Spectators, or Jenny's Awakening [female crucifixion][non-consensual & semi-consensual victims][COMPLETE STORY!]

[Zephirantes]

SPECTATORS
or Jenny's Awakening​

"Oh God, look at her," Jenny murmurs, her voice tinged with a cocktail of sympathy and arousal as she sips her martini, her gaze locked on the tragic spectacle unfolding before her. The evening breeze carries the mixed scents of liquor and sweat up the grassy slope of Execution Hill of Salem College for Superior Education, where poor Abella is crucified.

"Yeah, it's quite the show, isn't it?" Karen comments, her tone light, almost festive as she watches a woman toy with Abella's exposed body. The woman, clad in a tight black leather outfit, pushes a dildo deeper into Abella's pussy, while another one probes her trembling anus. Abella's cries fill the air, a desperate melody against the casual chatter of the crowd.

"She cheated on a test, right? Seems a bit extreme to end up here for that," Karen chuckles, shaking her head, the ice in her glass clinking. “Still, we all know professor Balkan’s quirks… he seems to have a taste for pain and death, that pompous academic…”

"It's not just about the cheating," Jenny replies, her voice soft but intense. "It's about making an example. But still, watching her up there... it's heart-wrenching."

"But irresistibly sexy, don't you think?" A man nearby, holding a vodka, interjects with a wry smile. He nods towards Abella, appreciating the view. "Everyone's dying one way or another, but she’s making art out of it. Involuntary, perhaps, but stunning."

"Easy for you to say," Jenny snaps back, irritation flaring briefly. "That’s my friend up there. She’s not just a performance, she's a person. A person in agony."

"Of course, of course," the man replies, raising his hands in a mock surrender. "But you have to admit, there’s something profoundly beautiful about her despair. The way she struggles, the sounds she makes... it’s primal, raw."

Meanwhile, on the cross, Abella writhes under the unyielding wood, her body slick with sweat as her moans pierce the festive atmosphere. The woman with the dildos, whom the crowd has affectionately dubbed "Mistress L," turns to address the onlookers with a grin.

"Who wants to see if she can take it deeper?" Mistress L calls out, her voice loud and teasing. Cheers erupt around her, and she winks, pushing the dildo in her hand a fraction deeper, eliciting a scream from Abella that sends a shiver through the crowd.

"See, she’s a star even in pain," Karen remarks, turning to Jenny with a playful nudge. "Maybe she’s finding a bit of pleasure in all this, hmm? Would that make it better for you?"

"I don’t know," Jenny admits, her eyes not leaving Abella. "I just... It’s complicated. Yes, it’s hot, but it’s also terrifying. She’s suffering so much."

"Ah, the duality of pleasure and pain," a new voice chimes in. A woman, standing to Jenny’s left with a glass of red wine, smiles sardonically. "It’s what makes these events so captivating. We see them suffer, but we also see them transcend their limits. Isn't that something?"

"Transcend? She's being destroyed up there," Jenny retorts, frustration evident in her voice.

"Destroyed, or liberated?" the woman counters, her gaze speculative. "Sometimes, in destruction, we find release. Perhaps in her final moments, Abella will find something beyond her fear and pain. A release not just of the body, but of the soul."

"Philosophical, but I guess you have a point," Karen interjects, finishing her drink and signaling the bartender for another. "Besides, it’s not like she has much choice now. Might as well find some solace in the inevitability."

Jenny sighs, turning back to the crucifixion. Abella’s eyes meet hers across the distance, a silent plea echoing in her gaze. Mistress L continues her work, now twisting the dildo, tweaking the angle.

"Hold on, Abella. I’m here for you," Jenny whispers, almost to herself, a tear trailing down her cheek. "Even if it’s from here, I’m with you."

The crowd’s laughter and cheers form a stark contrast to the somber realization dawning in Jenny’s heart—the realization of her friend’s pain, her inevitable demise, and the dark allure that captivates them all.

"You know, they stripped her in the square," Karen whispers to Jenny, leaning close as they watch the relentless scene. "Tore her clothes right off, in front of everyone. Imagine, one moment you’re a student, and the next, you're just... flesh on display."

Jenny shudders, her gaze fixed on Abella, who moans loudly as another wave of manipulation sweeps through her body. "And then, nailing her like that. Hands and feet, pinning her to that cross... It must feel like being trapped forever."

"Exactly," Karen nods, taking a slow sip of her newly arrived drink. "And when they hoisted her up, the crowd cheered like it was a festival. Every eye on her, every part of her exposed and vulnerable."

"It's sick," Jenny murmurs, her conflicted emotions twisting inside her. "But... why does it look so... intense?" Her voice is a mix of disgust and fascination.

"Because it is intense," Karen replies. "Think about it, Jenny. She's stretched out, her skin taut, every part of her on display. And now, with Mistress L pushing those dildos inside her, filling her up... She must be feeling so full, so invaded."

"Stop, Karen, it's too much," Jenny protests weakly, yet she can't tear her eyes away. Abella's face contorts in agony and pleasure, her cries punctuating the cool evening air.

"Oh, come on, it's not all doom and gloom!" a jovial voice chimes in from behind them. A man with a broad grin and a beer in hand leans closer. "She’s putting on quite the spectacle. Gotta admire her stamina!"

"Admire? She's being destroyed!" Jenny snaps, frustration flaring.

"Destroyed, or immortalized?" the man counters, his smile unwavering. "Look around, everyone will remember her... endurance. She’s a legend now."

"A legend of suffering," Jenny retorts, her heart aching for her friend.

"But what an epic it is!" Karen interjects, trying to lighten the mood. "Imagine the tales they’ll tell. ‘Abella, the girl who outlasted them all.’"

"I’d rather she just be here, with us, not up there," Jenny admits, tears glimmering in her eyes.

"I know, sweetie," Karen says, her voice softening. "But let’s face it, she’s the star of the hill tonight. Everyone is drawn to her... energy."

"Energy... is that what we call it now?" Jenny sighs, watching as Mistress L adjusts the angle, driving the dildos deeper, eliciting a mix of gasps and sobs from Abella.

"It’s primal, Jenny," the beer-holding man adds, his gaze fixed on the grim spectacle. "She’s experiencing something most of us can only dream of. Pure, unfiltered sensation."

"A nightmare, more like," Jenny whispers, her conflicted feelings growing stronger. She imagines Abella's terror, the cold reality of the nails, the harsh wood against her back, and the invasive torment of her violated body.

"But just look at her! Can’t you see? Amidst the pain, there’s a flicker of something else... Maybe even... pleasure?" Karen suggests, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

Jenny looks back at Abella, trying to discern any sign of what Karen mentioned. For a fleeting moment, amidst the cries and the chaos, she catches a glimpse of something in Abella's eyes—a spark, perhaps defiance, or maybe an involuntary acknowledgment of the deep, dark thrill of her exposure and the attention it commands.

"I just hope she finds some peace in all this," Jenny finally says, a heavy sigh escaping her lips as she watches another shudder rack Abella's body.

"Peace or not, she’s unforgettable now," Karen states, clinking her glass against Jenny's in a silent toast to their crucified friend, a twisted salute under the twilight sky.

"You can’t tell me this isn’t captivating," Karen says, her voice light but pressing as she leans closer to Jenny, her finger trailing over Jenny’s belly. Her touch pauses, playfully dipping into Jenny’s belly-button, making her friend flinch. "Would you like to feel it, Jen? The nails, the exposure, the... invasions?"

Jenny stiffens, her breath hitching. "Karen, don’t," she whispers, her cheeks flushing as she jerks slightly away from Karen’s finger, though not far enough to break the contact entirely. Her eyes dart back to Abella, pinned helplessly on the cross, her body trembling as Mistress L twists the dildos inside her. "She’s in agony. That’s not... something I’d ever want."

Karen tilts her head, her grin sly. "Are you sure about that? Look at her, Jen. Her body’s stretched to its limits, every inch of her laid bare for everyone to admire. She’s experiencing everything—pleasure, pain, humiliation, fear—all at once. Isn’t that... just a little tempting?"

"Tempting?!" Jenny snaps, her voice rising before she catches herself, embarrassed by how loud it came out. She lowers her tone, her words trembling. "Karen, she’s my friend. I’m horrified for her. Can’t you see how much she’s suffering? Her screams..."

Karen’s grin widens as she presses her finger a little deeper into Jenny’s belly-button, her tone dropping to a sultry whisper. "And yet, you can’t look away, can you? Be honest, Jen. Part of you wants to know what it’s like to be her right now. To feel the nails, the heat of the crowd’s gaze, the way the wood presses into her back... and her other parts."

Jenny’s face burns, and she swats Karen’s hand away, her voice shaking. "You’re being ridiculous. I’d never... I mean, I couldn’t..." Her words trail off as her eyes betray her, flicking back to Abella.

Abella lets out a guttural scream as Mistress L pulls one dildo out, only to replace it with a thicker one, eliciting gasps from the crowd. The crucified girl’s body jerks violently against the nails holding her wrists and feet, her movements limited and agonizingly slow. Her legs twitch, her thighs glistening with a mix of sweat and other fluids.

Karen leans closer again, her voice dripping with mischief. "See how her toes curl, the way her fingers clench? It’s like her body doesn’t know whether to fight or surrender. Imagine that... feeling so much, you lose yourself completely. Wouldn’t that be... liberating?"

"Liberating? She’s being destroyed!" Jenny hisses, though her voice cracks with uncertainty. "She’s dying up there, Karen. Every second, she’s closer to... to the end."

Karen’s hand slips away, and she picks up her drink, sipping it casually. "Maybe that’s the point, Jen. She’s living through every moment of her destruction, fully present, fully alive in her suffering. It’s tragic, yes, but it’s also... raw. Isn’t there something beautiful in that?"

Jenny bites her lip, her mind a whirlwind of emotions. She imagines what it must feel like to have her arms stretched, her wrists nailed to unyielding wood, her body exposed and trembling as strangers violate her most intimate places. The thought horrifies her—and yet, deep down, it stirs something she doesn’t dare name.

"You’re awful," she mutters, shaking her head, though her tone lacks conviction.

Karen smirks, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Awful? Maybe. But admit it, Jen, just for a second, you thought about it. You imagined yourself up there, stretched wide, feeling everything Abella’s feeling right now. Didn’t you?"

Jenny’s silence speaks louder than any words. Her gaze stays locked on Abella, her heart heavy with guilt and something darker, more confusing.

Karen’s grin widens as her hand, unbidden, slides lower, trailing the edge of Jenny’s skirt. Jenny stiffens, her breath catching as she feels Karen’s fingers slip beneath the fabric, teasing the elastic band of her panties.

"Karen! What are you—?" Jenny hisses, her voice trembling with a mix of shock and something she can’t quite place.

Karen’s hand pauses just for a moment, her fingers playfully tracing the soft skin of Jenny’s thigh. Her voice drops to a husky whisper. "Relax, Jen. I’m just helping you explore what you’re already feeling." She leans in, her lips dangerously close to Jenny’s ear. "Tell me... would you want me to do to you what Mistress L is doing to Abella? Would you let me use two dildoes? One here..." Her fingers press lightly against the front of Jenny’s panties, just over her mound. "...and one here?" Her other hand drifts to Jenny’s lower back, brushing suggestively.

Jenny jerks away, her face flaming. "Karen, stop! People can see!" she protests, her voice a frantic whisper as her eyes dart nervously around the crowd.

Karen chuckles softly, undeterred, and brings her hand back up to rest casually on Jenny’s waist. "Oh, don’t be so uptight. Look around, Jen. Everyone here is watching Abella. No one cares about what we’re doing." She nods toward the crucified girl, whose screams pierce the air as Mistress L twists one of the dildoes inside her, eliciting an audible pop that sends murmurs of awe through the crowd.

"That doesn’t make it okay!" Jenny retorts, her voice shaking. But her gaze flicks to Abella again, and she feels her stomach churn with the overwhelming mix of emotions. Abella’s body jerks against the wood, her legs trembling as her swollen labia stretch around the unforgiving intrusion.

Karen tilts her head, studying Jenny’s expression with an almost predatory curiosity. "You’re imagining it, aren’t you? The stretch, the fullness, the way everyone’s eyes are on you... just like they’re on her." Her fingers trace slow, deliberate circles on Jenny’s waist, sending shivers through her friend. "Would you squirm like she does, Jen? Would you scream? Or would you stay quiet, trying to hold on to your pride while your body betrays you?"

"Karen, stop!" Jenny pleads, though her voice lacks the strength she wishes it had. She feels trapped between the horror of the scene before her and the undeniable heat pooling low in her belly.

Karen leans even closer, her lips brushing the shell of Jenny’s ear. "Don’t lie to me, Jen. You’re curious. You want to know what it’s like to lose control, to be exposed, to have your body at everyone’s mercy. You want to feel what Abella is feeling... don’t you?"

Jenny’s breath hitches, her hands clutching her drink as if it’s the only thing keeping her grounded. "I... I don’t know," she whispers, her voice barely audible, her cheeks burning with shame.

Karen’s hand withdraws at last, though her smirk remains firmly in place. She lifts her glass in a mock toast. "Well, whenever you’re ready, Jen," she says, her tone playful and teasing. "Just say the word, and I’ll make sure you’re the star of the next great show."

Jenny glares at her, her eyes brimming with a mix of anger, confusion, and something dangerously close to longing. She hates Karen in that moment—for her audacity, for her unrelenting teasing, and most of all, for how much her words resonate deep within her.

"Karen, I need to talk to her," Jenny says suddenly, her voice trembling as she sets her glass down on a nearby table. Her eyes remain fixed on Abella, who writhes on the cross, her cries of pain mingling with the cheers and laughter of the crowd.

Karen raises an eyebrow, her smirk playful. "Talk to her? What are you going to say, Jen? ‘Hey, how’s the dying going?’"

Jenny ignores the jab, determination flickering through her uncertainty. "I just… I need to see her up close. I can’t stand here pretending this is okay."

"Alright, suit yourself," Karen says, shrugging as she downs the last of her drink. "Let’s go get a front-row seat." She grabs Jenny’s hand and pulls her toward the base of the cross, weaving through the lively crowd.

As they approach, Mistress L steps back momentarily, holding up the pair of dildos slick with Abella’s fluids. "Who’s next?" she calls, eliciting a round of laughter and cheers. A man in a plaid shirt steps forward eagerly, but Karen waves him off with a grin.

"Hold that thought, cowboy. My friend here has something to say to the star of the show," Karen says, nudging Jenny forward.

Jenny hesitates, her heart pounding as she stands beneath Abella. Up close, the reality of her friend’s torment hits her like a punch to the gut. Abella’s body glistens with sweat, her muscles trembling as she struggles weakly against the nails pinning her in the X shape. Her legs remain spread, her most intimate parts swollen and exposed.

"Abella..." Jenny whispers, her voice catching.

Abella’s head jerks toward her, tears streaking her flushed cheeks. "Jenny... please..." Her voice is hoarse, broken from screaming. "Get me down... I can’t take this... I’m begging you!"

Jenny’s stomach twists, guilt and helplessness warring within her. "I can’t, Abella. You know I can’t."

"Please, Jenny!" Abella sobs, her body convulsing as the man in plaid eagerly takes one of the dildos from Mistress L and begins pushing it into her anus. Abella lets out a piercing scream, her toes curling against the wood.

Karen steps up beside Jenny, her tone far too casual. "You’re doing great, Abella! Honestly, I think you’re stealing the show tonight."

Abella glares at her through her tears, her voice trembling with rage and pain. "Go to hell, Karen!"

"Oh, sweetie, probably I'll go just there to suffer eternally, but for now... you’re the one dying for everyone’s entertainment, not me," Karen replies cheerfully, taking a sip from her flask. "I’m just here to appreciate your pornographic demise."

Jenny steps closer, her hand reaching out as if to touch Abella’s trembling knee, but she stops herself. "I’m so sorry, Abella. I don’t even know what to say. This is... it’s so much worse than I imagined."

Abella gasps as the man twists the dildo cruelly, her body arching against the nails. "You think?!" she snaps, her voice dripping with bitter sarcasm. "I’m nailed to a fucking cross, Jenny! They’re tearing me apart, and everyone’s just laughing!"

 

[Zephirantes]

Karen leans in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Not everyone’s laughing, Abella. Jenny here is practically crying for you. She’s feeling every bit of this with you, in her own way." Her hand slides onto Jenny’s shoulder, squeezing it meaningfully.

Abella’s glare softens slightly as she looks at Jenny. "You... you feel it too?"

Jenny nods, tears welling in her eyes. "I do. I hate seeing you like this, Abella. I wish I could make it stop."

"Then do something!" Abella begs, her voice cracking. "Please, Jenny, I don’t want to die like this!"

Before Jenny can respond, Mistress L steps forward with a laugh, tapping her on the shoulder. "Sweetheart, if you’re not here to play, you’re holding up the line. Let the poor girl entertain the rest of us, hmm?"

Karen grins, nudging Jenny aside. "She’s got a point, Jen. Let’s not hog her."

Jenny steps back reluctantly, her heart breaking as Abella lets out another scream. The man in plaid pulls the dildo from her anus, handing it back to Mistress L with a satisfied smirk.

Karen wraps an arm around Jenny’s shoulders, steering her away from the cross. "Come on, Jen. Let her do her thing. You’ve said your piece."

Jenny looks back over her shoulder, her stomach churning as she watches another eager spectator approach the cross, a gleaming new toy in hand. "I don’t know how you can stand this, Karen," she mutters.

Karen smiles, her tone light as ever. "It’s not about standing it, Jen. It’s about enjoying the moment. Life’s short, and for Abella... well, it’s really short now."

Karen tightens her grip on Jenny’s shoulder as they step further from the cross, her mischievous grin widening. "You know, Jen, if you really want to help her, there’s one way you could... make her ordeal a little more interesting."

Jenny blinks, confused. "What are you talking about, Karen? She's in agony! How could I possibly help her?"

Karen gestures toward Mistress L, who is handing another pair of dildos to a man nearby. "Why not join in? Take a turn with those toys. Give her the experience of a lifetime, Jen. Double trouble."

Jenny recoils, her face flushing crimson. "Are you insane? She’s my friend! I can’t—"

Karen interrupts, her voice playful but firm. "Come on, Jen. You’re standing here watching her suffer anyway. You’re not stopping it, you’re not saving her. At least be part of her journey, you know? Maybe, in some twisted way, she’d feel... connected to you."

Jenny shakes her head, her breath shallow. "This is insane. No, Karen. I can’t do that. I won’t."

Karen steps in closer, her voice dropping to a seductive whisper. "Oh, but you can. And deep down, you want to. Think about it—your hands on those dildos, controlling what she feels. Sharing in her experience, feeling her every shudder and cry. You’ll be closer to her in that moment than anyone else ever could be."

Jenny’s hands tremble as she looks toward Abella again. The crucified girl gasps for air, her chest heaving, her face twisted in a grimace of pain as the crowd around her cheers and jeers. Her legs, trembling and spread wide, seem to invite further torment, though Jenny knows that’s just her friend’s helplessness on display.

"I... I don’t know," Jenny whispers, her voice shaking.

Karen chuckles softly, turning and signaling Mistress L with a wave. "Bring us the toys! My friend here is ready for her debut!"

"Karen!" Jenny gasps, her voice rising in panic as Mistress L approaches, holding a large, double-ended dildo in each hand.

Mistress L grins, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Finally, someone who looks like they’ve got a personal stake in this. Here you go, darling." She thrusts the dildos into Jenny’s hands. "One for the front, one for the back. Make it count."

Jenny stares at the toys in her hands, her face pale. "I can’t... I can’t do this," she stammers, her voice barely audible over the crowd’s noise.

Karen steps behind her, placing her hands on Jenny’s shoulders and gently guiding her toward the cross. "Yes, you can. Think about how much she’s already going through, Jen. This won’t make it worse—it’ll make it... unforgettable."

Jenny stumbles forward, the crowd parting around her as she approaches Abella once more. Abella’s tear-streaked face turns toward her, her eyes widening in shock and betrayal.

"Jenny? What are you doing?!" Abella cries, her voice raw.

Jenny hesitates, her heart pounding in her chest. "I... I'm sorry, I don’t even know why I’m doing this," she whispers, her hands trembling as she lifts one of the dildos. "But it seems the right thing to do now. For me, for you, to complete your... death-experience on the cross, I think."

Karen steps up beside her, grinning. "Don’t overthink it, Jen. Just... go for it. She’s already there; all you’re doing is giving her... a little more to feel."

Abella’s screams pierce the air as Jenny reluctantly presses the first dildo against her swollen labia. Her friend’s body jerks against the nails, the wood creaking under the strain. Jenny’s own hands tremble as she forces herself to continue, pushing the toy deeper.

"Jenny! Stop! Please, stop!" Abella begs, her voice breaking.

"I’m sorry," Jenny whispers again, tears streaming down her face as she reaches for the second dildo, positioning it at Abella’s puckered anus.

Karen watches with glee, clapping her hands together. "Now that’s what I call teamwork! Look at you, Jen—stepping up to the plate like a pro."

The crowd cheers as Jenny pushes the second dildo inside, Abella’s cries reaching a fever pitch. Jenny’s stomach churns with guilt and shame, but she can’t seem to stop herself. Her hands move mechanically, her mind overwhelmed by the surreal horror of the moment.

Karen leans in close, her voice dripping with mock encouragement. "See, Jen? You’re a natural. Who knew you had it in you?"

Jenny’s tears mix with the sweat on her face as she turns to Karen, her voice breaking. "You’re horrible. You’re all horrible."

Karen shrugs, her grin unfaltering. "Maybe, but you’re right here with us. Welcome to the club, sweetie."

- - -​

Jenny stares at the dildos in her trembling hands, her mind racing with guilt, shame, and something deeper—something she can’t quite name. Karen's hand on her shoulder feels like both an anchor and a shove forward, rooting her to this moment and driving her toward Abella.

Abella’s wide, tear-filled eyes meet hers. "Jenny... please... don’t..." she whispers, her voice raw from screaming, her body struggling against the wooden cross.

Jenny steps closer, her hand shaking as she raises the first dildo toward Abella’s swollen labia. "Abella, I’m so sorry," she says softly, her voice breaking. "I wish this didn’t have to happen... but I’m here for you. I’ll make it... meaningful."

Abella lets out a strangled cry as the cold, slick toy touches her, her hips jerking instinctively away from the intrusion. "Jenny, it hurts! Please, stop!" she begs, her voice hoarse and desperate.

Jenny leans in closer, her free hand brushing gently against Abella’s trembling thigh. "I know it hurts," she whispers, her voice soothing, almost maternal. "But that’s what makes it so beautiful, Abella. You’re doing something no one else could do—bearing this pain, this humiliation, for all of us to witness. It’s not just suffering. It’s... transcendence."

Tears stream down Abella’s cheeks as Jenny slowly presses the dildo inside her, the swollen folds of her labia stretching painfully around the thick toy. Abella gasps, her head snapping back against the upright beam of the cross. "Jenny, please! It’s too much... it’s too much!"

Jenny pauses for a moment, her hand resting gently on Abella’s trembling belly. "I know it feels unbearable, but listen to me," she says, her tone soft yet firm. "Your duty, Abella, is to endure this. To let yourself be hurt, to let yourself be killed, for everyone watching. It’s the hardest thing anyone could do, and you’re doing it so beautifully."

Abella sobs, her body convulsing as the dildo slides deeper. "It’s not beautiful! It’s horrible! I can’t... I can’t do this!"

Jenny strokes Abella’s thigh soothingly, her voice a gentle murmur as she presses the dildo further in. "You already are doing it, Abella. Look at yourself. Look at the way your body trembles, the way every inch of you shines with sweat and effort. Look at how they can’t take their eyes off you." She nods toward the crowd, where dozens of faces are fixated on the crucified girl, their expressions a mix of awe, arousal, and morbid fascination. "You’re captivating them. You’re unforgettable."

Abella shudders, her sobs mingling with gasps of pain as Jenny twists the dildo slightly, adjusting the angle. "It hurts so much," she whispers, her voice cracking.

Jenny leans in closer, her lips brushing against Abella’s ear. "I know it does, sweetheart. But that’s your purpose now. To endure this pain, to let it consume you, and to show the world how strong you are. You’re not just dying, Abella. You’re creating something... incredible. A moment no one will ever forget."

Abella’s cries soften into quiet, shuddering breaths as Jenny moves to the second dildo, positioning it against her trembling anus. "Please, Jenny, no more..." she pleads, her voice barely a whisper.

"I’m here with you," Jenny says gently, her voice steady as she begins to push. "I’ll stay with you through all of it. Every scream, every tear, every moment of your agony. I won’t leave you, Abella. You’re not alone."

Abella lets out a piercing scream as the dildo breaches her, her body arching against the nails pinning her to the cross. Jenny’s hand rests on her abdomen, steadying her as she works the toy deeper. "Breathe, Abella," she murmurs. "Feel it. Feel every inch of it, every moment of this. You’re alive right now, more alive than anyone else here. You’re feeling everything, and that’s... incdredible."

Through her tears, Abella shakes her head weakly. "I’m just... a show... for them. Just flesh and pain."

Jenny cups Abella’s cheek with her free hand, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "No, Abella. You’re more than that. You’re the bravest person here. You’re doing something none of them could even imagine. You’re turning your pain into art, your suffering into something... beautiful."

The crowd cheers as Jenny withdraws the dildos momentarily, only to push them back in, their slick surfaces gliding easily now. Abella gasps, her body writhing violently. "It’s too much... it’s too much..."

Jenny presses her forehead gently against Abella’s, her voice low and intimate. "I know it is. And yet, you’re still here. Still enduring. Still captivating all of us. That’s what makes you incredible, Abella. You’re not just dying. You’re showing us all what it means to be truly... alive, even in your final moments."

Abella’s sobs quieten as she clings to Jenny’s words, her chest heaving with ragged breaths. The pain, the humiliation, the relentless intrusion—it’s all still there, but Jenny’s voice weaves through it, soothing her, grounding her in the unbearable reality of her crucifixion.

"You’re amazing, Abella," Jenny whispers, her fingers brushing away the tears on her friend’s flushed cheeks. "You’re strong, and beautiful, and unforgettable. And I’ll be here with you, every step of the way."

As Jenny continues to work the dildos with slow, deliberate motions, the crowd’s cheers rise in volume, their excitement feeding into the raw, electric energy of the moment. Abella’s screams turn to soft, broken whimpers, her body slackening slightly as she gives in to the inevitability of her torment.

Karen stands a few paces back, her lips curling into a sly smile as she watches Jenny, trembling but determined, press the dildos deeper into Abella’s trembling, stretched body. The crowd's energy is electric, a heady mix of arousal and cruelty, and Karen drinks it in like fine wine. Her martini swirls lazily in her hand, the ice clinking softly as her eyes fixate on the tableau before her.

"Would you look at that?" Karen murmurs to no one in particular, though a man standing nearby grins and nods, clearly as captivated as she is. "Our sweet, moral Jenny, giving a double dose of... comfort to her friend." The words drip with mockery, but there’s an undeniable admiration beneath the surface.

She steps closer, her heels clicking against the hard ground, savoring every detail. The way Jenny’s hands shake slightly as she pushes the toys, her whispered words of comfort to Abella, the anguished moans spilling from the crucified girl’s lips—all of it is deliciously surreal. Karen tilts her head, studying Jenny with the intensity of a predator admiring her prey.

"I always knew you had it in you, Jen," Karen says softly, her voice carrying just enough to reach Jenny’s ears. "You pretend to be so innocent, but look at you now. You’re an artist."

Jenny glances over her shoulder, her face flushed with a mix of shame and determination. "Karen, not now," she hisses, her voice trembling.

Karen raises her martini in a mock toast, unbothered by the reproach in Jenny’s tone. "Oh, don’t mind me, darling. I’m just here to admire your handiwork." Her eyes flick to Abella, whose body convulses against the wood, her cries raw and broken. "And to appreciate the... masterpiece you’re creating."

Karen moves closer, her gaze roving over Abella’s sweat-soaked, trembling body. The girl’s muscles quiver with each agonizing thrust of the dildos, her skin glistening under the golden glow of the setting sun. The contrast between her torment and Jenny’s tender words is intoxicating, and Karen can’t help but chuckle softly.

"You know, Abella," Karen calls out, her tone light and teasing, "you should feel honored. Not everyone gets such personal attention during their big moment."

Abella’s head snaps weakly toward Karen, her eyes blazing with anger even through her tears. "You wouldn’t say that if you were here, bitch!" she rasps, her voice breaking.

Karen laughs, a melodic sound that carries over the din of the crowd. "Oh, sweetie, I’m not the one dying on a cross. If anyone’s taking the express route, it’s you."

Jenny glares at Karen, her voice sharp despite her obvious distress. "Karen, stop it! This isn’t a game!"

Karen’s grin widens, unrepentant. "Isn’t it, though? Look around, Jen. All these people cheering, watching, waiting for the next scream. It’s a performance, and you’re the star director. You should be proud."

She steps even closer, her fingers brushing against Jenny’s arm. "And you’re doing such a good job, too. That double penetration? Inspired. Really brings out the... primal side of things."

Jenny shudders under Karen’s touch, her hands momentarily faltering as she twists the dildos inside Abella. "I’m trying to help her, Karen. She’s my friend."

Karen leans in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Oh, I know you are, sweetheart. But let’s not pretend you’re not enjoying it just a little. The power, the control... it’s intoxicating, isn’t it?"

Jenny shakes her head, her tears glistening in the fading light. "I’m not like you, Karen."

Karen pulls back with an exaggerated pout, feigning disappointment. "No, you’re not. You’re better. So much better. That’s why I can’t stop watching." Her eyes drift back to Abella, who lets out a guttural scream as Jenny adjusts the angle of the dildo in her anus, pushing it deeper.

Karen sighs contentedly, taking another sip of her martini. "What a show," she murmurs, her voice tinged with genuine admiration. "You’re really outdoing yourself, Jen. And you too, Abella. Such... commitment to your role."

Abella sobs, her body sagging against the nails, her voice a broken whisper. "You’re all so cruel..."

Karen’s laughter rings out again, bright and unrepentant. "Maybe, darling. But at least we’re honest about it." She raises her glass once more, a twisted toast to the suffering girl and her reluctant tormentor. "To art, to agony, and to the unforgettable Abella!"

Karen licks her lips, her breath quickening as she watches Jenny work the dildos with increasing fervor. Her free hand slips beneath the hem of her skirt, her fingers deftly finding the heat between her thighs. She doesn’t care who sees—this is her moment too, an indulgence in the surreal mix of cruelty, beauty, and eroticism unfolding before her. Jenny’s intensity, Abella’s desperate cries, the crowd’s rapt attention—it all fuels Karen’s arousal as she strokes herself, her moans blending with Abella’s screams.

On the cross, Abella writhes in agony, her muscles trembling as the relentless invasion of her body continues. Her slick, glistening skin catches the fading light, every quiver and stretch of her naked form on full display. She screams, her voice raw, her legs straining against the nails pinning her feet as Jenny twists the dildos with deliberate precision.

Jenny leans in, her forehead nearly touching Abella’s. "Stay with me, Abella," she murmurs, her voice low and soothing. "Feel everything. Let it all take you... the pain, the humiliation, the pleasure. You’re magnificent."

Abella lets out a guttural cry, her back arching as her body tenses violently. Jenny feels the moment shift, the tremors coursing through her friend signaling something primal and unstoppable. Suddenly, with a sharp, shuddering gasp, Abella squirts, a torrent of warm fluid erupting from her tortured body. It sprays over Jenny’s face, soaking her hair and drenching her clothes. The crowd erupts in cheers and gasps, a collective wave of awe and exhilaration sweeping through them.

 

[Zephirantes]

“Hey, the death-slut fucking squirted,” remarks Karen. “Right on your fucking face!”

Jenny freezes for a moment, stunned, as the liquid runs down her cheeks and drips from her chin. Then, slowly, a smile spreads across her face—soft, proud, almost reverent. "Abella..." she whispers, her voice trembling with emotion. "That was incredible. You’re incredible."

She steps back slightly, her soaked blouse clinging to her skin, her nipples stiff and visible through the thin fabric. Even the dark outline of her pubic hair is faintly visible beneath the wet material of her skirt. But Jenny doesn’t care. She stands tall, her chest rising and falling with deep, steady breaths. "You gave everything in that moment," she says, her eyes shining as she looks up at Abella. "And I’m so proud of you for it."

Abella sobs, her body sagging against the cross, the aftershocks of her climax leaving her trembling. "It... it hurts so much..." she chokes out, her voice broken. "But... I... I felt..."

Jenny reaches up, brushing a strand of damp hair from Abella’s sweat-soaked face. "You felt alive," she says gently, her tone laced with admiration. "That’s the beauty of it, Abella. You’re alive in a way none of us can even imagine. And this..." she gestures to the cross, the nails, the crowd. "This makes you unforgettable."

Abella’s tear-streaked eyes search Jenny’s face, a flicker of something resembling understanding in her gaze. "I don’t want to die, Jenny," she whispers, her voice trembling. "I’m so scared..."

Jenny swallows hard, her own eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I know," she says softly. "I wish I could take away your fear, your pain... but Abella, look at yourself. Look at the way they’re watching you. You’re more than just a girl on a cross. You’re a symbol, a work of art. Your suffering, your nakedness, your death—it valorizes your life in a way nothing else could."

Abella sobs again, her head falling back against the wooden beam as her body shudders. "But why does it have to hurt so much?"

Jenny’s voice is steady, almost tender, as she replies. "Because that’s what makes it real. That’s what makes it matter. The pain, the humiliation—it’s the price of being seen, of being remembered. And Abella... you’ll be remembered forever."

Abella’s breath hitches, her tears mixing with the sweat and fluids dripping from her body. "I cummed so hard, Jenny," she whispers, her voice barely audible. "So hard... I didn’t even know I could feel like that."

Jenny smiles, her hand resting lightly on Abella’s trembling thigh. "That’s because you let yourself feel it all. You gave in to the moment, and it was beautiful. You were beautiful."

Abella nods weakly, her lips quivering. "If... if that’s what it means to die like this... maybe... maybe it’s okay." Her voice is hesitant, uncertain, but there’s a faint note of acceptance in her words.

Jenny’s heart aches as she gazes up at her friend, the weight of the moment pressing heavily on her chest. "You’re amazing, Abella," she says softly. "And I’ll stay with you until the end. I promise."

Behind her, Karen lets out a breathless laugh, her cheeks flushed as her fingers curl tightly against her thighs. "God, Jenny," she murmurs, her voice thick with arousal. "You’re a natural at this. Who knew you had it in you?"

Jenny doesn’t respond. Her focus remains entirely on Abella, her hands gently smoothing over her friend’s trembling legs as she whispers soothing words. The crowd continues to cheer, their voices blending into a chaotic symphony of awe and excitement, but for Jenny, the only thing that matters is the girl before her—the girl who, in her suffering, has become something extraordinary.

Karen and Jenny slowly back away from the cross, their eyes still locked on Abella as the crowd surges forward, eager for their turn. The atmosphere is charged, a grotesque festival of flesh and agony that vibrates with the crowd’s excitement.

"Look at her go," Karen chuckles, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she watches another spectator step up, lubricating a large dildo before pressing it firmly against Abella's already abused pussy. "Abella's becoming the belle of the ball."

Jenny watches, her expression a complex tapestry of horror and fascination. She wipes a droplet of Abella’s fluids from her cheek, leaving a smeared trail on her skin. Her clothes cling to her body, outlining her nipples and the dark triangle of her pubes through the wet fabric. She feels the eyes on her too, but like the marks of Abella's climax, she wears it as a twisted badge of honor.

"It’s brutal," Jenny murmurs, her voice low. "Seeing her like this... it’s more than just physical. They’re breaking her, Karen."

Karen slings an arm around Jenny’s shoulders, her grin wide. "Oh, come on, Jen. They’re not breaking her; they’re opening her up to new experiences. Quite literally!" She laughs heartily at her own joke, the sound mingling with the moans and cheers from the crowd.

Abella’s eyes meet Jenny’s across the distance. Her lips move, and though no sound carries over the clamor, Jenny reads the words: "They’re breaking me..."

Jenny’s heart clenches, but she steadies her voice, calling back, "Your duty is to be opened, broken, and slowly killed for all to see. This is your moment, Abella. Own it!"

Abella’s expression is one of torment mixed with a dawning resignation as another dildo penetrates her. Her body stretches and fills under the forceful hands of the crowd, her pain and pleasure displayed for all.

"She’s a masterpiece in progress," Karen remarks to a man nearby who watches Jenny as much as he watches Abella. "And look at Jenny here, our reluctant artist, all drenched in the essence of her work!"

The man laughs, raising his beer to Jenny. "Cheers to the artist! May your canvases always be this... vibrant and wet!"

Jenny forces a smile, feeling the weight of their gazes. She’s part of the spectacle now, as much as Abella. "It’s what friends do, right? We support each other’s... performances."

Karen nods, her eyes gleaming with amusement. "Absolutely! And speaking of performances, Jenny, you really brought down the house. Or should I say brought up the fountains?"

The crowd around Abella grows, with people taking turns at her, each pushing the boundaries further. Abella’s cries rise in pitch and frequency, a desperate symphony that underscores the event.

"See how she stretches to accommodate them?" Karen points out, her voice loud enough for more of the crowd to hear. "Truly a lesson in flexibility and endurance. Abella, dear, you’re redefining performance art!"

Jenny watches, her feelings tangled as she observes the raw openness of her friend’s ordeal. Abella is beyond mere physical exposure now; she’s an icon of vulnerability and raw, brutal beauty.

"Karen, is it supposed to feel like this?" Jenny asks quietly, her voice quivering. "Feeling proud of her, yet feeling like I’m part of her destruction?"

Karen’s arm tightens around Jenny’s shoulder, pulling her in close. "Honey, this is the essence of spectacle. It’s supposed to evoke strong emotions. Pride, horror, arousal, disgust—it’s all part of the experience. You’re feeling it all, aren’t you? That means you’re really living."

Jenny nods slowly, her eyes never leaving Abella. She’s part of this now, irrevocably changed by the experience. As another cheer rises from the crowd, Jenny’s resolve hardens. She might be soaked in her friend’s fluids, marked by the experience, but she stands firm, acknowledging her role in this dark theater they’ve all embraced.

"Yes, I’m part of it," Jenny says, more to herself than to Karen. "Part of her pain, her pleasure, her memory. This is her legacy... and mine."

Karen claps her hands, delighted. "Well said! Oh, Jenny, you’re a natural. Who knew you had such a dark flair for the dramatics? Let’s enjoy the show, my dear. After all, we’re all just part of the grand design."

The crowd’s laughter and cheers swell as dusk deepens, the lights from torches and lamps casting flickering shadows over the scene. Abella, the unwilling star, continues to command their rapt attention, her body a canvas of extreme human experience—pain, pleasure, and the visceral reality of being utterly, helplessly open.

- - -​

The crowd’s hum shifts, a ripple of recognition spreading as Professor Balkan approaches, his cane tapping rhythmically against the stone path. Beside him walks the Dean, a tall man whose every step, however, seems dictated by the much smaller, more resolute Balkan. Indeed, the Dean nodds obsequiously to Balkan’s every word. The professor’s sharp eyes scan the crowd, his lips curling into a slight smile as people cheer, raising their glasses in salute. The professor pauses, his cane pressing firmly into the earth as he surveys Abella's crucified body, his expression unreadable at first.

"Bravo, Professor! Another masterpiece!" someone shouts, drawing laughter and applause.

"An exceptional evening, wouldn’t you agree?" Balkan replies smoothly, his voice carrying a rich, authoritative timbre that commands attention. He stops just short of the cross, gazing up at Abella, whose cries have subsided into soft, shuddering sobs as the crowd continues to work her body.

"Ah, there they are!" Karen exclaims, nudging Jenny with her elbow. "The man of the hour and his boss. Look at them soaking up the applause like royalty."

Jenny stiffens, her jaw tightening as she recognizes him. "That’s him," she mutters to Karen. "The one who turned her in."

Karen raises an eyebrow, her grin widening. "Indeed, the mastermind himself. Let’s see what pearls of wisdom he’s brought to the show," Karen laughs, swirling her martini with a flourish. "Well, credit where credit’s due, Jen. Without him, we wouldn’t be here enjoying this... educational experience. Abella’s abuse and death, I mean."

The crowd parts slightly to allow Balkan and the Dean to move closer to the cross. Abella lets out a shuddering sob as she catches sight of them, her body trembling as another eager participant withdraws from her, leaving her stretched and glistening. The sight only seems to fuel the crowd’s excitement.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Balkan begins, his deep voice cutting through the noise like a blade. "What a spectacular display of justice, art, and human endurance we witness tonight."

The Dean steps forward, her voice sharp and confident. "Professor Balkan’s dedication to upholding the integrity of this institution is unmatched. It is through his vigilance that we were able to expose this young woman’s transgressions and ensure that justice was served."

The crowd cheers, raising their glasses in unison.

Abella lifts her head weakly, her tear-streaked face contorted with pain. "I... I only cheated once," she whispers, her voice barely audible.

Balkan raises an eyebrow, his expression one of mild amusement. "And you confessed, my dear, which is commendable and brave. But confession does not absolve you of the consequences."

The crowd erupts into laughter and applause, one man shouting, "Confession may be good for the soul, but it doesn’t save your ass!"

“Or your cunt, for what matters!” exclaims another.

“A toast to the professor and the Dean!” someone shouts, and the crowd obliges, their applause growing louder. Balkan offers a slight, dignified bow in acknowledgment, the corners of his mouth twitching in something that could be mistaken for a smile.

The Dean eyes scans the crowd, before indicating Abella’s nailed body: “Look at her—every inch of her on display, every cry a testament to the seriousness of our standards."

Karen sips her drink, smirking. "You two make quite the team. Maybe we should hire you for event planning. This is top-tier entertainment."

Balkan’s lips twitch in a faint smile. "Discipline and education go hand in hand. And if the method happens to erotically engage an audience, well... so much the better."

The crowd roars with laughter and approval, and the Dean raises her glass in a mock toast. "To education! And to Miss Abella for her... unforgettable contribution."

Abella’s head lolls to the side, her lips moving in silent protest. Jenny reads them instinctively: “They’re killing me...”

Her heart aches, but she forces herself to speak. “Abella, you’re more than just what they’re doing to you. You’re strong. You’re enduring this, and that’s something they can never take from you.”

Karen rolls her eyes, her grin never fading. “Oh, Jen, always so sentimental. Abella’s doing fine. Look at her—still kicking, still screaming. She’s the life of the party!”

As if to punctuate Karen’s words, another cheer rises from the crowd as someone steps forward with a new implement, a glistening object designed for both pain and humiliation. Balkan watches with detached interest, his hands clasped behind his back.

"A fine demonstration of female resilience," he remarks to the Dean. "It’s not often one gets to witness such a raw display of the human spirit and… well, naked beauty. She’s a great, wet pussy, so engorged and sore due to all ministrations..."

Jenny crosses her arms, her body tense as she watches him. "That smug bastard," she mutters under her breath to Karen. "He’s the one who did this to her. He denounced her!"

Karen leans closer, a grin playing on her lips. "Yeah, but listen to how they adore him. You’ve got to admit, Jenny, he’s got a flair for theatrics."

Balkan once again steps closer to the cross, tilting his head as he studies Abella, whose head lolls weakly to the side. "Ah, Miss Abella," he says, his tone almost paternal. "A sincere girl to the end. How noble of you to confess your wrongdoing so willingly. Such integrity should be commended."

Jenny’s jaw tightens, but her confusion grows as she hears Balkan continue.

"And what a spectacle your confession has given us. Look at you now, my dear," Balkan says, his voice rich with admiration as he gestures toward her trembling body. "Naked, exposed, broken, but magnificent in your suffering. You are a performer of the highest order, Abella. A martyr to the cause of justice and art."

The crowd erupts in applause, Balkan’s words sending ripples of excitement through them. Abella moans weakly, her body sagging against the nails as another man thrusts a toy into her abused sex. Balkan watches with a scholarly detachment, nodding appreciatively.

Jenny’s anger falters, her mind racing as she realizes Balkan’s words echo her own earlier thoughts. She steps closer, unable to contain herself. "You talk about her like she’s an object, a spectacle!" she snaps, her voice trembling. "She’s suffering up there because of you!"

Balkan turns his sharp gaze on Jenny, studying her for a long moment before replying. "Because of me, indeed," he says, his tone calm but firm. "But tell me, young lady, is her suffering not the very thing that makes her extraordinary? Would you have her life end in obscurity, her talents wasted on mediocrity?"

Jenny falters, her anger wavering under the weight of his words.

"Miss Abella is being valorized," Balkan continues, his voice rising to address the crowd. "Her pain, her humiliation, her slow march toward annihilation—these elevate her beyond the ordinary. She is a symbol, a work of art, a testament to the human capacity for endurance."

The crowd cheers again, Balkan’s words stirring something primal in them.

Abella’s eyes flutter open, her gaze locking onto Jenny’s. Her lips move silently, forming the words: "I’m scared... they’re breaking me."

Jenny feels tears prick her eyes but forces herself to speak, her voice shaky. "Your duty, Abella," she says softly, repeating her earlier words, "is to be opened, broken, and slowly killed for all to see. You’re exceptional because of it."

Balkan raises an eyebrow, a hint of amusement flickering in his expression. "Well said, young lady. You understand far more than you realize."

Karen laughs, nudging Jenny with her elbow. "See? You’re practically a professor yourself, Jen. Maybe Balkan here will take you under his wing."

Jenny glares at Karen but doesn’t reply, her attention shifting back to Balkan, who steps closer to her now. His gaze flickers over her, taking in the soaked fabric of her blouse clinging to her body, the glistening stains of Abella’s fluids still visible on her face and neck.

 

[Zephirantes]

"You’ve been quite... involved in tonight’s events, haven’t you?" Balkan says, his tone almost conversational but laced with a subtle edge. "You wear the marks of your participation like a badge of honor."

Jenny stiffens, her cheeks burning under his scrutiny. "I was helping my friend," she says defensively. "She needed comfort."

Balkan smiles faintly, the expression both unsettling and strangely approving. "Indeed. And in doing so, you’ve contributed to something far greater than yourself. Miss Abella’s suffering is not hers alone—it belongs to all of us. And so, it seems, do you."

The crowd cheers again, and Karen whistles. "Well, when you put it like that, Professor, you make crucifixion sound like a scholarship award."

Balkan chuckles, a low, rumbling sound. "It is a form of elevation, is it not? To rise above the mundane and touch the profound? Abella’s journey tonight is one of transcendence." He gestures toward the cross with his cane. "Her nakedness, her pain, her openness—they are not just punishments. They are revelations."

Jenny stares at him, her mind spinning. How could he take something so horrific and twist it into something... admirable? But as she looks at Abella, whose tear-streaked face still manages to hold a flicker of awareness, she feels the professor’s words burrowing into her own conflicted thoughts.

"You’re still a monster," she mutters, though her voice lacks its earlier conviction.

Balkan inclines his head, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. "Perhaps. But even monsters can recognize beauty in the grotesque."

Jenny blinks, unsure how to respond. The weight of his gaze feels oppressive, yet oddly compelling. Around them, the crowd continues to cheer and jeer as Abella’s ordeal unfolds, her body stretched and filled under the hands of strangers.

The Dean, silent until now, clears his throat. "Professor Balkan insisted on this punishment, and I must say... the results speak for themselves. The turnout alone is remarkable."

Jenny shakes her head, her thoughts a whirlwind of anger, confusion, and something she can’t quite name. She glances back at Abella, whose lips form another silent plea: "Help me."

But Balkan’s words echo in her mind, mingling with her own. "She’s magnificent because of this," she whispers to herself, though the conviction in her voice feels as fragile as Abella’s trembling body.

Karen nudges Jenny again, her voice teasing. "Looks like Balkan’s got his eye on you, Jen. Careful, or you’ll be the next great performer."

As the professor turns back to the crowd, addressing them with a flourish of his cane, Jenny feels a shiver run down her spine. Whatever Balkan has in mind, she knows this night is far from over…

…and, indeed, Professor Balkan has a word with the Dean, his eyes twinkling with a devious light. "Dean, isn't there a clause in the ethical rules of the college that addresses... inappropriate attire? Particularly, see-through clothing?" His cane taps against the ground, punctuating his question as he nods toward Jenny's soaked, translucent outfit.

The Dean, a man always eager to please Balkan, fumbles with his words, his eyes darting between Jenny's attire and the imposing figure of the professor. "Ah, yes, of course, Professor Balkan! There must certainly be something in the regulations about that," he stammers, not wanting to appear uninformed.

Mistress L, standing beside Balkan with a sly grin spreading across her face, chimes in eagerly. "Perhaps some form of... corrective action? A whipping, maybe? Or given the severity of such a scandalous display—" she pauses, her eyes gleaming, "—a death penalty?"

The Dean, under Balkan's firm gaze, nods vigorously. "Yes, yes, quite right! A death penalty, indeed! Unless, of course, the offender rectifies her attire immediately."

Balkan turns back to Jenny, his expression one of mock concern. "You hear that, young lady? A simple change of clothes could save you from a rather dire fate. I suggest you make haste to your room and rectify this... oversight."

But Jenny, her eyes defiant and her voice steady, refuses. "No, Professor. I'll wear Abella's secretions proudly. I don't care about the consequences. This is my stand."

Balkan's lips curl into a smile, impressed by her resolve. "Such girly love, defying even the threat of capital punishment. It’s admirable, truly. Dean, proceed with the sentencing."

The Dean, though clearly conflicted, raises his voice. "Very well. Jenny, you are hereby sentenced to death for your blatant disregard of our decorum policies."

Karen gasps, her hand covering her mouth, but her eyes betray a morbid fascination. "Oh, Jenny, what have you done?"

Jenny merely nods, accepting her fate, her fingers pinching her own nipples through the wet fabric of her blouse, a mix of fear and arousal painted across her face.

Balkan steps closer, his voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper. "You're a brave girl, Jenny.”

Balkan, now addressing the crowd, announces Jenny's punishment. "For her bravery and her refusal to conform, I offer her a choice of death." He enumerates the options with a dramatic flair. "Electrocution via the vaginal route, ensuring every nerve is alight with searing pain; impalement, either through her sex or anally, by a stake designed to tear her precious insides, or… crucifixion, to mirror her friend’s fate."

Jenny swallows hard, her eyes darting towards Abella's tortured form, then back to Balkan. Her voice is a mere whisper, "I... I need a moment to decide."

Balkan nods, his hand reaching under her skirt, his fingers finding her wetness with practiced ease. He thrusts two fat fingers inside her, pressing hard and deep, targeting her g-spot. Jenny gasps, her body responding despite the horror of her situation, her legs trembling as he manipulates her skillfully.

"Decide well, Jenny," Balkan murmurs as he works her flesh, "for this is the last pleasure you will know before your spectacular demise."

Around them, the crowd watches, some with wide-eyed excitement, others with a darker, lustful interest as Jenny's body convulses under Balkan's skilled fingers.

Karen wraps an arm around her shoulder, her voice soft yet tinged with a thrill. "Whatever you choose, Jenny, I’m here for you. It’ll be a hell of a show, and I wouldn’t miss it for the world." Her words, meant to comfort, send a shiver down Jenny’s spine.

Jenny nods again, taking a deep breath as she prepares to make the final decision of her life as the professor’s finger do magic inside her twat. Her gaze meets Balkan’s again, searching for something—anything—in his expression that might hint at mercy or approval or simply… sexual pleasure. Balkan smiles cruelly as he fingers her pussy hard, as if he were merely observing an interesting experiment rather than the sentencing of a young woman’s life.

"Thank you, Professor," Jenny says, her voice steady despite the tremor she feels inside. "For making me part of something... unforgettable."

Balkan nods, a trace of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Indeed, Miss Jenny. Unforgettable."

"I’ll choose..."

She cries out, a sharp, climactic sound that pierces the evening air, her orgasm wracking her body as she makes her choice, the idea of cumming and dying mingling in her scared and excited mind forever.

The cheers of the crowd echo across the twilight sky, mingling with Abella’s ragged cries as the spectacle on Execution Hill reaches its grotesque crescendo. The air is thick with the scent of sweat, arousal, and fear, a heady cocktail that envelops the crowd and binds them to the unfolding drama. Torches flicker in the evening breeze, casting shifting shadows over the figures gathered there.

From her place on the cross, Abella watches through tear-blurred eyes as Jenny gets masturbated and chooses her own doom, her soaked clothes clinging to her like a second skin. The stains of Abella's climax are still visible, streaked across Jenny's face and chest, a bold declaration of their connection.

Abella's heart aches, torn between horror and gratitude.

Even in her agony, she sees the love in Jenny’s eyes, the defiant pride that drives her to accept a death sentence rather than wash away the proof of their shared sexual moment.

Abella’s lips part, her voice barely more than a whisper. "Jenny... why?" she murmurs, though no one can hear her over the raucous cheers and jeers.

Jenny turns briefly, her eyes meeting Abella’s across the chaotic scene. The unspoken words pass between them, a silent exchange that needs no voice. Abella's gaze is heavy with despair and guilt, but Jenny’s is steady, almost serene. She nods once, her lips forming a faint, bittersweet smile. She wears her punishment as a badge of honor, a final act of defiance in a world that demands their suffering for its entertainment.

Karen stands to the side, her arms crossed as she watches the unfolding events with a mix of frustration and dark fascination. "Jenny, you’re insane," she mutters under her breath, though the corners of her mouth twitch in reluctant amusement. "But damn, you do know how to put on a show."

Professor Balkan, ever the architect of these grim affairs, observes the scene with detached satisfaction, his fingers slick of Jenny’s vaginal fluids. His cane taps lightly on the ground as he takes in the trembling form of Abella on the cross, the resolute posture of Jenny before him, and the eager faces of the crowd. "Another lesson in courage and performance," he says softly to no one in particular, his voice carrying the weight of finality. "And a testament to the strength of the human spirit... when stripped to its barest, most vulnerable form. That’s what I like. That what He, the Lord of the Empty Dwellings, likes," he murmurs to himself and to the evil voices that whisper in his mind since he retrieved the accursed talisman.

Mistress L, Balkan’s favorite whore (eh, the man has some appetites indeed) standing nearby, grins as she leans closer to the Dean, whispering something that makes him chuckle nervously. Her gaze flicks between Jenny and Abella, her mind already weaving the next act in this grim theater.

Abella’s thoughts drift, her body wracked with pain and exhaustion. She feels the splinters of the cross digging into her back, the relentless ache of her nailed limbs, the deep throbbing of her abused orifices. Yet her mind is fixed on Jenny, on the moment her friend stood tall and refused to wash away the marks of their shared suffering, accepting death to maintain that fleeting, shared link between them.

For a not-so-brief moment, Abella indeed feels a flicker of pride amidst the agony. “Were Jenny and professor Balkan right, perhaps?”

"Anyway, Jenny’s stronger than me," Abella thinks, tears sliding down her cheeks. "Braver. I’m dying here, and she’s choosing to follow me." Her lips tremble as she tries to summon the strength to speak. "Jenny... I’m sorry... I’m so proud of you..."

But her voice fails her, lost in the cacophony of the crowd.

Her own consciousness seems to pull back slowly now, the hill shrinking into the distance as its grotesque details blur into the twilight. The torches dotting the landscape form a ring of light around the cruel spectacle, a beacon of humanity’s darkest impulses.

The figures on the hill—Abella writhing on the cross, Jenny trembling due to post-coital chills, Karen smirking at the absurdity, Balkan watching with detached fascination—become silhouettes, their individual roles melding into the collective horror and erotic beauty of the scene.

The cheers grow fainter, the cries of pain and pleasure dissolving into the wind. The sun sets fully, leaving Execution Hill bathed in the flickering glow of firelight. Above it all, the stars begin to emerge, distant and indifferent, watching over the Salem College for Superior Education as it claims yet another young female life.

And in the darkness, the crowd remains, waiting for the final act, for the agony, the ecstasy, and the inevitable, gruesome death...



FIN(?)



- - -

PS: Professor Balkan is an old acquaintance of this forum since he appeared in my previous complete story "Apocalypta" and the ongoing "Cruxstrike!". This fine fellow enjoys reading strangely anachronistic execution tales in his classes, and in his pockets he always carries the amulet of Yog, the Lord of the Empty Dwellings, which he retrieved from a nameless tomb when he was but a young and inexperienced archeology student. The pendant still continues murmuring unimaginable cruelties to him... or so he thinks at least. Chances are it's all in his cultured yet wicked mind, after all.

PPS: The titles, as often in my stories, either hide a spoiler or are blatant lies. In this case, the latter: Jenny indeed starts a spectator, but the poor girl will become the protagonist of her own execution...