Andyman
Senator
There was a smart man from Limerick
(He adopted two nines as his nick)
Who, once visited Rome,
Never came back his home
(Nero hated good poets - old prick!).
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Some Sketches
- Thread starter Andyman
- Start date
(He adopted two nines as his nick)
Who, once visited Rome,
Never came back his home
(Nero hated good poets - old prick!).
Andyman
Senator
The saddest day in Brianna's life.
She was travelled to Vitellum with a cart loaded with goods together with a single servant when the sound of horses' hooves on the sandy road stopped them. A group of riders caught up with them and surrounded them, bringing their mounts to an abrupt halt, kicking up clouds of dust. Brianna looked around but there is no way to escape them, so she ordered her companion to halt the mules. Two Roman soldiers dismounted and quickly checked the contents of a cart. They surely knew what did they want and soon one of them shouted to the commander "We have them!", raising a bunch of spears up in his hand. There were four javelins or long darts, different from the Roman standard pila. Their spearheads were richly decorated and gilded and they bore religious symbols and spells, cursing the Roman conquerors. The famous and half-legendary spears of the Four Druids: a weapon forged not to kill the enemies but to bring a new life to the half-subdued Celtic nation, far more dangerous for the wardens of a Roman Peace.
The commander said nothing but smiled, looking at the young lady. She was standing on the cart platform, looking down and biting her lips, silent as a rock. Finally she looked at his eyes and she shuddered as if she saw her own death in his smile. The soldier waved his head and Brianna obediently jumped down to the ground. The servant - a very young boy looking like the village idiot - wasn't worth the trouble. The girl was important: she must be a highborn (and indeed she was, and that was what her name meant, but the soldier didn't even ask about it). So the officer slapped the mule on the rump with his bridle and the cart lurched violently down the road.
And then he slowly rode to the fragile teenager trembling with fear and when she looked at him again, he hit her in the face with the same leather strap. She screamed in surprise and covered her face, cringing. She knew her fate was sealed and suddenly a large wet spot appeared on her dress above the knees as the terrified girl peed herself in fear.
The soldiers laughed at the sight. They quickly took the girl by the arms and led her up the hill to the tall ash tree, quickly undressed her, as was customary for every woman sentenced to death, and skillfully tied her hands to the trunk. She didn't resist. She knew that now the only question was: How long and how painful will her death be?
She was lucky, because the whole country was not safe for the Roman unit patrolling the road, so they couldn't spend more than few minutes here. So, she couldn't be tortured to death properly on the cross. They had no time even for a quick rape. There could be the enemies bands hidden somewhere between the trees and they could sneak up and attack them or free the prisoner. The bigger units of Celtic warriors could appear at no time on the road. Dragging the girl with them to crucify her in the camp was impossible, because they were in hurry, to avoid spending a night within the rebellious country borders.
But the Romans were inventive and smart people.
The officer took the first precious javelin and slowly approached the girl, still looking into her eyes with a smile. And then suddenly, with a strong thrust, he plunged the javelin right into her navel, directing the blade slightly to the left so that it missed her spine and plunged into the trunk behind her back, pinning her to the tree. He pressed against the shaft and the blade, not intended for real combat and weakened by the incrustation, broke with a clang. The girl screamed painfully, straining her muscles, but the ropes were still holding her, and anyway, she couldn't survive with such a terrible wound - in fact, she was already dead, although she still felt terrible pain, fear and despair.
Then the second soldier repeated the procedure, targeting her breast, cutting her nipple in halves with a broad spearhead. Thrusting it to the side he didn't pierced her heart nor lungs but only pinned the unlucky youngster to the trunk, slicing her breast. Brianna jerked, screaming painfully, wracked with sobs. And then his comrade did the same from the other side. She screamed again and wheezed, slurring some words in her barbaric language. However, if she prayed to her gods for a quick death, she was very disappointed. The wounds were terribly painful, and she must surely have died from such injuries - but not immediately.
The commander took the last javelin and again approached the girl, hanging limply and wailing in pain. He crouched down in front of her and looked at the fur growing on her pubic mound and her labia, which were parted in terrible suffering. And then with all the strength needed to break the blade of the javelin, but completely unnecessary to pierce through the soft intimate reproductive organs of the frail girl, he pushed her into the very lower abdomen, cutting her vulva in half and massacring her vagina. The blade grated against her tailbone, piercing her anus, and embedded itself in the trunk, breaking in half.
The dying teenager howled and lifted her legs in pain for few seconds and then, loosing all her strength she coughed, spitting blood, lowered her legs and hung her head to the side, breathing heavily and painfully.
The Roman officer smiled again. The rebellious slut was punished and degraded and the holy javelins - destroyed. The soldiers could continue their trip to the nearest garrizon. They would reach the safe camp within two hours. But Brianna could have be dying even longer, gradually loosing blood and going crazy with pain. At least he hoped so.
And very well: that was exactly the point.
Exchanging remarks about the anatomy of the dying young woman and her amusing moans, the soldiers returned to their horses, mounted them and rode away.
Only the mortally wounded girl remained on the mound, still conscious, moaning softly and shuddering, stained with blood seeping from her pierced breasts, belly, and vagina, soaking into the soft moss at the foot of the ash tree.
She was travelled to Vitellum with a cart loaded with goods together with a single servant when the sound of horses' hooves on the sandy road stopped them. A group of riders caught up with them and surrounded them, bringing their mounts to an abrupt halt, kicking up clouds of dust. Brianna looked around but there is no way to escape them, so she ordered her companion to halt the mules. Two Roman soldiers dismounted and quickly checked the contents of a cart. They surely knew what did they want and soon one of them shouted to the commander "We have them!", raising a bunch of spears up in his hand. There were four javelins or long darts, different from the Roman standard pila. Their spearheads were richly decorated and gilded and they bore religious symbols and spells, cursing the Roman conquerors. The famous and half-legendary spears of the Four Druids: a weapon forged not to kill the enemies but to bring a new life to the half-subdued Celtic nation, far more dangerous for the wardens of a Roman Peace.
The commander said nothing but smiled, looking at the young lady. She was standing on the cart platform, looking down and biting her lips, silent as a rock. Finally she looked at his eyes and she shuddered as if she saw her own death in his smile. The soldier waved his head and Brianna obediently jumped down to the ground. The servant - a very young boy looking like the village idiot - wasn't worth the trouble. The girl was important: she must be a highborn (and indeed she was, and that was what her name meant, but the soldier didn't even ask about it). So the officer slapped the mule on the rump with his bridle and the cart lurched violently down the road.
And then he slowly rode to the fragile teenager trembling with fear and when she looked at him again, he hit her in the face with the same leather strap. She screamed in surprise and covered her face, cringing. She knew her fate was sealed and suddenly a large wet spot appeared on her dress above the knees as the terrified girl peed herself in fear.
The soldiers laughed at the sight. They quickly took the girl by the arms and led her up the hill to the tall ash tree, quickly undressed her, as was customary for every woman sentenced to death, and skillfully tied her hands to the trunk. She didn't resist. She knew that now the only question was: How long and how painful will her death be?
She was lucky, because the whole country was not safe for the Roman unit patrolling the road, so they couldn't spend more than few minutes here. So, she couldn't be tortured to death properly on the cross. They had no time even for a quick rape. There could be the enemies bands hidden somewhere between the trees and they could sneak up and attack them or free the prisoner. The bigger units of Celtic warriors could appear at no time on the road. Dragging the girl with them to crucify her in the camp was impossible, because they were in hurry, to avoid spending a night within the rebellious country borders.
But the Romans were inventive and smart people.
The officer took the first precious javelin and slowly approached the girl, still looking into her eyes with a smile. And then suddenly, with a strong thrust, he plunged the javelin right into her navel, directing the blade slightly to the left so that it missed her spine and plunged into the trunk behind her back, pinning her to the tree. He pressed against the shaft and the blade, not intended for real combat and weakened by the incrustation, broke with a clang. The girl screamed painfully, straining her muscles, but the ropes were still holding her, and anyway, she couldn't survive with such a terrible wound - in fact, she was already dead, although she still felt terrible pain, fear and despair.
Then the second soldier repeated the procedure, targeting her breast, cutting her nipple in halves with a broad spearhead. Thrusting it to the side he didn't pierced her heart nor lungs but only pinned the unlucky youngster to the trunk, slicing her breast. Brianna jerked, screaming painfully, wracked with sobs. And then his comrade did the same from the other side. She screamed again and wheezed, slurring some words in her barbaric language. However, if she prayed to her gods for a quick death, she was very disappointed. The wounds were terribly painful, and she must surely have died from such injuries - but not immediately.
The commander took the last javelin and again approached the girl, hanging limply and wailing in pain. He crouched down in front of her and looked at the fur growing on her pubic mound and her labia, which were parted in terrible suffering. And then with all the strength needed to break the blade of the javelin, but completely unnecessary to pierce through the soft intimate reproductive organs of the frail girl, he pushed her into the very lower abdomen, cutting her vulva in half and massacring her vagina. The blade grated against her tailbone, piercing her anus, and embedded itself in the trunk, breaking in half.
The dying teenager howled and lifted her legs in pain for few seconds and then, loosing all her strength she coughed, spitting blood, lowered her legs and hung her head to the side, breathing heavily and painfully.
The Roman officer smiled again. The rebellious slut was punished and degraded and the holy javelins - destroyed. The soldiers could continue their trip to the nearest garrizon. They would reach the safe camp within two hours. But Brianna could have be dying even longer, gradually loosing blood and going crazy with pain. At least he hoped so.
And very well: that was exactly the point.
Exchanging remarks about the anatomy of the dying young woman and her amusing moans, the soldiers returned to their horses, mounted them and rode away.
Only the mortally wounded girl remained on the mound, still conscious, moaning softly and shuddering, stained with blood seeping from her pierced breasts, belly, and vagina, soaking into the soft moss at the foot of the ash tree.
Last edited:
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
Well she may not think so but she got off easy!!!
Andyman
Senator
My name means: an offering
Gilda slowly approached the crowd gathered in the temple plaza, where curiosity and fear had gathered hundreds of Antium's inhabitants that day - the day of the Great Purification Ceremony.
Every five years, the high priest sacrificed one man to the city's guardian deities. Usually it was one of the prisoners. The priest drew the name of the unlucky person who was to be nailed to the cross and to die as atonement for the sins of the entire city.
However, this year something unusual happened: a week ago, a plague broke out in the prison and the building was quarantined, cutting off the prisoners and those guards who were inside. They were only provided with food and water, which was lowered from the top of the wall into the courtyard, but no one was allowed to leave. The bodies of the dead were burned in the courtyard at night. And it was supposed to be like this until the plague ended, that is, for two weeks, no one else would die.
This is why a particularly large crowd gathered today. The gods had to receive their sacrifice. Due to the lack of convicts, the priests decided that the name of one of the townspeople would be drawn.
Many, who had predicted that the drawing would logically include only those who would be present since the sacrifice was to be offered immediately, had left town the previous day on any pretext. But most remained, and of those who remained within the walls of Antium, many gathered in the square. Besides, the risk that their name would be chosen was slim: several thousand Romans lived in Antium, not counting the almost equally numerous representatives of other nations: Celts, Greeks, Germans and Iberians.
Gilda, having nothing better to do that morning, came to the square out of curiosity. She rarely took part in Great Purification Ceremonies. She did not like bloody spectacles, and criminals sentenced to crucifixion aroused her disgust and contempt. She knew that the soul of someone who died on the cross was annihilated, just like his body was, or condemned to eternal torment, and she considered it very fair and praiseworthy.
In the square in front of the temple of the patrons, located on a rugged hillside overlooking the city, there stood the high priest with younger clerics and assistants, as well as several temple servants and sacred musicians who were to announce the beginning of the ceremony by sounding trumpets and gongs. In the center of the square, incense was burning on a huge tripod filled with hot coals. In the chest standing in front of the high priest, which was brought from the town hall, there were rows of rolls with the results of the last census of residents, arranged according to year of birth. The priest was getting ready to pull out one of them and choose from it the name of the one who would be punished for everyone's sins, including hers. And she had some of these sins on her conscience, although they were well hidden.
Gilda, lost in thought, only started when she heard the scribe's voice.
"Seven hundred-fourteen!"
So this will be her contemporary! She was born in the year 714 from the founding of Rome!
"Well, I wonder who the gods will choose: do they prefer someone pure and innocent? Or just someone evil to the core but unpunished to show their justice? In both cases, they probably wouldn't choose me!", she laughed to herself at the thought of such an absurd possibility.
Meanwhile the priest, with his eyes closed, scrolled through the scroll and, placing his finger on one of the lines, opened his eyes. He showed the scribe the name of the one whom the gods had chosen as a sacrifice, put the scroll aside, turned to Gilda and looked piercingly at her.
The woman felt a bit embarrassed, because one of her hidden sins was paying the temple tax for years in a skillfully counterfeited coin. But no one could find out about this as long as the weight of the coins was the same. And stupid priests wouldn't have thought to check, in addition to the weight, the volume of the coins she used to pay. Only then would they realize that there was gold only on the outside, but on the inside, more than half of each coin was made of lead! This clever guy from Syracuse once came up with this method, how was it for him? Archimedes? Some Greek sage, anyway.
And at that moment the scribe's loud voice rang out again.
"Gilda of Longfall Mere, daughter of Arturus, of German origin, living in Antium!", he cried and everyone who was standing close enough to her to notice where she was standing turned their heads and looked at her.
"No...", the woman whispered, feeling her heart sink in her chest.
She heard the sigh of relief from her neighbor, who was standing just behind her, and the cry of surprise from a young girl who had arrived on the square just after her, and who seemed terrified that the lot had fallen on someone standing so close to her, missing her, as it were, by a hair's breadth. And she heard the young man with whom that girl came say, I don't know whether speaking to himself or to his companion, or perhaps to Gilda herself:
"Well, well... There will be something to see...!"
"Noooo!!!", she shrieked, running up to the priest and grabbing his arms.
"It is impossible! Impossible! After all... you don't draw women, do you? Do... you...?
Her voice broke.
"There's always a first time", the priest muttered, winking at the scribe. "The gods will be delighted, I assure you!"
"But... but...", Gilda tried to say something else, but her voice caught in her throat. Shivering with fear, she reached into her coat and pulled out a purse heavy with gold.
"Please...have...mercy on me!", she whispered.
The priest took the bag of money from her, tossed it once and twice in his hand, weighing its contents, and handed it to one of the assistants.
"Thanks. But I want you to know that everything you have with you will be offered to the gods anyway. And what you wear will be burned in a bowl of incense. ", he said. "And your house will be burned and destroyed. Your name will be erased from the census. No trace of you can remain on this Earth".
"Speak nothing!", he added before she could find an answer. "Drink the herbs!", he added, handing her a pot full of bad smelling liquid.
"The painkilling herbs? Thank you, thank you master!", she sobbed and drank one and a half liters of the brew to the bottom.
The high priest laughed when she gave him the empty pot.
"On the contrary - there were herbs that increase sensitivity to pain many times over. Soon you will be dying of pain, my dear Gilda! Their effect lasts for a long time - up to ten hours. And they also have a second effect: they sexually arouse. A special blend for you. You will climax dozens of times on that cross in pain, you shameless woman, each time until you faint, and each time you regain consciousness afterwards, you will die of shame - until another attack of pain takes away your ability to think."
"No...", weeped Gilda,
"Are you ready?", he asked her and the two assistants came to her from behind, but she was too crushed to answer.
"Remove your earrings and a necklace", told the high priest to the trembling woman. Obediently, she reached into her right ear and then into her left, taking out gold hoops and then a string of beads with a cameo hanging around her neck. Shocked, she did not resist as two temple attendants removed her cloak, gown and sandals at the same time.
"Kneel down!", ordered the priest and, when she kneeled covering her face with palms, stretching his arms above her head, he began to say in a high voice prayers that sounded like curses.
"Be cursed among all people! May the gods place on you the guilt of all of us and may all the punishment for our sins fall on you!
"Behold, in the name of the gods, I deprive you of your human dignity! May you be erased from human memory! May your death be most painful, your shame infinite and your torment in hell after death eternal!
"May you fear be bigger than the Etna mountain, your shame deeper than the Thyrrenian sea, your despair darker than the starless night and your pain crueler than the Scythians! May you be dying thousand deaths, day and night!
"Let the ravens peck out your eyes, let the flies be hatching in your mouth and the worms in your womb, let the lions tear your buttocks with their claws, let the vultures drag out your entrails through your anus, let your breasts be crushed by the teeth of stray dogs!
"Let everyone rejoice and dance, clapping their hands and singing, at the sight of your shameless, lousy, disgusting body rotting on the tree of shame, between heaven and earth, from where there is no way to nowhere for your damned soul, and in return may the gods bless us grace, prosperity, health, success and happiness that have been taken away from you forever!"
The crowd applauded and shouted with joy. They were freed from their sins and from the punishment! Someone else would be punished on their behalf and instead of them! This woman, now degraded and deprived of citizenship, property, clothes and human dignity, this slut not worthy spitting on her face - it's a waste of good nails for such a whore! - was burdened with their sins, which meant: she was now really guilty their sins. Anyone who had some sins of any kind, hidden or not, since the moment of this prayer could blame this slut for his own sins and demand that she would be punished for the evil he himself had committed. She was guilty of the crimes of the whole world - and she had to be killed for them in the most cruel way ever invented!
"Stand up!", orderd the priest, holding a small pot with oil with which sacrificial animals were anointed. Gilda, bent to the very ground by the mental awareness of the weight of all the crimes that had been placed on her feminine shoulders, she barely managed to get to her feet, hunched and trembling.
The priest put some oil on her hair and forehead, spread it on her temples and cheeks, ran his hands along her neck and shoulders to her palms, focusing on her wrists, then put drops of oil on her nipples and, placing both hands on her breasts, he rubbed the oil into their skin slowly and carefully, pressing her nipples, next he lubricated her hips and belly, generously massaging the oil into her crotch and buttocks, touching his slippery fingers into her anal opening and vagina, certainly not only to complete the sacred rite, but to humiliate her by touching her private parts in front of all the people, and maybe to satisfy his own lust. Finally, kneeling down, he anointed her thighs on both sides and, running his hands over her calves, applied the oil to her feet, where nails would soon be driven.
Then he straightened up and leaned into the condemned woman's ear and whispered to her quietly:
"This will stop you from paying the temple with counterfeit coin once and for all, you Barbaric slut!"
He knew...! The draw was rigged! But how..?!?
"Think: was it really worth it, eh?"
Paralysed with growing terror she didn't react at all. She was defenceless. No one would believe her anyway, as she was already considered cursed by the gods: the sins of the people rested on her shoulders. Moreover, who in their right mind would want to save her, knowing that in such a case the drawing would have to be repeated and perhaps he would have to replace her on the cross...!?
There was nothing she could do, nothing at all.
"So... reverence Gilda, let your offering begin!", smiled the high priest, fully aware of her fear and despair and delighted with it.
The priest took her chin almost caressingly with his left hand and, lifting her face towards his, as if he wanted to kiss her, he stroked her head like a little girl - and suddenly he spat on her face and hit her left cheek with his open hand and then the right one so hard that a clap was heard. He turned her to face the crowd and shouted loudly:
"She is guilty and she alone! Gods, punish her! Death to the sinner! Kill her body, her hearth and her soul!"
Everyone gathered in the square started shouting "Death! Death to the guilty!"
Then the high priest pushed the condemned woman's shoulders forcefully, pushing her to the center of the square, and shouting to her:
"There's your cross, bitch, to the right!"
Almost falling on the pavement, she ran a few steps. She suddenly felt as alone despite the crowd and as defenceless as never before. She awkwardly covered her breasts and crotch with her hands in a reflex of helplessness. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She sobbed like an unjustly wronged girl. She cried loudly and tearfully: "Pleeease, haaave meeercyyyy!"
However, it was too late. She could no longer count on any mercy, and no one wanted to be merciful to her. She was no longer a woman - she was a disgusting pile of thrash and sins and dirt, and rotting meat, and she was to be radically removed to make the city and its habitants pure and happy. No one was interested in rescuing her from what she deserved!
Several onlookers ran to meet her. Someone punched her in the face, cutting her lip, and another man hit her painfully on the nipple of her left breast. She felt someone's kicks on her buttocks and legs, palms pinching her vulva, fists beating her belly.
Suddenly someone grabbed her hand and pulled her back, forcing her to turn around. She turned back only to find a young girl who was standing next to her before the ceremony. Now she came up to Gilda and looked at her with a malicious smile, and then suddenly spat on her face, grabbed her nipples with both hands, armed with long fingernails, and pinched her with all her strength, laughing. A few drops of blood gushed out from under her fingernails. Gilda screamed in pain and then the girl kicked with a swing with her knee straight in the Gilda's lower abdomen, until some cartilage in the pubic symphysis cracked. At the same moment, her companion kicked Gilda from behind equally hard between the buttocks, breaking her tailbone.
Incredible pain shot through the condemned woman's hips. She fell to her knees, screaming, but was immediately grabbed by the arms and breasts and hair and under the crotch and pulled to her feet and dragged towards the cross, with her head tilted back, being continously spat on in the face by countless citizens, beaten and kicked in the back, legs and especially intimate places.
After a minute of this cruel show she fainted and fell on the pavement.
Then the temple servants and assistants took the condemned woman by the arms and legs, lifted her up in horizontal postion and placed her directly on the cross. Only then did the crowd calm down and retreat to the previous distance, allowing the executioners to begin the actual execution.
Lying on her back, Gilda, completely confused and in pain by what had just happened, felt one of the torturers press her left wrist against the beam of the cross with his hand curled into a fist, in which he held a large, thick nail. He raised a heavy hammer. The woman tried to break free one last time, but her right hand was held by the other torturer with similar hammer. She contorted her face in fear, waiting for the impact.
And at that moment the gong sounded and suddenly the trumpets rang out, filling the air with a metallic, clanging sound, and the crowd shouted loud and joyful, completely drowning out the impact of the hammers on the heads of the nails, the crunch of flesh and bones being pierced, and the terrible scream of her pain and despair.
Of the god-cursed, nameless lump of shit whose name was Gilda just fifteen minutes ago.
Gilda slowly approached the crowd gathered in the temple plaza, where curiosity and fear had gathered hundreds of Antium's inhabitants that day - the day of the Great Purification Ceremony.
Every five years, the high priest sacrificed one man to the city's guardian deities. Usually it was one of the prisoners. The priest drew the name of the unlucky person who was to be nailed to the cross and to die as atonement for the sins of the entire city.
However, this year something unusual happened: a week ago, a plague broke out in the prison and the building was quarantined, cutting off the prisoners and those guards who were inside. They were only provided with food and water, which was lowered from the top of the wall into the courtyard, but no one was allowed to leave. The bodies of the dead were burned in the courtyard at night. And it was supposed to be like this until the plague ended, that is, for two weeks, no one else would die.
This is why a particularly large crowd gathered today. The gods had to receive their sacrifice. Due to the lack of convicts, the priests decided that the name of one of the townspeople would be drawn.
Many, who had predicted that the drawing would logically include only those who would be present since the sacrifice was to be offered immediately, had left town the previous day on any pretext. But most remained, and of those who remained within the walls of Antium, many gathered in the square. Besides, the risk that their name would be chosen was slim: several thousand Romans lived in Antium, not counting the almost equally numerous representatives of other nations: Celts, Greeks, Germans and Iberians.
Gilda, having nothing better to do that morning, came to the square out of curiosity. She rarely took part in Great Purification Ceremonies. She did not like bloody spectacles, and criminals sentenced to crucifixion aroused her disgust and contempt. She knew that the soul of someone who died on the cross was annihilated, just like his body was, or condemned to eternal torment, and she considered it very fair and praiseworthy.
In the square in front of the temple of the patrons, located on a rugged hillside overlooking the city, there stood the high priest with younger clerics and assistants, as well as several temple servants and sacred musicians who were to announce the beginning of the ceremony by sounding trumpets and gongs. In the center of the square, incense was burning on a huge tripod filled with hot coals. In the chest standing in front of the high priest, which was brought from the town hall, there were rows of rolls with the results of the last census of residents, arranged according to year of birth. The priest was getting ready to pull out one of them and choose from it the name of the one who would be punished for everyone's sins, including hers. And she had some of these sins on her conscience, although they were well hidden.
Gilda, lost in thought, only started when she heard the scribe's voice.
"Seven hundred-fourteen!"
So this will be her contemporary! She was born in the year 714 from the founding of Rome!
"Well, I wonder who the gods will choose: do they prefer someone pure and innocent? Or just someone evil to the core but unpunished to show their justice? In both cases, they probably wouldn't choose me!", she laughed to herself at the thought of such an absurd possibility.
Meanwhile the priest, with his eyes closed, scrolled through the scroll and, placing his finger on one of the lines, opened his eyes. He showed the scribe the name of the one whom the gods had chosen as a sacrifice, put the scroll aside, turned to Gilda and looked piercingly at her.
The woman felt a bit embarrassed, because one of her hidden sins was paying the temple tax for years in a skillfully counterfeited coin. But no one could find out about this as long as the weight of the coins was the same. And stupid priests wouldn't have thought to check, in addition to the weight, the volume of the coins she used to pay. Only then would they realize that there was gold only on the outside, but on the inside, more than half of each coin was made of lead! This clever guy from Syracuse once came up with this method, how was it for him? Archimedes? Some Greek sage, anyway.
And at that moment the scribe's loud voice rang out again.
"Gilda of Longfall Mere, daughter of Arturus, of German origin, living in Antium!", he cried and everyone who was standing close enough to her to notice where she was standing turned their heads and looked at her.
"No...", the woman whispered, feeling her heart sink in her chest.
She heard the sigh of relief from her neighbor, who was standing just behind her, and the cry of surprise from a young girl who had arrived on the square just after her, and who seemed terrified that the lot had fallen on someone standing so close to her, missing her, as it were, by a hair's breadth. And she heard the young man with whom that girl came say, I don't know whether speaking to himself or to his companion, or perhaps to Gilda herself:
"Well, well... There will be something to see...!"
"Noooo!!!", she shrieked, running up to the priest and grabbing his arms.
"It is impossible! Impossible! After all... you don't draw women, do you? Do... you...?
Her voice broke.
"There's always a first time", the priest muttered, winking at the scribe. "The gods will be delighted, I assure you!"
"But... but...", Gilda tried to say something else, but her voice caught in her throat. Shivering with fear, she reached into her coat and pulled out a purse heavy with gold.
"Please...have...mercy on me!", she whispered.
The priest took the bag of money from her, tossed it once and twice in his hand, weighing its contents, and handed it to one of the assistants.
"Thanks. But I want you to know that everything you have with you will be offered to the gods anyway. And what you wear will be burned in a bowl of incense. ", he said. "And your house will be burned and destroyed. Your name will be erased from the census. No trace of you can remain on this Earth".
"Speak nothing!", he added before she could find an answer. "Drink the herbs!", he added, handing her a pot full of bad smelling liquid.
"The painkilling herbs? Thank you, thank you master!", she sobbed and drank one and a half liters of the brew to the bottom.
The high priest laughed when she gave him the empty pot.
"On the contrary - there were herbs that increase sensitivity to pain many times over. Soon you will be dying of pain, my dear Gilda! Their effect lasts for a long time - up to ten hours. And they also have a second effect: they sexually arouse. A special blend for you. You will climax dozens of times on that cross in pain, you shameless woman, each time until you faint, and each time you regain consciousness afterwards, you will die of shame - until another attack of pain takes away your ability to think."
"No...", weeped Gilda,
"Are you ready?", he asked her and the two assistants came to her from behind, but she was too crushed to answer.
"Remove your earrings and a necklace", told the high priest to the trembling woman. Obediently, she reached into her right ear and then into her left, taking out gold hoops and then a string of beads with a cameo hanging around her neck. Shocked, she did not resist as two temple attendants removed her cloak, gown and sandals at the same time.
"Kneel down!", ordered the priest and, when she kneeled covering her face with palms, stretching his arms above her head, he began to say in a high voice prayers that sounded like curses.
"Be cursed among all people! May the gods place on you the guilt of all of us and may all the punishment for our sins fall on you!
"Behold, in the name of the gods, I deprive you of your human dignity! May you be erased from human memory! May your death be most painful, your shame infinite and your torment in hell after death eternal!
"May you fear be bigger than the Etna mountain, your shame deeper than the Thyrrenian sea, your despair darker than the starless night and your pain crueler than the Scythians! May you be dying thousand deaths, day and night!
"Let the ravens peck out your eyes, let the flies be hatching in your mouth and the worms in your womb, let the lions tear your buttocks with their claws, let the vultures drag out your entrails through your anus, let your breasts be crushed by the teeth of stray dogs!
"Let everyone rejoice and dance, clapping their hands and singing, at the sight of your shameless, lousy, disgusting body rotting on the tree of shame, between heaven and earth, from where there is no way to nowhere for your damned soul, and in return may the gods bless us grace, prosperity, health, success and happiness that have been taken away from you forever!"
The crowd applauded and shouted with joy. They were freed from their sins and from the punishment! Someone else would be punished on their behalf and instead of them! This woman, now degraded and deprived of citizenship, property, clothes and human dignity, this slut not worthy spitting on her face - it's a waste of good nails for such a whore! - was burdened with their sins, which meant: she was now really guilty their sins. Anyone who had some sins of any kind, hidden or not, since the moment of this prayer could blame this slut for his own sins and demand that she would be punished for the evil he himself had committed. She was guilty of the crimes of the whole world - and she had to be killed for them in the most cruel way ever invented!
"Stand up!", orderd the priest, holding a small pot with oil with which sacrificial animals were anointed. Gilda, bent to the very ground by the mental awareness of the weight of all the crimes that had been placed on her feminine shoulders, she barely managed to get to her feet, hunched and trembling.
The priest put some oil on her hair and forehead, spread it on her temples and cheeks, ran his hands along her neck and shoulders to her palms, focusing on her wrists, then put drops of oil on her nipples and, placing both hands on her breasts, he rubbed the oil into their skin slowly and carefully, pressing her nipples, next he lubricated her hips and belly, generously massaging the oil into her crotch and buttocks, touching his slippery fingers into her anal opening and vagina, certainly not only to complete the sacred rite, but to humiliate her by touching her private parts in front of all the people, and maybe to satisfy his own lust. Finally, kneeling down, he anointed her thighs on both sides and, running his hands over her calves, applied the oil to her feet, where nails would soon be driven.
Then he straightened up and leaned into the condemned woman's ear and whispered to her quietly:
"This will stop you from paying the temple with counterfeit coin once and for all, you Barbaric slut!"
He knew...! The draw was rigged! But how..?!?
"Think: was it really worth it, eh?"
Paralysed with growing terror she didn't react at all. She was defenceless. No one would believe her anyway, as she was already considered cursed by the gods: the sins of the people rested on her shoulders. Moreover, who in their right mind would want to save her, knowing that in such a case the drawing would have to be repeated and perhaps he would have to replace her on the cross...!?
There was nothing she could do, nothing at all.
"So... reverence Gilda, let your offering begin!", smiled the high priest, fully aware of her fear and despair and delighted with it.
The priest took her chin almost caressingly with his left hand and, lifting her face towards his, as if he wanted to kiss her, he stroked her head like a little girl - and suddenly he spat on her face and hit her left cheek with his open hand and then the right one so hard that a clap was heard. He turned her to face the crowd and shouted loudly:
"She is guilty and she alone! Gods, punish her! Death to the sinner! Kill her body, her hearth and her soul!"
Everyone gathered in the square started shouting "Death! Death to the guilty!"
Then the high priest pushed the condemned woman's shoulders forcefully, pushing her to the center of the square, and shouting to her:
"There's your cross, bitch, to the right!"
Almost falling on the pavement, she ran a few steps. She suddenly felt as alone despite the crowd and as defenceless as never before. She awkwardly covered her breasts and crotch with her hands in a reflex of helplessness. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She sobbed like an unjustly wronged girl. She cried loudly and tearfully: "Pleeease, haaave meeercyyyy!"
However, it was too late. She could no longer count on any mercy, and no one wanted to be merciful to her. She was no longer a woman - she was a disgusting pile of thrash and sins and dirt, and rotting meat, and she was to be radically removed to make the city and its habitants pure and happy. No one was interested in rescuing her from what she deserved!
Several onlookers ran to meet her. Someone punched her in the face, cutting her lip, and another man hit her painfully on the nipple of her left breast. She felt someone's kicks on her buttocks and legs, palms pinching her vulva, fists beating her belly.
Suddenly someone grabbed her hand and pulled her back, forcing her to turn around. She turned back only to find a young girl who was standing next to her before the ceremony. Now she came up to Gilda and looked at her with a malicious smile, and then suddenly spat on her face, grabbed her nipples with both hands, armed with long fingernails, and pinched her with all her strength, laughing. A few drops of blood gushed out from under her fingernails. Gilda screamed in pain and then the girl kicked with a swing with her knee straight in the Gilda's lower abdomen, until some cartilage in the pubic symphysis cracked. At the same moment, her companion kicked Gilda from behind equally hard between the buttocks, breaking her tailbone.
Incredible pain shot through the condemned woman's hips. She fell to her knees, screaming, but was immediately grabbed by the arms and breasts and hair and under the crotch and pulled to her feet and dragged towards the cross, with her head tilted back, being continously spat on in the face by countless citizens, beaten and kicked in the back, legs and especially intimate places.
After a minute of this cruel show she fainted and fell on the pavement.
Then the temple servants and assistants took the condemned woman by the arms and legs, lifted her up in horizontal postion and placed her directly on the cross. Only then did the crowd calm down and retreat to the previous distance, allowing the executioners to begin the actual execution.
Lying on her back, Gilda, completely confused and in pain by what had just happened, felt one of the torturers press her left wrist against the beam of the cross with his hand curled into a fist, in which he held a large, thick nail. He raised a heavy hammer. The woman tried to break free one last time, but her right hand was held by the other torturer with similar hammer. She contorted her face in fear, waiting for the impact.
And at that moment the gong sounded and suddenly the trumpets rang out, filling the air with a metallic, clanging sound, and the crowd shouted loud and joyful, completely drowning out the impact of the hammers on the heads of the nails, the crunch of flesh and bones being pierced, and the terrible scream of her pain and despair.
Of the god-cursed, nameless lump of shit whose name was Gilda just fifteen minutes ago.
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
Awww! Gilda had not foreseen that!
Not so innocent as she thought of herself!
Soon, she hangs on across, high over the city!
Andyman
Senator
I don't like Thursdays
Thursday was not a lucky day for Sigrid.
First, when she woke up early in the morning and immediately went out to exercise a bit - she was especially good at running - she was spotted in, arrested and returned back to the owner.
Secondly, her owner, lady Diana, went mad at her and told her, " I know you are good at running, and particularly in running away, but I have enough of it. It's your fifth attempt to run away from my mansion! Now, I'm determined to prevent you from escaping once and for all!"
And so she paid magistrate to erect the cross on the hill in her latifundium and nailing Sigrid's wrists and feet - her disobedient, always-ready-to-run-away feet! - to the cross. He did it professionally and this evening lady Diana went to bed with the deep satisfaction: she could be sure that the next morning Sigrid will be still where she left her!
Thursday was not a lucky day for Sigrid.
First, when she woke up early in the morning and immediately went out to exercise a bit - she was especially good at running - she was spotted in, arrested and returned back to the owner.
Secondly, her owner, lady Diana, went mad at her and told her, " I know you are good at running, and particularly in running away, but I have enough of it. It's your fifth attempt to run away from my mansion! Now, I'm determined to prevent you from escaping once and for all!"
And so she paid magistrate to erect the cross on the hill in her latifundium and nailing Sigrid's wrists and feet - her disobedient, always-ready-to-run-away feet! - to the cross. He did it professionally and this evening lady Diana went to bed with the deep satisfaction: she could be sure that the next morning Sigrid will be still where she left her!
Aedile
Governor
A golden opportunity to put her up on her cross facing the wood! She’s all ready to mount her final lover…
In all seriousness, I adore that position and that perspective of poor Sigrid. Her submissive pose with her most vulnerable parts in full view, her tits hanging like a cow’s, and her little peak back over her shoulder as she waits for the next way her executioners choose to hurt her…an amazing snapshot in time!
Andyman
Senator
Tomorrow I will share part 2.
In fact I prepared these sketches nearly a week ago and scanned them few days ago.
I know the limits are necessary but they really made my life more difficult!
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
For once, a master has and slave that excercises to keep herself in shape, and what happens? It is sanctioned.
Andyman
Senator
I don't like Thursdays - part 2 of 2.
The circumstances of her condemning as described in the previous post were perhaps funny, but the long, terrifying, desperate and degrading agony, a struggle against the overhelming pain, growing weakness and physical & mental exhaustion weren't. She could expected no more than a long and painful road to nowhere for her mutilated body and the eternal wandering for her damned soul...
The circumstances of her condemning as described in the previous post were perhaps funny, but the long, terrifying, desperate and degrading agony, a struggle against the overhelming pain, growing weakness and physical & mental exhaustion weren't. She could expected no more than a long and painful road to nowhere for her mutilated body and the eternal wandering for her damned soul...
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
Sad for her! Especially, since it was aready Thursday, and the weekend was nearing!
Andyman
Senator
BTW, as for me, I found this pose & view probably the most humiliating and degrading:
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
I have read before, this way of crucifixion is also one of the hardest to endure, because of the twisted body position.
Yupar
Regina Iudaeorum
Me too.
But when it is at my time, i hope the board will approve to hire two handsome me to crucify beside me...but let them wear loin cloths.
And no need to nail them, just tied up on their crosses. It could be attract more fine young men.
For me, i will take full weight of Roman's justice as a main actress
Can even take some abuse before the crowd and crucifixion if few of these Roman soldiers (actors) are certified for no STDs . And they muse be fine , young and handsome men
And i wanna get pay more for that
Yupar
Regina Iudaeorum
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Yupar
Regina Iudaeorum
Why they cannot control their last dignity by cumming infront of the public ?
Shameless people !
