DTTV-14
Mariuz
Oh my god! P P P Pain explodes in my arms, MY A A ARMS My feet on fire. Cant breath F F F Fuck my arms MY ARMS, MY FUCKING ARMS NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO Need a shit; no it’s the rod Too m m m much. It hurts real bad ooooooooooooooooooooooh Falling, not falling, want to f f f fall, HELP ME! Oh god oh god oh god god god
Arms on FIRE, cant think Can’t think only pain Only the pain Cant breath Don’t breath Only prolong Obey the State Have to Gonna stand Oh shit he is gonna stand F F F Feet hurt real bad cant stand, Have too! NOOOOOOOOOOooooooooooo Hurts to bad…
Wow. That was horrible, thirty seconds, only in Mariuz for thirty seconds and it was an eternity, terrible crushing pain in my chest, my ass on fire, but the arms and ankles that was something else! Socking, electric agony, roaring up my legs and down my arm, the wounds hideous as they arm pressed against the nail. I am shaking and I down a third of the bottle, but I am horny, cant wait, I thumb my cock from my shorts and start to work my inches under the foreskin, I breathing is fast as each joyous wave rolls up from my wet cock. I don’t take long and I cum, white jets vomiting from the purple tip, fuck its gone on the carpet, my cock throbs and is spent, sticky cum pooling on my now hairy belly, I look at the five figure shifting on their crosses.
“Thanks guys” I gasp.
I pull my sorts up high to catch the worst of the semen, which soaks into the fabric, and I shuffle my cock going on the slack to the bathroom.
I luxuriate under my shower, enjoying as the warm water washes the semen, sweat and spilt wine off my skinny body. I enjoy letting the water flood my mouth, spitting it against the shower curtain, thinking how much Stephen would beg, plead to be allowed to quench his thirst, I soap my cock and balls, doubt anyone would be impressed with them if I was hung on a cross. Unlike Reggie and his massive member, sexy fella, what a pity, mind you he would probably split me in half if he used it on me! Pity he is such a homophobe! Still at least I am bigger than Lee with his shrivelled warty contributions, thinking about them makes my own cock climb back into life, I close my eyes and imagine running my soapy hands over Mariuz strong hairy body, feeling the thick body hair run between my fingers, imagine those powerful hands on me, so strong, I imagine him on his cross imagine him at my mercy, to be able to do anything to him and for him to be unable to resist. I thrill at this thought to have such a powerful example of masculinity at my command. Or his son, pale and beautiful Adamsi, I imagine kissing his sensitive looks lips, imagine his goatee beard tickling as he did so, imagine that fresh ripened cock hard in my mouth, imagine his groans of pleasure rather than of pain. The water runs cold over me and I realise that I have been lost in thought, I have drained the tank, I shiver and grab my robe. I grab the wine bottle and neck another swig. I pad with wet feet to the kitchen and cast a glance at the TV; the camera continues to pan across the crucified. Time has past and they no longer thrash, no longer dramatically struggle but have each fallen into a rhythmic pattern, each needs to take their weight of the terrible spikes through their arms and so each struggles to stand on their nailed ankles before falling back down when the pains in their legs become to great. I can hear their moans; each individual voice mixes with the others so it appears that there is a continual low rumble of desperation and misery.
In the kitchen I realise I am hungry; I have not eaten all day. I stick some not overly fresh bread into the toaster and wait for it to toast and pop. I wonder if the crucified are hungry, I realise I have no idea, do they get a last meal, if they do are they calm enough to eat it, do they starve themselves in an attempt to shorten their wretched lives?
I spread the margarine on the toast and much it enjoying its simple flavour and a feast no doubt for the crucified that burn energy as they struggle on their crosses and don’t replace the calories.
I do some chores then return to then return to the sitting room, the television and its five unfortunate start turns. The men have been on their crosses for hours now, each being slowly tortured to death.
One can only imagine how it feels, only imagine because I am such a coward. To hang experiencing such torture and knowing the only release will be death the most terrifying thing we must all face.
Its late now and I consider going to bed but I decide to hang on for the “midnight mercy” I wonder who will get it. Who has impressed the voting public? The commentator burbles on. The idiot is thrusting a microphone into the faces of the crucified and asking them why they deserve the States Mercy. “So Lee Bower are you sorry for your crimes?” the junkie looks awful and his quivering jaw is unable to articulate any words, he is as pale as milk, his cock now soft from loss of blood it is as shrivelled as a pine cone but from the look of agony on his face I don’t think he cares.
“Grrrmmmph”
“So tell us why do you deserve an end to your justified punishment?”
“NNNNNnnnnnarrrr n n no NO MORE…. AAAAAAGH PLEASE!”
It’s the best he can manage but it sounds heartfelt, a desperate plea from a desperate man. “So if you think this criminal deserves an end to his suffering contact the number at the bottom of the screen.
“So Reggie Elton is the cross as bad as you imagined?”
“S S STUPID FUCKING A A ASSHOLE!” bellows the crucified man and quite right too that commentator really is a twat!
“Reggie Elton why do you deserve an end to your justified punishment?”
“S S SUCK MY COCK CUNT!”
“Well now if you think that less than constructive appeal won you over then dial the number at the bottom of your screen.”
“Stephen Clunes how does it feel to die with the scum of the earth”
“AAAAAAAAGH! P P Please!”
“Stephen Henry Clunes make your appeal”
“AAAAAAAAAAAAGH I I I AM S S SORRY” he sinks down and they wait for him to force himself back onto his lanky legs “S SO SORRY PLEASE AAAAGH I I LEARN… LEARN learn” his voice trails away, he looks confused.
Again add a 3 to the number at the bottom of your screen to vote for crucified number three.
“Mariuz Venshu how does it feel to have led your son to the cross?”
The big man stares ahead in silence. His muscles ripple under his hairy skin, his cock still hard.
“Mariuz Venshu why should you receive the ill deserved sympathy from the people?”
He looks ahead with bloodshot eyes but remains silent then suddenly as the idiot is about to move away he suddenly barks “V V VOTE mmmmmph SON!”
“Adamsi Venshu, a ringing endorsement from your father do you agree should you rather than your father receive the midnight mercy and if so what kind of son wants his old man to suffer in his place?” Adamsi tries to raise his head his harrowing face emerges from the ropes of wet hair, his eyes are red rimmed and his lips turning blue, his body looks contorted and his cock soft.
“P P PLEASE we weeeeeeee d d d DON’T deserve t t t this… this is wrong… we t t tried to leave we…“ Realising the next statements could be treasonable the commentator with draws the microphone from his shaggy locks.
“An undesirable bunch but which of these vermin deserve your vote to grant them midnight mercy?”
The men continue their struggle on their crosses, while the population of our great isle cast their votes. I check my emails and pretend to the like minded that I experienced feeling of crucifixion for my longer than I really could. I gossip with email chums, discussing our favourite from the crucified, hottest, the dog and checking the previews for tomorrow’s executions.
At last the commentator comes onto the screen, behind him the crucified men continue to torture themselves in their desire for air and in the constant search for a less painful position.
“Ladies and gentlemen the lines are closed, votes are cast and counted. The suffering of one of these contemptible filth is about to be ended as they receive, midnight mercy!” he turns to face the men on their crosses, they pay attention despite their terrible suffering, this could mean the end to their pain.
“Prisoners the convict to receive midnight mercy is…”
There is sudden dramatic music with a tick tock beat and the screen fills with the face of each of the condemned men.
These pauses in reality TV results are getting beyond a joke!
“Reggie Elton!”
That was a surprise his gang must have had his number on speed dial!
The camera focuses in on Reggie and you can see the relief in his haggard face “thanks man” you can hear him say. His head falls back against the upright and he sigh out his big chest deflating.
“N N NO ITS W W WRONG its M M ME! AAAAAAAAAAAGH! Me you fools AAAAAAAAAAAAGH RECOUNT! RECOUNT!” screams Stephen his last hope shattered, he protests until he no longer has he air and he sinks down on his cross.
Mariuz tries to catch his son’s attention but the youth’s head hang forward and he does not turn, his thin chest rises and falls.
“Reggie Elton you are to receive midnight mercy, do you accept this boon?”
“Yes man… thanks” whispers the tortured man
The commentator withdraws. Reggie sinks down on his cross, his eyes closed, teeth clenched.
“I’m Sorry mum” he suddenly says his voice calm and deep.
The idiots voice over blocks him out “midnight mercy in three, two, one NOW!”
There is a hum of power then suddenly there is a brilliant light that envelops Reggie’s cross. He goes taut and appears to turn negative the light is so intense; Reggie shakes violently as the power from the cross is conducted into him. “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!”
His last scream echoes about studio and his charred corpse sinks down. You can hear the others coughing from the stench.
The suffering of Reggie is over he has had the midnight mercy.
Unless death intervenes the others will now have to suffer until 5.30. Tired I go to bed. I remove the hyperlink kit and shut down the over hot computer. I give them a final look, Lee bone thin and twisted his eyes wide and mouth open, small cock waggles between his emaciated thighs, tattoos defaced with dried blood.
Stephen shouting and barking his smooth body going red under the harsh studio lights.
Mariuz struggles now his short frame stretched beyond endurance, his resistance failing, his grief consuming him.
Adamsi, weeping, head down, thin and pale, slowly rising and falling on the spikes that hold him.
“Night all”
I awake early. My morning glory disturbing the sheets. I look at the time 4.48. To early to get up really but I know I will. I will watch the hour of the crucified, I wake up this time most days, I am becoming obsessed!
I switch on the TV and computer then head to the kitchen for coffee. I settle on the sofa. I take in the scene. Lee is obviously dead. His arms are far to long, sometime in the night they must have dislocated, popping apart with fresh torment for the cadaverous junkie. His arms no longer working properly he would no longer empty his lungs, which would have filled with fluid, and he would have slowly drowned. I watch the highlights on the computer Iplayer and the popping of the arms and Lee’s final struggles are shown on a loop. Not interesting I have seen it so many times.
Reggie’s burned black corpse remains on his cross, its cock burned crisp in the upright position.
Stephen is raving, although his fingers are turning black and his breathing shallow he chatters on and on, “ m m meeting set for t t t tomorrow… deal! C c c clinch the deal… wheres the.. AAAGH where’s the…? Phone me! AAAAAGH”
The cross has driven him mad, perhaps his broken mind means he can escape his physical suffering. His body still looks strong, the muscles moving under the skin, he can still stand on his spikes and sink lower again, his limp cock flops between his legs, he could last for hours yet. But the real Stephen is gone, broken by the cross.
Mariuz is also strong although you can tell he has suffered much, despite the tan he has gone pale, his face looks sunken and lined with grief, the spikes hare pulled through his flesh ripping up between the bones and he is coated with dried blood although ironically he can stand on his ankles easier now. He still jerks up to breath and then crashes down. His chest looks stretched, his knees distorted. He makes no sound his throat to dry, to hoarse. His skin is dry as paper. Blood loss has softened his cock, but he sits on his prick seat and although in terrible pain is not close to death, if left he could probably last for days.
Adamsi is very still, his unshaven jaw rests on his collar bone, his arms are stretched and the left arm looks dislocated, his lank hair is still it hides his pale torso, you can see the outline of the ass rod under the skin of his groin. He still breathes but it is shallow and gasping, he no longer stands to empty his lungs so has to seat on the cruel seat and gulp down what little air this purchase provides. He would die soon anyway.
Figures appear in white chemical suits their faces masked and their eyes goggled, they are gloved and booted. They are pushing trolleys littered with iceboxes and surgical instruments. “It is time for these criminals to offer to society a more positive return for the crimes they have committed. A chance to aid the sick and the infirm. It is time for the harvest.” Drones on the now rather tired sounding commentator. It is the end game; the crucified have to be dead before six when the broadcast has to end and kiddie friendly viewing starting again.
It is the end for the crucified, but not an easy one.
It was decided that the organs of the crucified should be harvested and used for transplants, I don’t know how many are in a fit state to be used after hours of crucifixion but that’s what they say. It’s probably just a suitably gruesome way to despatch the crucified.
A white figure lines up before each cross with a scalpel in hand
Mariuz says something in his native tongue but his son does not reply.
Stephen chatters on oblivious. The white figures advance and their surgical knives glitter in the studio lights.
The three men suffer the knives slicing into their bellies cutting through skin, then fat then muscle, their stomachs are pulled apart and blood sprays over the white suited State surgeons. Mariuz hairy belly is pulled apart and skilled hard thrust into his living body. The big man roars with pain ass he is gutted his entrails dragged out steaming despite the heat of the studio, liver, kidneys, spleen are removed while Mariuz is still alive, he is dead before they remove his heart.
Adamsi struggle slightly finding new life as his guts are torn apart but dies suddenly as his intestine is cut. He dies in silence.
“Don’t like it… Don’t like it “ protests the insane Stephen as his belly is sliced into and he is slowly disembowelled and the surgeons removes his vital organs. He dies with a confused look on his face.
The blood-splattered surgeons push their gore-covered trophies away and the camera pans back. Five dead men. One twisted and distorted. One burned beyond recognition and three gutted. I try to remember them, their feelings, their fears but I feel nothing.
The screen fades to black.
White letters appear
“OBEY THE STATE”
And I do.
THE END
