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Sketches by scorpio

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The first nail
=========

The rusty nail is pushed into her delicate wrist, just where there this a space between the bones.
The soldier briefly looks into her blood-lined, sweat-soaked face - she seems to be resigned to her fate and does not struggle. She seems to be looking straight at him and somehow he finds this unnerving.

@malins only has a few moments to breathe deeply before the first nail is hammered home.
She yells and wails as the iron spike tears away flesh and sinew. Blood spurts from the wound, flowing down her arm, staining the wood and finally soaked up by the parched ground.

Her naked body buckles and twists, so much so, that another soldier, laughing, cruelly steps on her stomach to keep her steady and not tear herself from the wood.
"She's started to dance already! Can't wait to get on the cross!"

After four heavy blows, her right arm is affixed to the patibulum. The queen's wails are neverending.
 

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I was not the kind of person who went to watch lots of crucifixions.
But of course there's some things I know.

I know that everyone screams when the nails go in.
And that everyone is broken by the cross.
It turns everyone to meat.
(That's the whole point of it)

I watch as he places the nail,
and wince as my executioner twists the tip of the spike into my wrist;
when the hammer-blows start to fall,
I don't even try to hold back the screams, or battle back against the pain.

I howl and wail and squirm, kick and convulse,
as the rough iron scrapes between the bones, pushes them apart, crushes.
As the marrow in my bones turns to molten lead and blinding flashes of agony sear up my arm.

This isn't like all the cruel games they played with me before,
the shame and humiliation I felt when I begged and broke...
Now they are simply killing me, and I'll scream and struggle. I feel no shame for it.

I won't curse or rage against my executioners;
they've been presented with a body to nail to the cross ...
(today, it happens to be me) - so that is what they do ...
it's not their fault what is happening.

When it's finished, when the nail is in, when my wrist is fixed firm to the hurt-beam
...of course the pain doesn't cease, it becomes a pounding throb that keeps out sending hot pulses of torment.
I'm shivering, in cold sweat, muscles spasm down my arm.
My left hand is opening and closing,
the fingers of my right one are twitching,
of their own accord, half curled in, no longer obeying my will.

Now they'll join my other wrist to the beam,
and then they'll pull me off the ground ...
and I'll hang from the wood I carried to my place of death...
 
malins said:
I was not the kind of person who went to watch lots of crucifixions.
But of course there's some things I know.

I know that everyone screams when the nails go in.
And that everyone is broken by the cross.
It turns everyone to meat.
(That's the whole point of it)

I watch as he places the nail,
and wince as my executioner twists the tip of the spike into my wrist;
when the hammer-blows start to fall,
I don't even try to hold back the screams, or battle back against the pain.

I howl and wail and squirm, kick and convulse,
as the rough iron scrapes between the bones, pushes them apart, crushes.
As the marrow in my bones turns to molten lead and blinding flashes of agony sear up my arm.

This isn't like all the cruel games they played with me before,
the shame and humiliation I felt when I begged and broke...
Now they are simply killing me, and I'll scream and struggle. I feel no shame for it.

I won't curse or rage against my executioners;
they've been presented with a body to nail to the cross ...
(today, it happens to be me) - so that is what they do ...
it's not their fault what is happening.

When it's finished, when the nail is in, when my wrist is fixed firm to the hurt-beam
...of course the pain doesn't cease, it becomes a pounding throb that keeps out sending hot pulses of torment.
I'm shivering, in cold sweat, muscles spasm down my arm.
My left hand is opening and closing,
the fingers of my right one are twitching,
of their own accord, half curled in, no longer obeying my will.

Now they'll join my other wrist to the beam,
and then they'll pull me off the ground ...
and I'll hang from the wood I carried to my place of death...
Click to expand...
Lovely piece of prose, malins! The sense of resignation and the extreme anguish that accompanies the nailing is so well portrayed and erotic in a unique way.
 
One with the crossbeam
=================

The soldiers move on to @malins 's left wrist, ignoring her naked body's violent shuddering and her almost incoherent pleas for mercy.
They hammer the second nail in the Destot's space so that the metal will be firmly anchored between the bones of her wrists. One of the men presses her stomach with his foot, holding her steady.
Blood spurts and the woman yells out in pain, banging her head repeatedly on the wood. Her hair is disheveled but the crown is so firmly embedded in her scalp that it has not come loose. Blow follows blow, the nail bites deeper, and she howls, it seems for ever. Her face is a mask of agony, but she has not lost consciousness.
With professional expertise, the soldiers are soon finished with their work.
 

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jimsac said:
One with the crossbeam
=================

The soldiers move on to @malins 's left wrist, ignoring her naked body's violent shuddering and her almost incoherent pleas for mercy.
They hammer the second nail in the Destot's space so that the metal will be firmly anchored between the bones of her wrists. One of the men presses her stomach with his foot, holding her steady.
Blood spurts and the woman yells out in pain, banging her head repeatedly on the wood. Her hair is disheveled but the crown is so firmly embedded in her scalp that it has not come loose. Blow follows blow, the nail bites deeper, and she howls, it seems for ever. Her face is a mask of agony, but she has not lost consciousness.
With professional expertise, the soldiers are soon finished with their work.
Click to expand...
Exceedingly good point of view, Jimsac! :clapping::clapping:
 
jimsac said:
Let’s see what @malins thinks about it!
Click to expand...
I'm not thinking I'm screaming!!!

These men operate quickly and with determination.
Merciless is not even the right word...
... my body is merely a work-piece for them.

When the butcher carves meat from bone, or a blacksmith strikes an iron,
we don't call that 'merciless',
they just work their trade, and it would not cross their mind to consider,
whether the thing they are working on, would rather prefer not to be on the carving-block or anvil.

And so my screams and begging,
that is just the sound the thing they are working on makes, when they ply their trade.

Lightning strikes again as a nail is pounded through my other wrist,
nausea strangles me as the widening shank of the nail forces bones apart
my body bucking wildly causes the wound in my right wrist to answer the new pain with its own
my head bashing against the beam drives in deeper the thorns of my crown

Again one of the men presses down with his foot on my abdomen,
keep the work-piece in place.

The sound of hammer on nail-head, at first muted as the iron sank into flesh,
becomes more ringing and metallic as the nail bites into hard wood and sinks into the patibulum.
the grating vibrations of the rough iron against my bones, it's like sheets of fire ...

then the nail-head presses firm against swelling skin,
I am fixed to the beam that I'll hang from.

These nails will not ever stop tormenting me, will never leave me,
not until my limbs have gone forever still and they're drawn out of the lifeless wreck of my body.
I've carried them here to this place ... now they'll carry me.

Next, I understand, they'll be picking me up by the beam,
they'll be lifting me off the ground, fixing the cross-beam to the upright.
I'll be hanging then, kicking, then trying to plant my feet against the post,
they'll probably wait for me to exhaust myself,

maybe they'll wait until I have no other choice,
but to beg them please,
nail my feet to the post now too, so I can at least push up...
 
malins said:
I'm not thinking I'm screaming!!!

These men operate quickly and with determination.
Merciless is not even the right word...
... my body is merely a work-piece for them.

When the butcher carves meat from bone, or a blacksmith strikes an iron,
we don't call that 'merciless',
they just work their trade, and it would not cross their mind to consider,
whether the thing they are working on, would rather prefer not to be on the carving-block or anvil.

And so my screams and begging,
that is just the sound the thing they are working on makes, when they ply their trade.

Lightning strikes again as a nail is pounded through my other wrist,
nausea strangles me as the widening shank of the nail forces bones apart
my body bucking wildly causes the wound in my right wrist to answer the new pain with its own
my head bashing against the beam drives in deeper the thorns of my crown

Again one of the men presses down with his foot on my abdomen,
keep the work-piece in place.

The sound of hammer on nail-head, at first muted as the iron sank into flesh,
becomes more ringing and metallic as the nail bites into hard wood and sinks into the patibulum.
the grating vibrations of the rough iron against my bones, it's like sheets of fire ...

then the nail-head presses firm against swelling skin,
I am fixed to the beam that I'll hang from.

These nails will not ever stop tormenting me, will never leave me,
not until my limbs have gone forever still and they're drawn out of the lifeless wreck of my body.
I've carried them here to this place ... now they'll carry me.

Next, I understand, they'll be picking me up by the beam,
they'll be lifting me off the ground, fixing the cross-beam to the upright.
I'll be hanging then, kicking, then trying to plant my feet against the post,
they'll probably wait for me to exhaust myself,

maybe they'll wait until I have no other choice,
but to beg them please,
nail my feet to the post now too, so I can at least push up...
Click to expand...
The woman seems assigned to her fate. The crowd pushes the cordon of soldiers around her for one final look before she is hoisted up. Her pain is so intense that she has tossed modesty aside, her legs splayed wide open....
 
The lure of the crucified woman
=====================
@malins ' tortured body shudders, not as violently as before. She breathes deeply and wails and cries constantly. Blood flows from her nailed wrists, wetting the wood and soaking the parched ground.
Scorpianus cannot resist her naked body lying helpless in front of him.
He nods to his adjutants. Moving to either side of him, they roughly grab @malins legs and spread her out even more, pulling her lower body up slightly.
Her labia and clitoris, still inflamed from the previous violation, before they loaded her with the patibulum, beckons..
 

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Lest we forget @Kathy , @malins 's conspirator, currently being whipped in the soldiers' barracks.

Continuing their full frontal whipping, the men now purposefully lash her breasts. Raw welts appear on her chest, the blows repeatedly hitting her previously split nipple.
She grimaces in pain, trying not to yell and give her torturers the satisfaction of gloating over her moans and cries.
 

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jimsac said:
Lest we forget @Kathy , @malins 's conspirator, currently being whipped in the soldiers' barracks.

Continuing their full frontal whipping, the men now purposefully lash her breasts. Raw welts appear on her chest, the blows repeatedly hitting her previously split nipple.
She grimaces in pain, trying not to yell and give her torturers the satisfaction of gloating over her moans and cries.
Click to expand...
The pain is intense but they will not break my will , I suffer in silence .
 
jimsac said:
After years of contributing very little, I have decided to try out my drawing skills on our favorite topic.
My emphasis is on the eroticism of the pain and humiliation of the victim. Hope you like my first attempts...
Click to expand...
nice art work.
 
jimsac said:
Scorpianus cannot resist her naked body lying helpless in front of him.
Click to expand...
It is done.
I'm fixed to the beam I'll hang from till my death.
I can't resist anything that will be done to me.

Not that I could stop them from doing things to me before ...
but so long as i still had my hands free, I could do something...
malin_rp1_scorpio.jpg
(though it only made things worse for me)

Now I'm helplessly spread,
never has it been easier to use me,
though once I'm up on the cross it might be awkward,
so it comes as no surprise what happens next
malin_nailing4_scorpio.jpg
I'm completely defeated,
doomed to die naked on this cross,
I've learned my lesson well about how resisting isn't worth it,
and I'm barely in control of my body...
panting in between screams still bursting forth from me as if all by their own...

As they grab my legs and spread and raise and present me for what I can only hope is the last rape,
they feel no attempt from me to push back or struggle.
All I can do is try to make this a little less painful for myself,
angle my pelvis so he can enter most easily,
and let him take what is his.
 
Nailed on the ground
===============
With the soldiers holding her steady, Scorpianus undoes his lower garment and falls on top of the unfortunate @malins .
He thrusts his way in savagely. She trembles and whimpers as he has his way with her.
Sensing no resistance from the woman, he motions for the men to let her legs go free.
She does not move much as he violates her again. The pain from pulling on her nailed wrists is too atrocious for her to try and wriggle free from under his body.
Her scourged back and butt scrape against the rough wood and dusty gravel - she feels as if her skin is being flayed off.
The soldiers laugh at her and encourage Scorpianus on. No trace of pity or mercy is felt for the would-be queen.
After several minutes of humiliation, he fills her with his seed, hissing in her ear "This is the last time you will feel pleasure, you traitor!"
 

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