can see the pain suddenly shudder the victim's body!"
The camera zoomed in to show the flesh and bone of Amy's wrist and hand struggling against the nail that now held her right arm to the cross. Her creaming could be heard through the reporter's microphone, even though she was at least 50 feet away.
"Yes, the other arm is now nailed as well. Note the fairly loose angle at which her arms are stretched out, this is so her body will hang down with her arms at a moderately steep angle.... let's go back to the male now. Kyle is fasted to his cross as well, though his ankles have yet-- there! The legs are being spread apart, exposing his genitals. This is part of the humiliation aspect of this form of execution. It must be horrible to be nailed with your arms and legs spread, your entire body exposed for all to see. And yes, we do see his genitals there. Wait... Oh...."
Anna's face took on a look of surprise as she observed her monitor and the view of Kyle as his legs were forced apart in preparation for nailing to the cross. There, clear as day, was Kyle's huge erection. Anna flushed red, her first unprofessional reaction to any of the proceedings. She confused for a moment, stuttering slightly, and then picked up her reporting.
"Yes. Well, Jim, maybe you can ask our medical experts why the male appears to be aroused at this point. In any case, his ankles are being forced to each side of the cross. Wow! The executioner has already nailed his left ankle to the side and is now moving... yes. You see the body jerk and writhe as the final nail goes in. I must say, I didn't expect to see that particular spectacle."
The camera view switched back to where Amy was being nailed. Both her wrists were fastened to the wood crossbeam, and her legs had been separated. The camera zoomed in to a view of her inner thighs, glistening in wetness, presumable from sweat (though it was still a rather cold day).
A guard bent Amy's left leg to about a 45 degree angle and then held her left foot against the side of the cross. The executioner held the nail gun against the side of her ankle, and pulled the trigger. A slight puff of smoke and recoil from the device announced that the nail had sliced through flesh, muscle and bone, and into the cross beneath. It took a half second for the pain reaction to set in, after which Amy suddenly screamed and arched her back, thrusting her hips into the air. This lasted only a moment, and her body slammed back down against the wooden instrument of execution below her.
The reported was beginning to show a bit of wear from the graphic horror of the execution. Her face was white and covered with a sheen of sweat that makeup didn't hide. She kept on narrating the proceedings like the professional she was.
"Ladies and gentlemen, this phase of the process is nearly complete. Kyle has been fixed to his cross and Amy is about to have her right ankle nailed to the cross. I should point out here that these nails are quite large, triple the size of a standard roofing nail. They are sharp, but when they go in they will shred any muscle, tendons and bone that stand in their way. As you can see from the writhing of the condemned, it is quite a painful process. There goes the last nail into Amy's right ankle. Almost a relief, I guess, for those around her."
Guards were finally stepping back from the two crosses, leaving Kyle and Amy laying flat on their backs, looking up at a news helicopter flying above. The coverage switched to the aerial view. From that height, the entire hill could be seen, with a set of grandstands filled with people to the side, and 30 or more guards surrounding the clearing which now held the two crosses with two bodies nailed and relatively unmoving.
A crane that had been waiting to the side swung its huge boom arm slowly over the two crosses. The helicopter video feed showed a cable descending to the top of Amy's cross. She could be seen clearly in the video image, breasts heaving up and down, head thrashing from side to side, as the executioner clamped the end of the cable to a ring at the top of the cross. He stepped back and the coverage switched to a ground camera that zoomed in on Amy's prone form.
The crane slowly, ever so slowly, tightened the cable and then began to raise the end of the cross into the air. Amy's body slowly came into view more and more clearly as she was raised higher; her flat stomach was collapsing and expanding in concert with the heaving of her chest and breasts. As she climbed higher into the air, her breasts began to slide down her chest slightly, showing a bit of jiggling motion. The crane continued to raise her head higher into the air.
As she passed the 45 degree angle, Amy's body began a slide down the cross. The camera zoomed in, showing the fine, smooth flesh as it slid against the rough wood of the upright, splinters raking small furrows and leaving little blood trails.
The reporter, Anna, continued her narration of the scene.
(TBC)
Modern Judicial Crucifixion
"I sentence you both to be nailed to a cross, there to hang until you are dead and for five days thereafter."
With a loud bang the judge lowered his gavel, declaring the sentence on the two lovers who had dared challenge the government. The delivery of the sentence was followed by an immediate crush of reporters and photographers, trying to get images of the poor girl and boy as they stood in shock at the defense table. This was the first time the new capital sentencing rules had been used, allowing a slow, torturous public death for enemies of the state.
Kyle and Amy were the youngest culprits to be caught in the recent purge of undesirables - those who questioned the state's position on environmental, social and political regulation. They had run an underground web site posting seditious information for the last two years, urging dissent and disobedience against the government's mandatory birth control.
Amy started to cry, sobbing openly as a pair of dark blue uniformed guards fastened her wrists behind her back. Her sobs were interrupted by a grunt as her elbows were roughly forced behind her and strapped together -- the first of a series of humiliations she would suffer. Kyle stood silently as his arms were bound behind him, determined to present a dignified face in the fatal situation. With cameras clicking and shouts from the gallery, the condemned were lead from the courtroom.
----
"This is Anna Markowski, reporting for SMNCB here at the Central Division Federal Penitentiary, where the couple convicted of sedition just a month ago will be publicly put to death by crucifixion in just a few moments. As promised, we will cover the event live, as it happens." Anna stood in front of the camera, angled so that the hill could be seen clearly behind her. There were a number of prison guards waiting along with police that kept the milling and expectant crowd under control. The pretty reporter continued to babble about the coming torture and execution as if it were a sports event until the crowd suddenly became silent and then began to cheer.
Off to the side of the hill was the gray stone outer wall of the prison. Running about 10 feet high and topped with multiple strands of razor wire, it presented an ominous and foreboding image. A small metal door set into the wall had opened, which was what caused the crowd to quiet, followed by the emergence of several guards, which caused the crowd to cheer.
Moments later the condemned girl emerged. She was smaller than the guards, a petite 5'2" with long brown hair which fluttered about her shoulders in the breeze. She was remarkably pretty, with an oval lightly freckled face and girl-next-door looks; the orange jumpsuit she wore only hinted at a shapely body with thin legs and waist, as well as substantial breasts. Her wrists were shackled to a waist strap and her feet were bare. Two women guards held her upper arms and guided her out of the prison toward the hill.
As Amy climbed the hill Kyle emerged from the door in the prison wall. Dressed and led in the same manner, the handsome young man stood tall but was obviously the worse for wear from his time in prison. He sported several bruises and cuts on his face. He shuffled in a slow, reluctant way toward the hill.
"The young couple are being lead up the hill to their place of execution. Let's take a closer look at this, shall we?" The reporter handed off to some in studio anchors and zoom cameras showed the execution site from above. The girl had just arrived and was standing surrounded by about 20 guards, some of which had begun preparing her. The camera zoomed in as the beautiful girl was released from her shackles. It carefully covered her entire body as the orange jumpsuit was unzipped and pulled from her shoulders, revealing perfectly formed breasts hovering above a flat stomach.
----
Kyle trudged up the hill, the guards holding his arms tightly and guiding him firmly. They wanted no trouble and were ready to beat him into submission, as they had done several times in the last week. He no longer had much fight left in him and simply climbed to the top where the wide clearing held a cluster of guards. It was cold outside, a brisk breeze making him shake a little. The guards didn't care. His comfort was the last of their interests right then. They were in the process of torturing him and Amy to death.
The cluster of guards in front of him broke up as he arrived and saw Amy standing in the center of their circle. She was naked now. He gasped a little as he saw her perfect body. Six months ago he fucked that body every night, and he recalled the straining, sweating, grasping climaxes they had shared. His cock grew erect at the thought and sight of her standing naked before him once again, her arms raised and trying to cover her breasts either from failed modesty or because of the cold.
He was unshackled. As soon as he was free he lowered one shoulder and butted a guard out of his way as he charged toward his girl. He got about 10 feet when a baton struck his shin and broke it. With a scream he fell and rolled on the ground. A dozen rough hands grabbed him on the ground and stripped the orange prison outfit from him. He wore nothing underneath and seconds later he was naked, laying on the ground in a fetal position, crying. He heard Amy calling his name from far away.
----
"Oh, it looks like the male is down and out! What happened there, Anna?" The news anchor passed the coverage back to the on scene reporter.
"Well, Jim, it appears that the male condemned tried to get loose and was subdued. His leg appears to be broken. This is going to put a kink into things because with a broken leg he isn't going to be able to force himself up on the cross and will most likely suffocate much sooner. Oh, wait, here they go! They are going to actually begin the nailing! Let's take a look from our close up cameras!"
The news coverage view switched to a closer view of Kyle being dragged over to a rough wooden cross which lay on the ground nearby. Five prison guards held him down firmly, as he thrashed around both in pain from his broken bone and from panic. A sixth guard, this one wearing solid black, approached with a device that looked like a large, odd gun in his hand.
The pretty reporter's face appeared in a small box in the corner of the TV coverage screen as she narrated the events.
"That's the executioner there, wearing all black. He carries a sort of industrial nail gun, modified to take the larger spikes required for this procedure. You see how he is placing it in a very specific place; the nail must go through the base of the hand, where the palm turns into the wrist, and at a specific angle. This will prevent the condemned man from pulling his hands free. It also severs a set of nerves and crushes the wrist bones, causing a level of agony--- oh, there it is! You saw the slight jerk of the gun and bit of smoke! That was the gun going off!"
Kyle's body had jerked suddenly when the nail had penetrated his wrist, and his screaming had become more agonized and urgent. The camera zoomed into his face for a moment, and then slid down to the muscles of his arm as they strained and struggled, and then finally to the gray metal nail head protruding from his wrist.
Anna continued narrating, and the camera switched to a view where Amy was being shoved down onto her own cross. "There goes the female condemned! She is in better shape than the male, and will thus probably last longer on the cross. There she is being held in place by the guards... they don't appear to be taking much care, you see that one knee thrust into her hips and groin. Oww... that has got to hurt... and here comes the executioner. Note the angle of the gun as he places it to the wrist... and BAM, yes, there it is. You can see the pain suddenly shudder the victim's body!"
The camera zoomed in to show the flesh and bone of Amy's wrist and hand struggling against the nail that now held her right arm to the cross. Her creaming could be heard through the reporter's microphone, even though she was at least 50 feet away.
"Yes, the other arm is now nailed as well. Note the fairly loose angle at which her arms are stretched out, this is so her body will hang down with her arms at a moderately steep angle.... let's go back to the male now. Kyle is fasted to his cross as well, though his ankles have yet-- there! The legs are being spread apart, exposing his genitals. This is part of the humiliation aspect of this form of execution. It must be horrible to be nailed with your arms and legs spread, your entire body exposed for all to see. And yes, we do see his genitals there. Wait... Oh...."
Anna's face took on a look of surprise as she observed her monitor and the view of Kyle as his legs were forced apart in preparation for nailing to the cross. There, clear as day, was Kyle's huge erection. Anna flushed red, her first unprofessional reaction to any of the proceedings. She confused for a moment, stuttering slightly, and then picked up her reporting.
"Yes. Well, Jim, maybe you can ask our medical experts why the male appears to be aroused at this point. In any case, his ankles are being forced to each side of the cross. Wow! The executioner has already nailed his left ankle to the side and is now moving... yes. You see the body jerk and writhe as the final nail goes in. I must say, I didn't expect to see that particular spectacle."
The camera view switched back to where Amy was being nailed. Both her wrists were fastened to the wood crossbeam, and her legs had been separated. The camera zoomed in to a view of her inner thighs, glistening in wetness, presumable from sweat (though it was still a rather cold day).
A guard bent Amy's left leg to about a 45 degree angle and then held her left foot against the side of the cross. The executioner held the nail gun against the side of her ankle, and pulled the trigger. A slight puff of smoke and recoil from the device announced that the nail had sliced through flesh, muscle and bone, and into the cross beneath. It took a half second for the pain reaction to set in, after which Amy suddenly screamed and arched her back, thrusting her hips into the air. This lasted only a moment, and her body slammed back down against the wooden instrument of execution below her.
The reported was beginning to show a bit of wear from the graphic horror of the execution. Her face was white and covered with a sheen of sweat that makeup didn't hide. She kept on narrating the proceedings like the professional she was.
"Ladies and gentlemen, this phase of the process is nearly complete. Kyle has been fixed to his cross and Amy is about to have her right ankle nailed to the cross. I should point out here that these nails are quite large, triple the size of a standard roofing nail. They are sharp, but when they go in they will shred any muscle, tendons and bone that stand in their way. As you can see from the writhing of the condemned, it is quite a painful process. There goes the last nail into Amy's right ankle. Almost a relief, I guess, for those around her."
Guards were finally stepping back from the two crosses, leaving Kyle and Amy laying flat on their backs, looking up at a news helicopter flying above. The coverage switched to the aerial view. From that height, the entire hill could be seen, with a set of grandstands filled with people to the side, and 30 or more guards surrounding the clearing which now held the two crosses with two bodies nailed and relatively unmoving.
A crane that had been waiting to the side swung its huge boom arm slowly over the two crosses. The helicopter video feed showed a cable descending to the top of Amy's cross. She could be seen clearly in the video image, breasts heaving up and down, head thrashing from side to side, as the executioner clamped the end of the cable to a ring at the top of the cross. He stepped back and the coverage switched to a ground camera that zoomed in on Amy's prone form.
The crane slowly, ever so slowly, tightened the cable and then began to raise the end of the cross into the air. Amy's body slowly came into view more and more clearly as she was raised higher; her flat stomach was collapsing and expanding in concert with the heaving of her chest and breasts. As she climbed higher into the air, her breasts began to slide down her chest slightly, showing a bit of jiggling motion. The crane continued to raise her head higher into the air.
As she passed the 45 degree angle, Amy's body began a slide down the cross. The camera zoomed in, showing the fine, smooth flesh as it slid against the rough wood of the upright, splinters raking small furrows and leaving little blood trails.
The reporter, Anna, continued her narration of the scene.
(TBC)