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Rome's Revenge

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Well, I'm upset she's still alive:mad:

There was nothing I saw that was offensive...

Tree
 
XIX​

The trumpets blared, the drums began to pound, solemnly Cunben and I were made to lead the procession of the doomed back up the Roman road to the furthest of the prepared stakes. There, I was made to stand with my back to the stake, just as I'd stood at Boudicca's dun, and Cunben was pushed roughly down to kneel. An excited rabble accompanied us on either side of the road, guards held their spears broadside on as the horde jostled for position for the best view.


Cunben was relieved of the heavy plank he'd been carrying. As it was unbound and lifted off his shoulders, he fell forward, faint with exhaustion, but was kicked and hauled to his feet. His face was white, eyes strained wide with terror, his body and legs criss-crossed with weals, burns and purple bruises.


They whipped off the humiliating scrap of soiled rag and I gasped at the sight, his cock hung red-raw, skinned and half ripped away, his bag a torn rag of flesh, deep burns furrowed his groin.


For a minute or two, a burly grinning guard held him by his arms, forcing him to turn and show his mutilated manhood to all the crowd, who roared with savage laughter, the women even louder that the men.


Meanwhile the plank he'd been carrying was nailed firmly to the longer one lying ready on the ground. Now two men took his arms, held them wide, and suddenly flung him back to lie spreadeagled on the wooden cross.


Immediately, two more – I recognised them, they were "my" blacksmiths – strapped his arms onto the cross-beam, as they'd been tied while he was carrying it, three more straps bound his waist, thighs and lower legs to the upright.


Now the young Gaulish smith produced a canvas bag, his older colleague drew from it a hammer and four vicious long nails. He showed them to the crowd, youngsters were allowed to reach out and feel the harsh iron, then he held them, grinning, over Cunben's upturned face. He was panting, even where I was standing I could hear his heavy breaths and see his heaving chest, but he made no other sound.


Now three of the nails were put back, the smiths knelt by Cunben's left hand, the younger one gripping his fingers and forearm firmly so his master could position the nail carefully at the base of his victim's thumb.


The crowd hushed as he lifted the hefty mallet, Cunben roared as it crashed down and drove the spike into his wrist, my own body seized in sympathetic agony. Three more blows had the head of the nail pressing the skin, Cunben was groaning, shaking his head, trying to kick and twist his tightly-bound body, a huge cheer rose from the spectators.


A couple more blows, the nail was firmly home. The smiths stood, looked down for moments at Cunben's still twisting face, gore was oozing from under the nail-head, dribbling down the edge of the cossbar.


Now they moved to nail his right hand, while a guard untied the straps from his now-pinioned left arm. His cries as the second nail was driven home were turning to more helpless wailing, all trace of masculine force was driven from him.


His feet were nailed to the sides of the upright, it took the young smith and two guards to hold each leg in position while the senior smith hammered nails through the insteps. It took a few more blows, ten or a dozen, to fix each foot, and the pain for Cunben was obviously even greater, his whole body jolted at each hit and his shrieks became ever more shrill.


Now he was nailed, hands and feet, the remaining straps were untied, the guards, smiths and crowd had sight of poor Cunben's naked body writhing it hideous agony, his legs forced apart in a humiliating display of what was left of his manhood.


One of the guards lifted his tunic, the other laughed and followed suit, so did the smiths, all four of them pissed on the squirming victim, aiming especially at his face, which he could not protect by shaking his head. The crowd jeered delightedly.


They began to lift the cross. My two guards, who'd been standing alongside me enjoying the spectacle, crossed the road to help. The thought of flight flashed into my half-crazed mind, but of course it would have been lunacy, the crowd would have caught me and, whatever's planned for me, they can always make it even worse ...


Using the leather straps that had bound Cunben, and the muscle power of six men, the cross bearing Cunben was slowly raised, paused a couple of time, during which I could see him fighting with the muscles of his arms and legs to ease the steadily-increasing pain, his sweating trunk slipping down the rough wood, his throat giving out hoarse gasps of anguish.


After the second pause, the cross swung forwards towards me, I thought for a moment it was going to fall onto the road, but it slipped into the prepared socket, with an audible crack and an unearthly howl of agony from tortured Cunben.


For a moment, he hung quite still, his head dropped, his whole body quivering, but then he began to fight, forcing down with his legs, hauling with his arms, desperately trying to ease the strain on his shoulders.


But the effort soon proved too great, he sank down again, legs flexing, hung gasping for breath, blood dripping – not in huge quantities, just a slow ooze from each of the nails – while he summoned up energy to try once again.


While this horrid ritual was performed on my poor Cunben, I was only half-aware that similar cruelties were being inflicted all along the road down to the great gateway. To my right, a dark-haired, athletic young man, across the way a tough-looking guy with ginger hair, were now exposed naked and in agony just as he was. Between Cunben and the redhead, Trilluna was standing by her stake, quivering, petrified.


Now we stood for what seemed a considerable time, while Cunben and probably ninety-nine other men groaned and howled and struggled to come to terms with their dreadful situation, forced to rack their own limbs as their own weight dragged them down on those evil nails.


The crowds were now allowed to spill onto the road, and stroll up and down observing the spectacle at close quarters, guards even allowing them to reach out and grope at the cruelly-mangled private parts of the victims. A few of the youths paid attention to us girls, too, though our time was – I knew all too well – still to come. My guards held my arms firmly so I couldn't resist while filthy fingers squeezed my torture-scarred breasts and investigated my still sore female parts. I just gritted my teeth, feeling against my will my body and legs respond with instinctive feminine movements, the boys chortled with satisfaction.


Then there was a shout, the public were cleared back from the crucifixions. The young smith brought the large canvas bag again and fished out a new instrument of horror, a stump of wood about a cubit long, a thumb's length thick, rounded for most of its length with a conical tip and a squared-off base pierced with holes.


The older smith took it and showed it like he had shown the nails, first to the crowd, then to Cunben, who was now hanging limp, his head bowed, but still glancing wildly about as he fought to drag air into his lungs. The smith held the thing between Cunben's thighs, pushed it sharply upwards, my man yelled out a word of horror as the pole was forced into his body, with an excruciating effort he tugged himself up on the nails through his wrists, but there was no escape from it.


As the older smith held the object steady, the younger one hammered three nails through the base, fixing it firmly to the upright. Then they stood back, Cunben's body jerked in violent spasms, still trying to lift away from the torment, then finally sank down with a sickening groan, supported now on the firm rest this "seat" provided, but in a most painful, utterly humiliating way that would merely prolong his agony.
 
XX​

As the tortured men groaned and jolted their bodies to try to adjust to the cruel invasion of their flash, the standard-bearers and band set off once again from the city gate up the road towards me. As they approached, I and all the girls were made to kneel, our faces in the dust. I heard the horns and the drums, men's marching feet, horses' hooves, the slow creaking of carriage-wheels, men chattering, laughing, but I dared not lift my eyes to look.


After a long while, my guard grabbed my hair and hauled me to kneel up. I saw now the Governor, the Atrebate and other senior officers standing in a grand covered wagon, they'd evidently proceeded up the hill inspecting the crucified men as they passed them. And now the signal was given for the next stage in the performance, the girls' turn!


At the blast of a trumpet, I was again flung forward, so I fell face-down on the road. The young ironsmith was ready, he quickly disconnected the shackles restraining my wrists and ankles, then tugged and locked together first my left wrist and right ankle, then the opposite pair, so I was trussed like a pig for slaughter, pretty tight.


Now the guards took me by my shoulders, swung me up and over so I fell on my back, the hard irons pressing cruelly into the small of my back. I gazed up at the darkening sky, it was evening now, last streaks of crimson lit the clouds to the west, crows that had been cawing with cruel glee at the suffering victims flew to their roosts, a sharp moon was rising over the cross where Cunben twisted with jerks of pain. Smoke was drifting in the clammy air, I was haunted with visions of the women at Boudicca's dun, howling at me from the looming darkness.


There was a lot of movement, men shouting orders, clinking of metal and rumbling of wheels. As I lay fidgeting awkwardly, trying to ease the cutting pain of the metal against my kidneys, I was alarmed to see a fire-basket being placed alongside me, next to the cross where the dark-haired wretch was gasping in agony. I recalled all too vividly my night in the smithy as I heard the rattle of coal being tipped into it, so close the dust blinded my eyes.


And now a pungent smell filled the air, a mule-waggon slowly approached. I couldn't see what was happening, but I heard girls' cries as it drew nearer, soon Dovagna screamed, then Trilluna's shrill shriek was unmistakable.


The mule plodded up to where I lay, the hot stench was overpowering. Suddenly a large brushful of hot, black, oily, semi-liquid tar was splashed onto my face, another at almost the same moment on my thighs, a pause while I yelled and squirmed while the heat ate into my skin. Another brushful on my breasts, another on my abdomen and cunt, then a guard hauled me up by my hair, I dangled with my knees just supporting me on the road while my shoulders and buttocks were painted with the pitch, then they threw me back down to lie writhing, sobbing with burning pain.


I couldn't breath through my nose, I had to gasp for air. I couldn't see, my eyes already sore with coal-dust were now pasted with gluey tar. Yet I was conscious that, while I'd been being tarred, the brazier beside me had been lit, and was now crackling, beginning to blaze.


Another long fanfare from the brass, then I felt a pole being slid under my shoulders, over my shackled arms. I was lifted up by this, no doubt by my two guards, felt the weight of my body swinging as they raised me. One of them was snapping commands to the other, "Altior! Ad me! Bene!", the spectators were urging them on so loudly he had to shout.


Strong hands of a third man, I guessed it was the older blacksmith, grabbed at my pitch-smeared thighs. "Citro!" I was lowered slightly, felt something touch my pussy, heard a sharp screech of horror and pain from Dovagna, then sensed a hard sharpness entering me – the chisel-like tip of the stake!


I too screamed as they let me drop, pulling away the lifting-rod, my weight pulled me down, the wood forced my love-passage wide, the invader penetrated my secret parts. The pain was unspeakable, there was nothing I could do to ease it, though my limbs fought wildly to get some grip. And, though I could feel the monster thrusting right into my womb, pressing against my abdomen, it was subtly designed so it brought me hideous pain but no quick death, I was fully aware of my torment.


For minutes I, and a hundred other girls, along with the writhing, crucified men, screamed together in a wild chorus of crazed agony. Then our cries were joined by a further tantantara of brass and drums, time for the final act.


I heard the crackle of burning, smelt hot smoke, heard new shrieks from girls and men, a roar of excitement from the huge watching crowd, then sensed the firebrand placed between my thighs, held against me till my stomach smouldered, my breasts began to grill, the pitch burst into flame ....
 
Last edited:
I've been asked, is that the end?

Yes, that's it.

I suppose it might have helped if I'd made that clearer.

It's a bit abrupt, but death's like that
(well, I guess it is)

I've had some helpful feedback, especially on this last episode,
I might try another version drawing out my agony a bit longer,
both the impalement and the burning,
I do want to get into the mind and body of a girl dying that way
as vividly as I can manage,
but the abrupt ending is - I think - right for realism.​
 
Once again great story!

Overall I really enjoyed the last two parts and the descriptions of the last tortures of your protagonist and Cunben. I tend to be someone who enjoys the tortures leading up to the execution, the march of death and the crowd enjoying it, etc. -- hence I liked the approach you took with this story.
 
thanks Kodos - yes, while I'm not squeamish about introducing quite a lot of gory detail of tortures and their physical effects, it's the psychological, emotional experiences of the victim that absorb me most, and building up scenes that arouse those feelings, ratcheting up the tension. Glad you enjoyed it!
 
Eulalia said:
I've been asked, is that the end?

Yes, that's it.

I suppose it might have helped if I'd made that clearer.

It's a bit abrupt, but death's like that
(well, I guess it is)

I've had some helpful feedback, especially on this last episode,
I might try another version drawing out my agony a bit longer,
both the impalement and the burning,
I do want to get into the mind and body of a girl dying that way
as vividly as I can manage,
but the abrupt ending is - I think - right for realism.​
Click to expand...

Sometimes I wish I wore a hat
because sometimes I feel the need to doff it.

tumblr_mt813eBvoo1s2ukmvo1_500 (2).jpg​
Ego Stipes Ergo Sum​
 
I've re-worked the final part a bit,
trying to imagine the experience of being a 'living lantern'
as vividly as I can

XX​


As the tortured men groaned and jolted their bodies to try to adjust to the cruel invasion of their flash, the standard-bearers and band set off once again from the city gate up the road towards me. As they approached, I and all the girls were made to kneel, our faces in the dust. I heard the horns and the drums, men's marching feet, horses' hooves, the slow creaking of carriage-wheels, men chattering, laughing, but I dared not lift my eyes to look.​

After a long while, my guard grabbed my hair and hauled me to kneel up. I saw now the Governor, the Atrebate and other senior officers standing in a grand covered wagon, laughing and joking at the grotesque contortions of their victims on the crosses, and the terrified faces of us kneeling females. They'd evidently proceeded up the hill inspecting the crucified men as they passed them. And now the signal was given for the next stage in the performance, the girls' turn!

At the blast of a trumpet, I was again flung forward, so I fell face-down on the road. The young ironsmith was ready, he quickly disconnected the shackles restraining my wrists and ankles, then tugged and locked together first my left wrist and right ankle, then the opposite pair, so I was trussed like a pig for slaughter, pretty tight. I lay there, my naked body jerking in spasms of uncontrollable fear, the rough gravel biting into my breasts and lower body.

Now the guards took me by my shoulders, swung me up and over so I fell face-up, the hard irons pressing cruelly into the small of my back. I gazed up at the darkening sky, it was evening now, last streaks of crimson lit the clouds to the west, crows that had been cawing with cruel glee at the suffering victims flew to their roosts, a sharp moon was rising over the cross where Cunben twisted with jerks of pain. Smoke was drifting in the clammy air, I was haunted with visions of the women at Boudicca's dun, howling at me from the looming darkness, their corpse-faces grimacing at me in rictus of death-agoniy, cold sweat glistened in the moonlight on my quivering breasts.

There was a lot of movement, men shouting orders, clinking of metal and rumbling of wheels. As I lay fidgeting awkwardly, trying to ease the cutting pain of the metal against my kidneys, I cried out in alarm as I saw a fire-basket being placed alongside me, next to the cross where the dark-haired wretch was gasping in agony. I recalled all too vividly my night in the smithy as I heard the rattle of coal being tipped into it, so close the dust blinded my eyes.

And now a pungent smell filled the air, a mule-waggon slowly approached. I couldn't see what was happening, but I heard girls' cries as it drew nearer, soon Dovagna screamed, then Trilluna's shrill shriek was unmistakable.

The mule plodded up to where I lay, the hot stench was overpowering. Suddenly a large brushful of hot, black, oily, semi-liquid tar was splashed onto my face, another at almost the same moment on my thighs. There was a pause while I yelled and squirmed as the heat ate into my skin. Another brushful on my breasts, another on my abdomen and cunt, then a guard hauled me up by my hair, I dangled with my knees just supporting me on the road while my shoulders and buttocks were painted with the pitch, then they threw me back down to lie twisting and struggling helplessly, sobbing with burning pain.

I couldn't breath through my nose, I had to gasp for air. I couldn't see, my eyes already sore with coal-dust were now pasted with gluey tar. Yet I was conscious that, while I'd been being tarred, the brazier beside me had been lit, I could hear it now crackling, beginning to blaze.

Another long fanfare from the brass, then I felt a pole being slid under my shoulders, over my shackled arms. I was lifted up by this, no doubt by my two guards, felt the weight of my body swinging as they raised me, my thighs shaking. One of them was snapping commands to the other, "Altior! Ad me! Bene!", the spectators were urging them on so loudly he had to shout.

Strong hands of a third man, I guessed it was the older blacksmith, grabbed at my pitch-smeared thighs. "Citro!" I was lowered slightly, felt something touch my pussy, heard a sharp screech of horror and pain from Dovagna, then sensed a hard sharpness entering me – the chisel-like tip of the stake!

A spasm of mingled terror, pain and sexual excitement tore through my trussed body as I felt myself lowered, slowly and carefully, the rough-trimmed wood entering my soft sheath, my torso twisted, thighs opened and closed frantically, pointlessly, nothing could protect me from the relentless intrusion into my womanhood.

Like Dovagna I too squealed as they suddenly let me drop, pulling away the lifting-rod, my weight pulled me down, the wood forced my love-passage wide, the invader penetrated my secret parts.

The pain was unspeakable, there was nothing I could do to ease it, though my limbs fought wildly to get some grip. And, though I could feel the monster thrusting right into my womb, pressing against my abdomen, it was subtly designed so it brought me hideous pain but no quick death, I was fully aware of my torment.​

For minutes I, and a hundred other girls, along with the writhing, crucified men, screamed together in a wild chorus of crazed agony. Then our cries were joined by a further tantantara of brass and drums, time for the final act.

I heard the crackle of burning, smelt hot smoke, heard new shrieks from girls and men, a roar of excitement from the huge watching crowd, lound mocking laughter from the Governor and his party, then I sensed the firebrand placed between my thighs, held against me till my stomach smouldered, my breasts began to grill.


I howled, swung my whole body about only aggravating the torture of the spike inside me, until it ripped the inside wall of my womb and burst through my hide with a fountain of sizzling blood at the very same moment that the pitch flared into flame ....
​



​
 
Eulalia said:
​
For minutes I, and a hundred other girls, along with the writhing, crucified men, screamed together in a wild chorus of crazed agony. Then our cries were joined by a further tantantara of brass and drums, time for the final act.
Click to expand...

My favorite line in the reworked part!

I really liked it! While this is not a slight at the previous version I enjoyed this one more.
 
thanks Kodos!
I wasn't unhappy with my first effort, but I knew I could do better,
and - strangely - a demanding and stressful week put me in the mood to try again.
Must put myself through more torment,
that's the way a slavebard works!
:spank:​
 
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