TerriT
Guard
Since unfortunately Polly Plummer's cruxblog.blogspot.com was removed and these great stories should not be lost - here is a repost.
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My Crucifixion
Here I am, waiting... for the thing I have dreamed of and desired, and now am terrified of. It is too late, I don't need to pull on the chains to know I am committed, and my destiny is set.
It had been a growing desire in me for a long time. One I didn't want to face as real at first, but instead toyed with as a fantasy. I was just the crazy goth chick with strange bondage fantasies.
I really don't remember when my ultimate fantasy first formed. It was simply there... as the ultimate in submission, pain and bondage. Crucifixion. For the longest time, it was simply a concept, an idea, which I never thought could become real.
One day I heard of a dom, someone who had practiced crucifixion, modified of course. Ropes instead of nails, some added support here and there, time limitations. The idea that it might actually be possible made me begin dreaming. Wondering.
And so... here I am. In a small room in a barn. Its midnight. I can't lie down, the chains are too short, but I suppose it doesn't matter. The thoughts of what will be happening in a few hours are enough to assure I won't be getting any sleep tonight. I also know the discomfort and sleep deprivation are part of the processing, preparing me for my virtual execution.
Its cold, and I am naked, except for a loose loin cloth. The whipping I received earlier in the evening left welts, which still sting. My breasts hang free, for which I am actually grateful, as some of the welts would sting worse if I was wearing anything above my waist. The whipping had seemed to go on forever. The flogger was well worn, and the salt from my trickling sweat had made the wounds sting like hell. I remember screaming a little, which seemed to please the audience. By the time it was over, I had forgotten where I was, and was simply trying to deal with the pain. I hardly new it when I was dragged to this barn and chained to the wall.
As I begin to drift, almost dozing from exhaustion, I hear the clinking of chains from the next stall. There is one other person awaiting crucifixion, a guy. One guy, one girl. I decide he is a wimp... they whipped me harder than him, and he is the one letting out the occasional moan or whimper.
Having my hands chained above me begins to hurt. The shackles themselves are not that bad, but not being able to lower my arms is making the blood run out of my arms and cramps are setting in. I stand, just to lower my arms and let the blood flow down, instead of up. This helps a lot, and after a bit, I sit back down and begin to doze.
I am awakened by a bucket of water thrown over me. Some of it gets in my nose, and I cough, briefly choking and gasping, until I start breathing again. Once I calm down, the water feels good. One of the men I have come to think of as the executioners is standing above me. He offers me a bottle of water. I didn't realize how thirsty I was until I start drinking. The entire bottle gone, he offers me more, almost as if he is being kind to me. I know better.
The sun is up, and it is early morning. The sounds of the country fill the barn, birds singing, flies buzzing, and even a slight breeze rustling leaves. In some ways, it is actually peaceful here.
We are deep in the country, in a remote location selected for this specific purpose. We are not likely to be interrupted here. The executioners have done this before. I was told that I was lucky to have found them. Through experience in bondage with a little sadism thrown in, they had learned how to crucify someone effectively, without doing permanent damage. I wonder about this now, but its too late of course. I am committed. I tell myself again that this is what I have wanted, dreamed of. Once I have experienced this ultimate in bondage, I will be able to join with the group that attends these extreme events, becoming one of the inner circle.
After drinking the second bottle of water, he unhooks my chains from the wall. The chains tug at my shackles, and I am guided out of the barn, and in to a large clearing. I see there are people there already... some of the group come to watch me suffer. I see they are mingling, talking pleasantly as if they were at a cocktail party. In fact, I can smell.... breakfast. Cinnamon rolls... coffee.
The contrast between the pleasant, party like atmosphere of the observers, and my semi-naked sweaty and chained body hits me hard. I am nothing but amusement to these people. I have been reduced to a show, my pain is their enjoyment. The humiliation rolls over me like a wave. I am used to being looked at as a pretty girl. I know my body is in shape, though I am short, I have good breasts, long black hair, slim waist and hard legs from jogging. I look at this differently now, as the observers look and see an attractive goth girl going to be hung on the cross. I don't feel alluring any more, but instead just a bundle of nerves to be subjected to stress and pain for the delight of others.
I am guided to a heavy post in the middle of the clearing. The other guy is there strung up on the post... he is sagging against his chains, as if he has no strength left. He must have already received his second flogging. It is the strangest feeling to look at him, and realize I will soon be sagging in the same way.
The chains from my wrist shackles are looped over a high hook and pulled taught, so that I stand straight against the post, facing it. I know whats coming. The rough wood of the post scrapes my breasts and stomach, causing pain as if small needles were being pushed in to my flesh. I push back, trying to get away from the post but the chains above are too tight, I am almost on tip toe as it is. I stand... waiting. I look at the other victim, hanging from the same post, and see tears running down his filthy face just inches from me.
The sound from the guests comes closer, as they approach to observe my flogging. Some are talking about me, observing my long hair, commenting on the welts from last night's flogging, and admiring my shape. I jump just a bit when someone touches my left breast, and caresses a nipple. More hands touch other parts of my body - my ass, between my legs, breasts, hair and face. I wriggle, though it does no good.
The talking subsides... and suddenly, without warning, the first lash of the flogger strikes my back sending a searing pain completely around my body. My head jerks back in reaction and I gasp. I see the blue sky for the first time that morning, and I wonder... how is it that I missed the sky? Am I already that far gone? And then the sting of another stroke jerks me back. My back and sides are raw from last nights flogging, and this one is hurting a lot worse. I press my head hard against the post, trying to deal with the sudden strokes of pain from the flogger.
The flogging starts at the top of my body, my upper back, with the ends of the flogger's strips licking my breasts all the way to the nipples. The executioner methodically whips my back, and then down to my ass, and finally my thighs. It feels like I am bleeding profusely, though I know the flogger is not cutting my skin and I feel only sweat trickling down my back. The pain from the whipping is turning from searing skin pain to an over all cramping deep pain, throughout my whole body.
Finally, it is over. I am sagging just as the other victim is, next to me, hanging from the same pole. I am drooling slightly, and tears are streaming down my cheeks.
After a bit, we are unhooked from the whipping post and led a short way. I stumble more than once, falling because I am weak from exhaustion and pain. Both he and I are made to kneel. We wait there. I am grateful for the time to rest. My arms are recovering, and my legs. I wait there, feeling blood circulate normally, breathing unhindered... it feels good. A rest. I know it is not for long.
Oh god... in spite of the heat, a chill runs through my body. I see them bringing up some large wooden beams. It is the first I have seen of the crosses. They are real. Big, heavy, ominous. I try not to look, but I can't help it... this beam, this wooden thing, will cause me untold suffering very soon. Without quite realizing it, I begin to cry, not loudly, but tears running down my cheeks.
The first cross is placed beside me, and then lifted over my shoulder. Splinters dig in to my skin and I cry out as the weight of the cross presses me down to the ground. The thing is damned heavy.
My back is lashed, hard, and I hear someone say "Pick it up." The lash again. I push up, moving my legs under my body and just as I think I am getting the cross up in a standing position, a severe lash hits me again and I falter, back on my knees. Three more attempts, with a number of lashes, and I have the cross over my shoulder as I stand and begin to walk.
There is a slight slope ahead and I drag the instrument of my execution up. My back and sides are on fire from the flogging, and the cross is rasping and tearing at the skin of my shoulder. I think I might die before they even get me up and hanging.
Finally, at the top of the rise, I fall and allow the cross to lay on the ground. I fall next to it, exhausted, unable to move. I am taken roughly, moved over the cross. I begin struggling weakly, without thinking how useless it is. And it is useless. I am thrown over on my back on top of the cross. My protests and struggles are ignored as if I am a fly.
I feel the the rough edges of the cross beams under me, pushing ridges in to my back and ass. My arms are pulled up roughly, and I see the sky above me, again, but with the faces of the executioners.
Then, I see the nails. They have huge nails, spikes in their hands! This was not what was agreed!! I panic and scream loudly, as the spike is placed next to my wrist. The huge hammer comes down and starts pounding. The spike is being driven in to the wood next to my wrist, not in it, but my hysterics are going, I can't stop screaming, yelling, crying as the nails are pounded in. Two of the executioners are holding my arms down, and my struggling is to no avail.
Heavy ropes are tied around my wrists, and looped around the nails, and then the beam. My struggling subsides as it becomes clear to me that there is no escape from this bondage. This is, after all, what I asked for.
I feel like throwing up from pain, exhaustion, stress and fear.
I lay still for a while, eyes closed. It is foolish of me to struggle like that, I could have pulled a muscle, injured myself and made what is to come even worse. The heavy upright beam of the cross is under my back, and I press with my feet on the ground on either side of it to lift myself off of it for a moment. As a result I arch my back, with my hips in the air. Its then that I hear the appreciative chatting of the observers. They are enjoying the "show" I am putting on for them.
Ropes are tied to the top of the cross, though I am only slightly aware of what they are doing until suddenly I am lifted up. The ropes help the executioners raise the cross and keep it stable. I feel my weight shifting down as I rise up in to the air. As I reach the upright position, there is a sudden jerk downward as the cross sinks in to the hole dug for it in the ground. My weight jerks down and I am hanging by my arms from the cross. Panic sets in again, as the muscles in my shoulders stretch and begin to cramp. My legs kick and seek support but find nothing.
I am hanging on the cross.
I look down, and see my bare breasts heaving, sweat trickling down my stomach, and my feet searching... and I see the platform. A small platform, protruding from the upright of the cross, just behind my legs, above the ankle. My ankles are grabbed roughly and tied together, and then my knees bent as my ankles are lifted up. The ropes are tied to the cross so that my knees are bent at an odd angle. My ankles are firmly tied to the upright of the cross, so my feet are just above the platform.
Almost automatically, my feet press down on the platform to lift myself up and stand, to relieve the pressure on my arms, back and chest. Almost as quickly I gasp and fall back down. The platform is not flat! It is angled up, to a point, and attempts to stand on it offer only a painful ridge driving in to the soles of my feet. As I realize that there will be no respite for me, that all is to be pain, no matter what I do, I begin to cry again.
Regardless of the pain, I know what I must do. To breathe, and relieve the strain on my arms and back, I must stand on this blade-like platform. I position my feet as best I can with my ankles bound, and push. It is not enough, and I fall back down, immediately. The executioners have done a good job of exhausting me to make it hard to cope on the cross.
I try again, pushing up with my feet, but also pulling with my arms. This time I make it up, and I am standing with my arms wide apart, feet balancing on the sharp ridge. But the pain in my back and chest is relieved, and I can breath more easily.
My awareness is refocused for a moment, to the observers. The executioners, having finished with me, are nailing and tying the other victim, the guy. Some of the observers are huddled around, watching him struggle uselessly. Most of them seem to be more interested in me. They are chatting, observing, enjoying the site of my semi-nude body hung from this tree. I hear comments... "How long do you think she will last?", "That must hurt...", "I wish they would have let me fuck her first...".
The humiliation of being exposed, my pain the object of others enjoyment, waves over me once again. Suddenly, I lose all strength in my legs and I slip down again, hanging by my widespread arms. My head jerks forward, long hair falling forward and hanging down on to my breasts. The hair is wet and black from sweat, and sticks to my shoulders and breasts. I see my ribs, as the flesh covering my chest is pulled taught. My stomach is straining to assist my breathing. My feet dangle free once again, unable to hold me up at the moment.
An executioner comes over and touches me. He is feeling my chest, checking my heart and respiration. They don't want me to die, they just want me to suffer. I spit out the words "Fuck You..." in a raspy voice, and he looks up at me and smiles. He slowly, gently, almost lovingly, removes the cloth covering my groin, and then caresses my hips and between my legs.
I am completely naked now, unable to hide any part of myself. Once again, I press down on the sharp platform for my feet, raising myself up. I need to, partly to relieve the pain in my shoulders and chest, and partly to try and bring my legs together, to hide my private parts... not that any part of me is private any more. The pain from the sharp platform is slow to build, but the longer my weight is placed on it, the worse it hurts my feet. It is small enough only one foot can be placed on it, preventing me from even spreading my weight to two feet.
Looking over, I see that the other victim's cross is now upright, hanging as I am. He looks pitiful. Head hanging down, struggling to breathe, raising himself up with effort, wriggling around, tears drying in the dirt on his face. I realize... he must look just like me. Except I have a better body.
It is incredible that I can be hanging here, struggling to breath, moving up and down on the cross, and be thinking these things. I am aware of my looks, of what the observers are seeing, how they derive pleasure from me. When I struggle up, I know it is exciting to them as they watch muscles in my body strain and move. When I collapse down, it gives them a thrill, seeing the weight shift once again to my back, shoulders and arms. I feel the swaying of my breasts, I am aware of how they are looking between my legs, and seeing me. Lifting my head, I see them gathered in clumps, talking, and watching.
Some of the observers are partially nude themselves. It is a hot day, the sun pounding down on my naked body. I keep feeling sweat trickling down, tickling me at times. Just another small discomfort to pile on the aches and cramps which have now spread throughout most of my body.
How long have I been here?
Some of the observers are kissing, making out right in front of me. My suffering has aroused them so that they are taking pleasure in each other as well as seeing my pain. This knowledge seems to drain all will from me. I am nothing but an object, something hanging on display simply for the pleasure of others, and I will die here, my death sponsoring orgasms in some.
How long have I been here?
My hands are numb. My arms are one large bundle of pain extending to my shoulders and back. Once again I push myself up, standing on the point of the platform, relieving the stress and cramping. I wriggle to the side, trying to find a place or position to place the strain on other muscles... to relieve the horrible pain. Its useless, but I try anyway.
Before my face something appears. What is it? It takes a moment before I realize that someone has brought a sponge on a pole. The sponge is soaked with water. Thirst suddenly takes over my entire being and I reach my head out and take the sponge in my mouth, sucking the water from it. There isn't much, but it helps.
The pain in my feet and weakness in my legs makes my body fail me again. I sag down, and realize I am urinating. I have lost bladder control. I don't care any more, I lost control of my body a long time ago.
When am I going to die?
The cramping in my back has been getting worse, and I keep shifting my body from side to side to try to relieve it. It doesn't matter, I find.
My hair is in my face. Stuck there, by the sweat. I wish I could move it.
Flies have come, buzzing around me, and landing on me. They are nothing to the pain wracking my arms, shoulders, chest, stomach, but I still notice them. They become more annoying than anything... I try to shake them off. Mistake. Pain slices down one side of my back and down a leg. I scream...
Up again... try to lift myself up. Look out, see the observers. Some are sitting, enjoying the day. Others... there is one couple fucking off to the side. The guy is looking at me as he shoves in to the girl. I can see my pain in his eyes, and it is being translated in to sexual rapture.
There is noise to the side, where the other victim is hung. I look over. They are taking him down. It's not fair, is he dead? Why did he die so quickly, why do I have to be here, enduring the pain? It's not fair.
How long have I been here?
I was trying to count, the number of times I raised myself up. I no longer do. Breathing in random, ragged jerks, I keep raising myself up, gasping, holding it for as long as I can, and then back down. My legs are spread apart and shake horrible when I attempt to stand, and I don't care. Humiliation is long gone, replaced by simple existence... for a while. I find myself beginning to wonder.... how long will I last?
Someone... my arms... I am being untied. Taken down.
As I lay on a litter, I am lifted to be taken to a large tent. I see one of the executioners looking down at me.
"How long was I up?", I ask.
"A little over six hours", comes the answer.
When we reach the tent, I turn my head to the executioner and say, "When can we do this again?"
Posted by Polly Plummer at 6:40 PM (Thursday, November 27, 2008)
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My Crucifixion
Here I am, waiting... for the thing I have dreamed of and desired, and now am terrified of. It is too late, I don't need to pull on the chains to know I am committed, and my destiny is set.
It had been a growing desire in me for a long time. One I didn't want to face as real at first, but instead toyed with as a fantasy. I was just the crazy goth chick with strange bondage fantasies.
I really don't remember when my ultimate fantasy first formed. It was simply there... as the ultimate in submission, pain and bondage. Crucifixion. For the longest time, it was simply a concept, an idea, which I never thought could become real.
One day I heard of a dom, someone who had practiced crucifixion, modified of course. Ropes instead of nails, some added support here and there, time limitations. The idea that it might actually be possible made me begin dreaming. Wondering.
And so... here I am. In a small room in a barn. Its midnight. I can't lie down, the chains are too short, but I suppose it doesn't matter. The thoughts of what will be happening in a few hours are enough to assure I won't be getting any sleep tonight. I also know the discomfort and sleep deprivation are part of the processing, preparing me for my virtual execution.
Its cold, and I am naked, except for a loose loin cloth. The whipping I received earlier in the evening left welts, which still sting. My breasts hang free, for which I am actually grateful, as some of the welts would sting worse if I was wearing anything above my waist. The whipping had seemed to go on forever. The flogger was well worn, and the salt from my trickling sweat had made the wounds sting like hell. I remember screaming a little, which seemed to please the audience. By the time it was over, I had forgotten where I was, and was simply trying to deal with the pain. I hardly new it when I was dragged to this barn and chained to the wall.
As I begin to drift, almost dozing from exhaustion, I hear the clinking of chains from the next stall. There is one other person awaiting crucifixion, a guy. One guy, one girl. I decide he is a wimp... they whipped me harder than him, and he is the one letting out the occasional moan or whimper.
Having my hands chained above me begins to hurt. The shackles themselves are not that bad, but not being able to lower my arms is making the blood run out of my arms and cramps are setting in. I stand, just to lower my arms and let the blood flow down, instead of up. This helps a lot, and after a bit, I sit back down and begin to doze.
I am awakened by a bucket of water thrown over me. Some of it gets in my nose, and I cough, briefly choking and gasping, until I start breathing again. Once I calm down, the water feels good. One of the men I have come to think of as the executioners is standing above me. He offers me a bottle of water. I didn't realize how thirsty I was until I start drinking. The entire bottle gone, he offers me more, almost as if he is being kind to me. I know better.
The sun is up, and it is early morning. The sounds of the country fill the barn, birds singing, flies buzzing, and even a slight breeze rustling leaves. In some ways, it is actually peaceful here.
We are deep in the country, in a remote location selected for this specific purpose. We are not likely to be interrupted here. The executioners have done this before. I was told that I was lucky to have found them. Through experience in bondage with a little sadism thrown in, they had learned how to crucify someone effectively, without doing permanent damage. I wonder about this now, but its too late of course. I am committed. I tell myself again that this is what I have wanted, dreamed of. Once I have experienced this ultimate in bondage, I will be able to join with the group that attends these extreme events, becoming one of the inner circle.
After drinking the second bottle of water, he unhooks my chains from the wall. The chains tug at my shackles, and I am guided out of the barn, and in to a large clearing. I see there are people there already... some of the group come to watch me suffer. I see they are mingling, talking pleasantly as if they were at a cocktail party. In fact, I can smell.... breakfast. Cinnamon rolls... coffee.
The contrast between the pleasant, party like atmosphere of the observers, and my semi-naked sweaty and chained body hits me hard. I am nothing but amusement to these people. I have been reduced to a show, my pain is their enjoyment. The humiliation rolls over me like a wave. I am used to being looked at as a pretty girl. I know my body is in shape, though I am short, I have good breasts, long black hair, slim waist and hard legs from jogging. I look at this differently now, as the observers look and see an attractive goth girl going to be hung on the cross. I don't feel alluring any more, but instead just a bundle of nerves to be subjected to stress and pain for the delight of others.
I am guided to a heavy post in the middle of the clearing. The other guy is there strung up on the post... he is sagging against his chains, as if he has no strength left. He must have already received his second flogging. It is the strangest feeling to look at him, and realize I will soon be sagging in the same way.
The chains from my wrist shackles are looped over a high hook and pulled taught, so that I stand straight against the post, facing it. I know whats coming. The rough wood of the post scrapes my breasts and stomach, causing pain as if small needles were being pushed in to my flesh. I push back, trying to get away from the post but the chains above are too tight, I am almost on tip toe as it is. I stand... waiting. I look at the other victim, hanging from the same post, and see tears running down his filthy face just inches from me.
The sound from the guests comes closer, as they approach to observe my flogging. Some are talking about me, observing my long hair, commenting on the welts from last night's flogging, and admiring my shape. I jump just a bit when someone touches my left breast, and caresses a nipple. More hands touch other parts of my body - my ass, between my legs, breasts, hair and face. I wriggle, though it does no good.
The talking subsides... and suddenly, without warning, the first lash of the flogger strikes my back sending a searing pain completely around my body. My head jerks back in reaction and I gasp. I see the blue sky for the first time that morning, and I wonder... how is it that I missed the sky? Am I already that far gone? And then the sting of another stroke jerks me back. My back and sides are raw from last nights flogging, and this one is hurting a lot worse. I press my head hard against the post, trying to deal with the sudden strokes of pain from the flogger.
The flogging starts at the top of my body, my upper back, with the ends of the flogger's strips licking my breasts all the way to the nipples. The executioner methodically whips my back, and then down to my ass, and finally my thighs. It feels like I am bleeding profusely, though I know the flogger is not cutting my skin and I feel only sweat trickling down my back. The pain from the whipping is turning from searing skin pain to an over all cramping deep pain, throughout my whole body.
Finally, it is over. I am sagging just as the other victim is, next to me, hanging from the same pole. I am drooling slightly, and tears are streaming down my cheeks.
After a bit, we are unhooked from the whipping post and led a short way. I stumble more than once, falling because I am weak from exhaustion and pain. Both he and I are made to kneel. We wait there. I am grateful for the time to rest. My arms are recovering, and my legs. I wait there, feeling blood circulate normally, breathing unhindered... it feels good. A rest. I know it is not for long.
Oh god... in spite of the heat, a chill runs through my body. I see them bringing up some large wooden beams. It is the first I have seen of the crosses. They are real. Big, heavy, ominous. I try not to look, but I can't help it... this beam, this wooden thing, will cause me untold suffering very soon. Without quite realizing it, I begin to cry, not loudly, but tears running down my cheeks.
The first cross is placed beside me, and then lifted over my shoulder. Splinters dig in to my skin and I cry out as the weight of the cross presses me down to the ground. The thing is damned heavy.
My back is lashed, hard, and I hear someone say "Pick it up." The lash again. I push up, moving my legs under my body and just as I think I am getting the cross up in a standing position, a severe lash hits me again and I falter, back on my knees. Three more attempts, with a number of lashes, and I have the cross over my shoulder as I stand and begin to walk.
There is a slight slope ahead and I drag the instrument of my execution up. My back and sides are on fire from the flogging, and the cross is rasping and tearing at the skin of my shoulder. I think I might die before they even get me up and hanging.
Finally, at the top of the rise, I fall and allow the cross to lay on the ground. I fall next to it, exhausted, unable to move. I am taken roughly, moved over the cross. I begin struggling weakly, without thinking how useless it is. And it is useless. I am thrown over on my back on top of the cross. My protests and struggles are ignored as if I am a fly.
I feel the the rough edges of the cross beams under me, pushing ridges in to my back and ass. My arms are pulled up roughly, and I see the sky above me, again, but with the faces of the executioners.
Then, I see the nails. They have huge nails, spikes in their hands! This was not what was agreed!! I panic and scream loudly, as the spike is placed next to my wrist. The huge hammer comes down and starts pounding. The spike is being driven in to the wood next to my wrist, not in it, but my hysterics are going, I can't stop screaming, yelling, crying as the nails are pounded in. Two of the executioners are holding my arms down, and my struggling is to no avail.
Heavy ropes are tied around my wrists, and looped around the nails, and then the beam. My struggling subsides as it becomes clear to me that there is no escape from this bondage. This is, after all, what I asked for.
I feel like throwing up from pain, exhaustion, stress and fear.
I lay still for a while, eyes closed. It is foolish of me to struggle like that, I could have pulled a muscle, injured myself and made what is to come even worse. The heavy upright beam of the cross is under my back, and I press with my feet on the ground on either side of it to lift myself off of it for a moment. As a result I arch my back, with my hips in the air. Its then that I hear the appreciative chatting of the observers. They are enjoying the "show" I am putting on for them.
Ropes are tied to the top of the cross, though I am only slightly aware of what they are doing until suddenly I am lifted up. The ropes help the executioners raise the cross and keep it stable. I feel my weight shifting down as I rise up in to the air. As I reach the upright position, there is a sudden jerk downward as the cross sinks in to the hole dug for it in the ground. My weight jerks down and I am hanging by my arms from the cross. Panic sets in again, as the muscles in my shoulders stretch and begin to cramp. My legs kick and seek support but find nothing.
I am hanging on the cross.
I look down, and see my bare breasts heaving, sweat trickling down my stomach, and my feet searching... and I see the platform. A small platform, protruding from the upright of the cross, just behind my legs, above the ankle. My ankles are grabbed roughly and tied together, and then my knees bent as my ankles are lifted up. The ropes are tied to the cross so that my knees are bent at an odd angle. My ankles are firmly tied to the upright of the cross, so my feet are just above the platform.
Almost automatically, my feet press down on the platform to lift myself up and stand, to relieve the pressure on my arms, back and chest. Almost as quickly I gasp and fall back down. The platform is not flat! It is angled up, to a point, and attempts to stand on it offer only a painful ridge driving in to the soles of my feet. As I realize that there will be no respite for me, that all is to be pain, no matter what I do, I begin to cry again.
Regardless of the pain, I know what I must do. To breathe, and relieve the strain on my arms and back, I must stand on this blade-like platform. I position my feet as best I can with my ankles bound, and push. It is not enough, and I fall back down, immediately. The executioners have done a good job of exhausting me to make it hard to cope on the cross.
I try again, pushing up with my feet, but also pulling with my arms. This time I make it up, and I am standing with my arms wide apart, feet balancing on the sharp ridge. But the pain in my back and chest is relieved, and I can breath more easily.
My awareness is refocused for a moment, to the observers. The executioners, having finished with me, are nailing and tying the other victim, the guy. Some of the observers are huddled around, watching him struggle uselessly. Most of them seem to be more interested in me. They are chatting, observing, enjoying the site of my semi-nude body hung from this tree. I hear comments... "How long do you think she will last?", "That must hurt...", "I wish they would have let me fuck her first...".
The humiliation of being exposed, my pain the object of others enjoyment, waves over me once again. Suddenly, I lose all strength in my legs and I slip down again, hanging by my widespread arms. My head jerks forward, long hair falling forward and hanging down on to my breasts. The hair is wet and black from sweat, and sticks to my shoulders and breasts. I see my ribs, as the flesh covering my chest is pulled taught. My stomach is straining to assist my breathing. My feet dangle free once again, unable to hold me up at the moment.
An executioner comes over and touches me. He is feeling my chest, checking my heart and respiration. They don't want me to die, they just want me to suffer. I spit out the words "Fuck You..." in a raspy voice, and he looks up at me and smiles. He slowly, gently, almost lovingly, removes the cloth covering my groin, and then caresses my hips and between my legs.
I am completely naked now, unable to hide any part of myself. Once again, I press down on the sharp platform for my feet, raising myself up. I need to, partly to relieve the pain in my shoulders and chest, and partly to try and bring my legs together, to hide my private parts... not that any part of me is private any more. The pain from the sharp platform is slow to build, but the longer my weight is placed on it, the worse it hurts my feet. It is small enough only one foot can be placed on it, preventing me from even spreading my weight to two feet.
Looking over, I see that the other victim's cross is now upright, hanging as I am. He looks pitiful. Head hanging down, struggling to breathe, raising himself up with effort, wriggling around, tears drying in the dirt on his face. I realize... he must look just like me. Except I have a better body.
It is incredible that I can be hanging here, struggling to breath, moving up and down on the cross, and be thinking these things. I am aware of my looks, of what the observers are seeing, how they derive pleasure from me. When I struggle up, I know it is exciting to them as they watch muscles in my body strain and move. When I collapse down, it gives them a thrill, seeing the weight shift once again to my back, shoulders and arms. I feel the swaying of my breasts, I am aware of how they are looking between my legs, and seeing me. Lifting my head, I see them gathered in clumps, talking, and watching.
Some of the observers are partially nude themselves. It is a hot day, the sun pounding down on my naked body. I keep feeling sweat trickling down, tickling me at times. Just another small discomfort to pile on the aches and cramps which have now spread throughout most of my body.
How long have I been here?
Some of the observers are kissing, making out right in front of me. My suffering has aroused them so that they are taking pleasure in each other as well as seeing my pain. This knowledge seems to drain all will from me. I am nothing but an object, something hanging on display simply for the pleasure of others, and I will die here, my death sponsoring orgasms in some.
How long have I been here?
My hands are numb. My arms are one large bundle of pain extending to my shoulders and back. Once again I push myself up, standing on the point of the platform, relieving the stress and cramping. I wriggle to the side, trying to find a place or position to place the strain on other muscles... to relieve the horrible pain. Its useless, but I try anyway.
Before my face something appears. What is it? It takes a moment before I realize that someone has brought a sponge on a pole. The sponge is soaked with water. Thirst suddenly takes over my entire being and I reach my head out and take the sponge in my mouth, sucking the water from it. There isn't much, but it helps.
The pain in my feet and weakness in my legs makes my body fail me again. I sag down, and realize I am urinating. I have lost bladder control. I don't care any more, I lost control of my body a long time ago.
When am I going to die?
The cramping in my back has been getting worse, and I keep shifting my body from side to side to try to relieve it. It doesn't matter, I find.
My hair is in my face. Stuck there, by the sweat. I wish I could move it.
Flies have come, buzzing around me, and landing on me. They are nothing to the pain wracking my arms, shoulders, chest, stomach, but I still notice them. They become more annoying than anything... I try to shake them off. Mistake. Pain slices down one side of my back and down a leg. I scream...
Up again... try to lift myself up. Look out, see the observers. Some are sitting, enjoying the day. Others... there is one couple fucking off to the side. The guy is looking at me as he shoves in to the girl. I can see my pain in his eyes, and it is being translated in to sexual rapture.
There is noise to the side, where the other victim is hung. I look over. They are taking him down. It's not fair, is he dead? Why did he die so quickly, why do I have to be here, enduring the pain? It's not fair.
How long have I been here?
I was trying to count, the number of times I raised myself up. I no longer do. Breathing in random, ragged jerks, I keep raising myself up, gasping, holding it for as long as I can, and then back down. My legs are spread apart and shake horrible when I attempt to stand, and I don't care. Humiliation is long gone, replaced by simple existence... for a while. I find myself beginning to wonder.... how long will I last?
Someone... my arms... I am being untied. Taken down.
As I lay on a litter, I am lifted to be taken to a large tent. I see one of the executioners looking down at me.
"How long was I up?", I ask.
"A little over six hours", comes the answer.
When we reach the tent, I turn my head to the executioner and say, "When can we do this again?"
Posted by Polly Plummer at 6:40 PM (Thursday, November 27, 2008)
