Sketches by scorpio

[jimsac]

This time, I wrote the scene in Italian, and jimsac translated. A big big big wherever you want sweetie, thanks!!!

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“Yes, that’s it, you whore, like that! Yes, you filthy whore, expose yourself to the crowd! Scream!”, a satisfied Scorpianus yells.

From his enviable vantage point, behind the cross, Scorpianus’ gaze moves slowly across the girl’s body, while she arches her back and howls in pain, prodded on by the sharp lance point embedded in the tender living flesh of her tortured back.

“Wow, this whore has a great ass!”, he laughs and notices again the deep furrows, weals and gashes of the scourging, her contracted round gluteal muscles, the legs, long and trembling with the strain of maintaining this position. Then his gaze is attracted towards the fresh blood that flows from her arms, caused by the scraping of the crown of thorns during this last convulsive movement, the taut arms, and the perforated and bloodied wrists that twist and rotate around the blood-red nails that affix her to the patibulum. “By Mithra, her suffering must be excruciating!”, he inadvertently exclaims.

Almost angry with himself at this errant thought, he moves in front of the cross and places the spear on the ground, and starts laughing uncontrollably, while encouraging the others to insult Gabriella, while she is in this contorted position: “Oooohhh queen Sivilla, oh yes! What’s wrong? Ooohh, does she want to offer us her royal cunt so that we get her off the cross?” Another laughs and exclaims “oohhh, but we know she wanted to fuck the whole legion, don’t we, your majesty?!”

Little by little, trembling and shaking, Gabriella lets herself go. While she descends, she presses on her feet, and the nails scrape against her bones and she opens her mouth, first mutely, then whimpering as a result of this new source of pain. But when she is in this vertical position, she cannot take it any longer, and gives way, such that now all her weight is hanging on her arms and wrists, and the pain explodes, radiating down her arms, across her torso and into her brain: "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH AAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"

The crowd goes wild, happy to see her suffer. They laugh, point at her, jeer, and urge Scorpianus to continue.

Scorpianus seizes his opportunity. He grabs the spear and takes a step forward, raising the spear point up to Gabriella’s navel. There is a moment of indecision, then he raises it a little further. Now the point is just below her breast. “Beautiful boobs”, thinks Scorpianus, “well-rounded, full, and firm”, then, abruptly, he moves the spear a little, rotates it and pushes it further up.

The blade penetrates the pale flesh of Gabriella’s left breast, cutting and tearing. The blood starts to flow. The point pierces just the surface of her silky smooth skin, and moves to a point just below the nipple. The steel contacts the highly enervated area that makes that part of the body so sensitive.

At first, Gabriella distinctly feels the cold steel that cuts through her flesh, then the sharp point that stimulates the breast’s nerve endings gives her the sensation that they have jabbed the spear deeply, as if they had pierced her heart. And of course there is pain, hot and intense. She closes her eyes and screams, showing her white teeth and red lips, her tongue, her eye lashes, still wearing their blue paint, the blood that flows from the crown of thorns and drips on her cheeks and chest: "aaaAAAAHHHHHH AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH"

Scorpianus holds the spear firmly for a few moments, reveling in her cries, and in the girl’s torture, and then he removes it. “This is only the beginning, Queen of Whores!”

Thank you, Gabriella! Your writing is hard core orgasmic
Amazing stuff coming out of your imagination - I was just the humble translator....

 

[GabriellaSivilla]

Thank you, Gabriella! You know where I would like your kiss
But amazing stuff coming out of your imagination - I was just the humble translator....

And I humbly kneel in front of you, such a talented artist, and kiss you where you deserve it!

 

[jimsac]

And I humbly kneel in front of you, such a talented artist, and kiss you where you deserve it!

Good, so while we wait for the reactions of the crowd to your writing....

 

[GabriellaSivilla]

Good, so while we wait for the reactions of the crowd to your writing....

ahahah, sure! I would spread my legs for you!

 

[jimsac]

I never meant to more than just slightly torture her breasts; just break open the skin of the miraculously untouched breast. Something is preventing me from being more sadistic than usual. What is it about this girl? I may need to pass on the next torture to someone else...

 

[thehangingtree]

I never meant to more than just slightly torture her breasts; just break open the skin of the miraculously untouched breast. Something is preventing me from being more sadistic than usual. What is it about this girl? I may need to pass on the next torture to someone else...

Tree says just join me for a drink...

 

[carloscruz]

That beautiful and sexy body ruined! What a waste! But still I am rooted on the spot watching my loved Gabriella get tortured.
I wish I could grab the centurion’s spear and pierce her heart...

 

[jimsac]

That beautiful and sexy body ruined! What a waste! But still I am rooted on the spot watching my loved Gabriella get tortured.
I wish I could grab the centurion’s spear and pierce her heart...

Scorpianus looks at the soldiers and some of the natives around him, all gathered beneath the Queen’s cross.

He grabs an evil-looking tripronged rake and offers it to them, “Who wants to have a go at tickling Queen @GabriellaSivilla ? Who wants to have some fun with this piece of worthless filth?”

 

[jimsac]

The natives bring a new instrument of torture*. It looks like a rake but obviously has been custom designed to torture people, such as the poor @GabriellaSivilla hanging from the cross. They press the curved blades hard against her body. The bastards go for her macerated ribs, and blood spatters and flows down her naked body from these fresh gashes.

The Queen utters a loud howl that seems to resonate to the four corners of the Earth.

Somehow this does not feel right. What is happening to me?!

*ignore my explanation for the origin of the rake in message #788
<Latin credits to Eulalia>

 

[GabriellaSivilla]

With his spear and insults and shouts, Scorpianus has provoked a little bit of turmoil around the cross. He looks around him, beyond the tight knit circle of guards, to the roaring crowds that have gathered, fascinated by this terrible punishment... And they want MORE.

With the guards there are also a couple of natives, bastards that have crucified their queen for a bit of cash; gallows-trash, thieves, and murderers. They laugh, draped in their long cloaks, and point at her, insulting her most lewdly. Then, once they see that Scorpianus is done, one whispers something in the ear of his neighbor. This one nods, turns around, and starts to rummage in a sack lying on the ground nearby. Only a few moments have passed when he comes back, a triumphal sneer on his face, and holding a long object in his dirty hands, which he proudly exhibits.

When Scorpianus realizes what the object is, he shakes his head incredulously: “What filthy bastards!” He’s tempted to order them to stop, shocked by the extent of their cruelty, but cannot do anything. It was he who started this new round of tortures, and the girl on the cross is fair game to molest and torment.

A trio of men approach the cross flanking the one holding the object in his hand. It is a long wooden staff with one end forming a type of rake, but different in size and shape from that used in the prefect’s gardens. Three sharp curved blades, bent almost at a ninety degree angle, each blade separated from the other by a few digiti. Scorpianus gazes at the rake and shakes his head again, realizing that it was never meant to remove any leaves, but aomeone must have built it for the sole purpose of torturing people.

The four natives laugh, lifting the object up and showing it to the queen, shaking it and yelling to get her attention. Gabriella moves her head, her suffering emerald eyes focusing on the rake. Her eyes widen as a soft lament escapes her lips : “Nnnooo…. Please…. Noooo…. Mercy, mercy”.

That is what they expected, that she invokes mercy. With calculated precision, they place the instrument of torture against her right flank, with the points next to the terrible wounds resulting from the flagellation of the ribs. Gabriella distinctly feels the iron points entering the ruptured skin and howls in pain: "oooooaaaaaaaAAAAHHHHH!" There, her silky skin has already been irrevocably destroyed by the leather strips of the flagellum. There, pieces of lead at the ends of the whip have macerated her delicate flesh, they have deeply penetrated her, gasheing her skin, and then tearing chuncks of flesh as the whip was pulled away. There the blades of the rake now enter, tearing their way in her tortured tissues, making the pain even more excruciating for the poor woman.

The bastard waits until the wails decline in intensity and then pulls the rake down along her ribs. Gabriella utters an inhuman howl:

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH".

Her wails of anguish make the skin crawl for even the most diehards in the crowd; it is so strong, desperate and absolute. The blades glid along the tender flesh of the girl, tearing her, cutting her, lacerating her. One of the blades finds the bone of a rib, and scrapes against it on its way down. In her terrible agony, Gabriella, in spite of all the other pain she is experiencing, distinctly feels the iron scarping against her bones, she feels the blades tearing her flesh. In her cry of agony, she contracts the muscles of her arm, which in turn pulls on the nails in her wrists, causing her even more distress.

Satisfied with what he’s seeing, the mena continue to pull down, and the blades leaves three long wounds in her living flesh. Blood immediately starts oozing, staining with red Gabriella’s skin, while the others laugh, and point at the rivulets of blood that rapidly moves down her side until it reaches her thigh.

“Bastards, they are butchering her alive!”, thinks Scorpianus, and in a fit of anger which he cannot explain, grabs his spear and approaches the natives : “STOP IT! STOP IT! Leave her alone, you sons of bitches!”

The man looks at him, terrified. He lets the instrument of torture fall. Then, little by little, he takes it again and retreats: “Yes, yes, Sir! Of course, Sir!”

Scorpianus stays immobile but trembling with rage, while the mean retreat, and for a while there is silence in the gathering below the cross. He realizes he has made a mistake; he has shown himself to be weak. He hears whispers behind his back, one of his own men talking in a low voice to another “what’s happened to him? Has he become soft?”

He turns around, and in an attempt to regain control of the situation, he has to say something : “You were killing her, idiots! She needs to suffer for much longer, by Mithras!”, but his words lack conviction.

From now on he cannot afford to show any weakness.

 

[jimsac]

Hey is everyone on vacation? Any comments or add-ons to Gabriella’s superb description ?

 

[morten sigurdson]

Hey is everyone on vacation? Any comments or add-ons to Gabriella’s superb description ?

Yeas, description is truly wonderful, as well as drawings, well done to you both

 

[jimsac]

Queen @GabriellaSivilla is suffering greatly. Her tortured but somehow still enticing naked body has sunk to an almost sitting position. In her exhausted state, she cannot prevent her legs from being splayed open. I am transfixed by her inflamed pussy, bruised by her previous defilement. A small but unexpected movement draws my gaze. Her eyes are open and her lips are moving. She utters something, but it is barely audible. Only those of us beneath her cross can make out what she's saying.
"I'm...I'm... thirs….thirsty. Sssso thirsty"....

 

[GabriellaSivilla]

After the rake has excavated the three deep gouges in her flank, Gabriella remains hanging from the cross, her breath shallow, her green eyes wide open like she were contemplating all the horrors and the appalling pains of the tortures they are inflicting upon her. Her belly is taut, her blood is dripping from her wounds, soft moans of pain escape from her mouth from time to time.

Twenty minutes pass. Gabriella is surrounded by the never ending taunts and insults from the crowd, then she gasps. Then she chokes. Then she starts gulping, her neck outstretched, her eyes wide open again, a rasping sound accompanying each of these elaborated breaths. She looks up at the sky, in desperation, feeling like a rope has been tied tightly around her chest, squeezing air form her lungs, while the cat calls around her increase.

Gathering all the strength she has, she pushes on her feet. As she feels her pained legs start straightening, she pulls at the nails in her wrists, and the result is that while her body moves up on the stipe, each tortured fiber of her flesh sends bolt after bolt of pain to explode in her brain. It is like she is immersed in a well of agony and fire, and just her lips emerge to gulp on air, precious air. She stays like that for a few seconds, inhaling all she can, feeling the pressure in her lungs relieved, her ribcage finally expanding. Then, much too soon, she feels her legs trembling, her strength leaving her. She resists as much as she can, then she lets herself go, and her body rapidly slides down the stipe. When the nails in her wrists abruptly stop her fall, the pain is beyond imagination, like they were tearing her arms from her shoulders, like they were drilling them again and again in all their length with hot spikes, like they were hitting the living tender flesh of her back with a hundreds of scourges at the same time. She cries, her scream of pain coming directly from her wounded soul: "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!"

Gabriella remains hanging down, her head leaning of her left arm, oblivious of the long thorns puncturing her skin and entering her flesh there. She closes her eyes.

Minutes pass, and Gabriella does not move. The crows silences down, all the eyes on her. One shouts out loud: "She cannot be dead, it is too early!" Cries of delusion echo in the clearing.

Skorpianus move, out of rage, toward the execution squad: "Bastards, you do not even know how to crucify a girl! You son of bitches". They retract, out of terror, then one of them, the elder, his face disfigured by a scar on his right cheek, looks up at him: "No sir, she is not dead. Let me check, Sir!" and moves to take the rake on the ground, stopping for his approval.

Skorpianus looks at him, biting his lower lip for having involuntarily causes this. But he cannot stop him now, he would look too weak. He angrily nods, and the thug grabs the pointed rake. He positions it on her right biceps, presses, feeling the points enter her flesh, then pulls down, three wounds appearing in her skin, her blood filling them. Gabriella does not move, while the three deep signs are painfully carved in the flesh of her arm.

Skopianus moves closer to the stipe, and looks at her tortured body. She looks at the crimson blood dripping down from the nails in her wrists, the long rivulets marking her lower arm down almost to her armpits. She looks at the terrible wounds on her flanks, where the scourges have chopped off small chunks of her flesh. And of course she looks at her pussy, tortured and defiled by the many men that have been inside there, and he feels his cock harden again. He keeps on looking there, her private parts so well on display as she hangs down with her legs open, and thinks how he would like to fuck her again, maybe stretching the tiny hole of her ass to make her scream as she has screamed on the cross.
In the meantime, the thug moves the rake on her flat belly, close to her navel. He presses, letting the blades penetrate deeply in her skin, then he pulls, almost horizontally this time. The blades slice her tender flesh, tear her belly, opening three deep wounds. All of the sudden Gabriella straightens her neck and opens her green eyes, a loud moan of pain escaping her red lips: "aaaaaaAAAAAAAAHHHH AAAAAAAAAAHHHHH" as the rake traces deep grooves in her skin.

The thug throws the rake on the dirty: "The bitch is not dead, Sir!"

Gabriella, up there, suffers greatly. She has been recovered to her Hell on Earth. Her lips moves, few words said incoherently. Then: " "I'm...I'm... thirs….thirsty. Sssso thirsty"....

 

[xso]

After the rake has excavated the three deep gouges in her flank, Gabriella remains hanging from the cross, her breath shallow, her green eyes wide open like she were contemplating all the horrors and the appalling pains of the tortures they are inflicting upon her. Her belly is taut, her blood is dripping from her wounds, soft moans of pain escape from her mouth from time to time.

Twenty minutes pass. Gabriella is surrounded by the never ending taunts and insults from the crowd, then she gasps. Then she chokes. Then she starts gulping, her neck outstretched, her eyes wide open again, a rasping sound accompanying each of these elaborated breaths. She looks up at the sky, in desperation, feeling like a rope has been tied tightly around her chest, squeezing air form her lungs, while the cat calls around her increase.

Gathering all the strength she has, she pushes on her feet. As she feels her pained legs start straightening, she pulls at the nails in her wrists, and the result is that while her body moves up on the stipe, each tortured fiber of her flesh sends bolt after bolt of pain to explode in her brain. It is like she is immersed in a well of agony and fire, and just her lips emerge to gulp on air, precious air. She stays like that for a few seconds, inhaling all she can, feeling the pressure in her lungs relieved, her ribcage finally expanding. Then, much too soon, she feels her legs trembling, her strength leaving her. She resists as much as she can, then she lets herself go, and her body rapidly slides down the stipe. When the nails in her wrists abruptly stop her fall, the pain is beyond imagination, like they were tearing her arms from her shoulders, like they were drilling them again and again in all their length with hot spikes, like they were hitting the living tender flesh of her back with a hundreds of scourges at the same time. She cries, her scream of pain coming directly from her wounded soul: "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!"

Gabriella remains hanging down, her head leaning of her left arm, oblivious of the long thorns puncturing her skin and entering her flesh there. She closes her eyes.

Minutes pass, and Gabriella does not move. The crows silences down, all the eyes on her. One shouts out loud: "She cannot be dead, it is too early!" Cries of delusion echo in the clearing.

Skorpianus move, out of rage, toward the execution squad: "Bastards, you do not even know how to crucify a girl! You son of bitches". They retract, out of terror, then one of them, the elder, his face disfigured by a scar on his right cheek, looks up at him: "No sir, she is not dead. Let me check, Sir!" and moves to take the rake on the ground, stopping for his approval.

Skorpianus looks at him, biting his lower lip for having involuntarily causes this. But he cannot stop him now, he would look too weak. He angrily nods, and the thug grabs the pointed rake. He positions it on her right biceps, presses, feeling the points enter her flesh, then pulls down, three wounds appearing in her skin, her blood filling them. Gabriella does not move, while the three deep signs are painfully carved in the flesh of her arm.

Skopianus moves closer to the stipe, and looks at her tortured body. She looks at the crimson blood dripping down from the nails in her wrists, the long rivulets marking her lower arm down almost to her armpits. She looks at the terrible wounds on her flanks, where the scourges have chopped off small chunks of her flesh. And of course she looks at her pussy, tortured and defiled by the many men that have been inside there, and he feels his cock harden again. He keeps on looking there, her private parts so well on display as she hangs down with her legs open, and thinks how he would like to fuck her again, maybe stretching the tiny hole of her ass to make her scream as she has screamed on the cross.
In the meantime, the thug moves the rake on her flat belly, close to her navel. He presses, letting the blades penetrate deeply in her skin, then he pulls, almost horizontally this time. The blades slice her tender flesh, tear her belly, opening three deep wounds. All of the sudden Gabriella straightens her neck and opens her green eyes, a loud moan of pain escaping her red lips: "aaaaaaAAAAAAAAHHHH AAAAAAAAAAHHHHH" as the rake traces deep grooves in her skin.

The thug throws the rake on the dirty: "The bitch is not dead, Sir!"

Gabriella, up there, suffers greatly. She has been recovered to her Hell on Earth. Her lips moves, few words said incoherently. Then: " "I'm...I'm... thirs….thirsty. Sssso thirsty"....

Give the bitch something to drink, so she lasts longer, can be tortured more!

 

[jimsac]

After the rake has excavated the three deep gouges in her flank, Gabriella remains hanging from the cross, her breath shallow, her green eyes wide open like she were contemplating all the horrors and the appalling pains of the tortures they are inflicting upon her. Her belly is taut, her blood is dripping from her wounds, soft moans of pain escape from her mouth from time to time.

Twenty minutes pass. Gabriella is surrounded by the never ending taunts and insults from the crowd, then she gasps. Then she chokes. Then she starts gulping, her neck outstretched, her eyes wide open again, a rasping sound accompanying each of these elaborated breaths. She looks up at the sky, in desperation, feeling like a rope has been tied tightly around her chest, squeezing air form her lungs, while the cat calls around her increase.

Gathering all the strength she has, she pushes on her feet. As she feels her pained legs start straightening, she pulls at the nails in her wrists, and the result is that while her body moves up on the stipe, each tortured fiber of her flesh sends bolt after bolt of pain to explode in her brain. It is like she is immersed in a well of agony and fire, and just her lips emerge to gulp on air, precious air. She stays like that for a few seconds, inhaling all she can, feeling the pressure in her lungs relieved, her ribcage finally expanding. Then, much too soon, she feels her legs trembling, her strength leaving her. She resists as much as she can, then she lets herself go, and her body rapidly slides down the stipe. When the nails in her wrists abruptly stop her fall, the pain is beyond imagination, like they were tearing her arms from her shoulders, like they were drilling them again and again in all their length with hot spikes, like they were hitting the living tender flesh of her back with a hundreds of scourges at the same time. She cries, her scream of pain coming directly from her wounded soul: "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!"

Gabriella remains hanging down, her head leaning of her left arm, oblivious of the long thorns puncturing her skin and entering her flesh there. She closes her eyes.

Minutes pass, and Gabriella does not move. The crows silences down, all the eyes on her. One shouts out loud: "She cannot be dead, it is too early!" Cries of delusion echo in the clearing.

Skorpianus move, out of rage, toward the execution squad: "Bastards, you do not even know how to crucify a girl! You son of bitches". They retract, out of terror, then one of them, the elder, his face disfigured by a scar on his right cheek, looks up at him: "No sir, she is not dead. Let me check, Sir!" and moves to take the rake on the ground, stopping for his approval.

Skorpianus looks at him, biting his lower lip for having involuntarily causes this. But he cannot stop him now, he would look too weak. He angrily nods, and the thug grabs the pointed rake. He positions it on her right biceps, presses, feeling the points enter her flesh, then pulls down, three wounds appearing in her skin, her blood filling them. Gabriella does not move, while the three deep signs are painfully carved in the flesh of her arm.

Skopianus moves closer to the stipe, and looks at her tortured body. She looks at the crimson blood dripping down from the nails in her wrists, the long rivulets marking her lower arm down almost to her armpits. She looks at the terrible wounds on her flanks, where the scourges have chopped off small chunks of her flesh. And of course she looks at her pussy, tortured and defiled by the many men that have been inside there, and he feels his cock harden again. He keeps on looking there, her private parts so well on display as she hangs down with her legs open, and thinks how he would like to fuck her again, maybe stretching the tiny hole of her ass to make her scream as she has screamed on the cross.
In the meantime, the thug moves the rake on her flat belly, close to her navel. He presses, letting the blades penetrate deeply in her skin, then he pulls, almost horizontally this time. The blades slice her tender flesh, tear her belly, opening three deep wounds. All of the sudden Gabriella straightens her neck and opens her green eyes, a loud moan of pain escaping her red lips: "aaaaaaAAAAAAAAHHHH AAAAAAAAAAHHHHH" as the rake traces deep grooves in her skin.

The thug throws the rake on the dirty: "The bitch is not dead, Sir!"

Gabriella, up there, suffers greatly. She has been recovered to her Hell on Earth. Her lips moves, few words said incoherently. Then: " "I'm...I'm... thirs….thirsty. Sssso thirsty"....

 

[jimsac]

"These native bastards", I say to the other Roman , "They really have it for this poor girl!".
The rake drives deep welts in her milky white flesh, and she cries out in agony.
I try not to show any remorse. Weakness is not an option. But inside my mind is a firestorm of conflicting emotions.
This woman is something unique.
Naked, bruised, bloodied, and defiled. And yet I still long for her!

 

[Deleted member 16320]

 

[piraland]

After the rake has excavated the three deep gouges in her flank, Gabriella remains hanging from the cross, her breath shallow, her green eyes wide open like she were contemplating all the horrors and the appalling pains of the tortures they are inflicting upon her. Her belly is taut, her blood is dripping from her wounds, soft moans of pain escape from her mouth from time to time.

Twenty minutes pass. Gabriella is surrounded by the never ending taunts and insults from the crowd, then she gasps. Then she chokes. Then she starts gulping, her neck outstretched, her eyes wide open again, a rasping sound accompanying each of these elaborated breaths. She looks up at the sky, in desperation, feeling like a rope has been tied tightly around her chest, squeezing air form her lungs, while the cat calls around her increase.

Gathering all the strength she has, she pushes on her feet. As she feels her pained legs start straightening, she pulls at the nails in her wrists, and the result is that while her body moves up on the stipe, each tortured fiber of her flesh sends bolt after bolt of pain to explode in her brain. It is like she is immersed in a well of agony and fire, and just her lips emerge to gulp on air, precious air. She stays like that for a few seconds, inhaling all she can, feeling the pressure in her lungs relieved, her ribcage finally expanding. Then, much too soon, she feels her legs trembling, her strength leaving her. She resists as much as she can, then she lets herself go, and her body rapidly slides down the stipe. When the nails in her wrists abruptly stop her fall, the pain is beyond imagination, like they were tearing her arms from her shoulders, like they were drilling them again and again in all their length with hot spikes, like they were hitting the living tender flesh of her back with a hundreds of scourges at the same time. She cries, her scream of pain coming directly from her wounded soul: "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!"

Gabriella remains hanging down, her head leaning of her left arm, oblivious of the long thorns puncturing her skin and entering her flesh there. She closes her eyes.

Minutes pass, and Gabriella does not move. The crows silences down, all the eyes on her. One shouts out loud: "She cannot be dead, it is too early!" Cries of delusion echo in the clearing.

Skorpianus move, out of rage, toward the execution squad: "Bastards, you do not even know how to crucify a girl! You son of bitches". They retract, out of terror, then one of them, the elder, his face disfigured by a scar on his right cheek, looks up at him: "No sir, she is not dead. Let me check, Sir!" and moves to take the rake on the ground, stopping for his approval.

Skorpianus looks at him, biting his lower lip for having involuntarily causes this. But he cannot stop him now, he would look too weak. He angrily nods, and the thug grabs the pointed rake. He positions it on her right biceps, presses, feeling the points enter her flesh, then pulls down, three wounds appearing in her skin, her blood filling them. Gabriella does not move, while the three deep signs are painfully carved in the flesh of her arm.

Skopianus moves closer to the stipe, and looks at her tortured body. She looks at the crimson blood dripping down from the nails in her wrists, the long rivulets marking her lower arm down almost to her armpits. She looks at the terrible wounds on her flanks, where the scourges have chopped off small chunks of her flesh. And of course she looks at her pussy, tortured and defiled by the many men that have been inside there, and he feels his cock harden again. He keeps on looking there, her private parts so well on display as she hangs down with her legs open, and thinks how he would like to fuck her again, maybe stretching the tiny hole of her ass to make her scream as she has screamed on the cross.
In the meantime, the thug moves the rake on her flat belly, close to her navel. He presses, letting the blades penetrate deeply in her skin, then he pulls, almost horizontally this time. The blades slice her tender flesh, tear her belly, opening three deep wounds. All of the sudden Gabriella straightens her neck and opens her green eyes, a loud moan of pain escaping her red lips: "aaaaaaAAAAAAAAHHHH AAAAAAAAAAHHHHH" as the rake traces deep grooves in her skin.

The thug throws the rake on the dirty: "The bitch is not dead, Sir!"

Gabriella, up there, suffers greatly. She has been recovered to her Hell on Earth. Her lips moves, few words said incoherently. Then: " "I'm...I'm... thirs….thirsty. Sssso thirsty"....

Splendid interpretation of the infinite pain felt on the cross, in addition, the exhibition of her vulva during the disordered movements caused by her dance on the cross is a call to rape, brutal penetration. The rake is too much and ruins the beautiful agony she offers to the crowd.

 

[GabriellaSivilla]

Splendid interpretation of the infinite pain felt on the cross, in addition, the exhibition of her vulva during the disordered movements caused by her dance on the cross is a call to rape, brutal penetration. The rake is too much and ruins the beautiful agony she offers to the crowd.

Thaaaaanks, very kind of you! Comments like yours are a nice touch to the hearth, and writers and artists appreciate them so much!