MScott
Onlooker
This is my first attempt at a Crux stories. Constructive criticism is welcomed and encouraged.
STORIES OF THE EMPIRE: JORDAN (Part I)
"You have been found guilty of subversion of the empire," the judge read, "and as prescribed in the Great Covenant of 2047, you are sentenced to death. Your execution shall commence within twenty-four hours in the county in which your crime was committed. May God have mercy on your soul."
Jordan Ryesh shuddered. It all seemed like a bad dream to her. The bailiff approached her and said, "Hands behind your back." Jordan watched the bailiff as she removed a set of handcuffs from her belt. In a numb disbelief of what had just happened, she shook her head slightly and placed her hands behind her back, which the bailiff promptly bound and secured.
"This way," she curtly directed, and Jordan had no choice but to follow. In the days before the American Empire, there would have been a careful review of her case, and an automatic appeal of her sentence. But now, there was no appeal. No review. No examination. The Empire wanted her dead, and the Empire was going to get what it wanted. It always got what it wanted.
It wasn't really any different now than it had been previously. The uber-wealthy still controlled everything, just as it had in the last days of the United States, but once the key players in all three branches of the government had been sufficiently paid, the abdication of power, the forfeiture of the Constitution and its replacement by the Great Covenant of 2047, those in power no longer needed to hide behind the political puppets they had already controlled for so long. Now, they could overtly rule the Empire without the need for politicians or procurators.
At twenty-two years of age, Jordan didn't know anything but the Empire, but her grandmother had always fondly told stories of what she called the Free United States. Jordan listened, but it was only now, when her fate had been sealed by the Regional Judiciary of the American Empire, that she longed for the Free United States that her grandmother had always talked about. She was guilty of nothing but offering her opinion, something that had always been encouraged by her parents and grandparents. But her opinions were contrary to the official teachings of the Empire, and enough people had heard those opinions that it was easy enough for the Regional Judiciary to convict her.
Jordan hadn't really been paying attention to where she was being led, but was aware of traveling down a couple flights of stairs into the basement of the Judiciary building. A door in front of her was opened, and she was ushered into the jail. The bailiff handed the packet of paperwork that she was carrying to the Matron of the jail, removed the cuffs from Jordan's wrists, and turned around and left, closing the iron door as quickly as she had opened it moments ago.
The Matron eyed Jordan, then turned her attention to the folder on top of the stack of papers. Jordan could make out the red rubber-stamped letters on the cover of the folder that said "Condemned."
"Jordan Ryesh. Is that you?" she asked.
Jordan thought about protesting and claiming she was not, in fact, who the paperwork claimed she was, but she knew that would come back and bite her, and probably make things worse for her than they already were, if that were even possible. So she merely nodded.
"You've been condemned by the Empire," the Matron continued, in an almost sympathetic tone.
Jordan said nothing, but just looked at the floor in front of her.
"You need to remove all of your clothes," she commanded Jordan.
Jordan looked up at her in surprise. She didn't think she'd be stripped until tomorrow morning, but it was to be now. She reached up and fumbled with the button on her blouse, but couldn't seem to get it to unbutton. She began to shake from nervousness.
The Matron said, not unkindly, "Just relax. Take your time. Compose yourself."
Jordan took a deep breath. She had never been so humiliated in her life, but she knew that superlative would be itself exceeded many times over the short remaining span of her life. She couldn't help but allow the tears to flow as she exhaled. She slowly unbuttoned each button of her blouse, removing it after the last button had been undone. It revealed a camisole, which Jordan had always preferred to a bra. Next, she slowly kicked off the shoes she was wearing and the socks as well. She unbuttoned the long skirt she had worn for the court. The skirt had been suggested by her attorney, hoping that her youthful attractiveness and modest dress would sway the court, but those efforts had been in vain.
She stepped out of the skirt and placed it on the floor next to her blouse, shoes and socks.
She hesitated, vainly hoping that would be enough. She already felt the shame and humiliation of being exposed, even though she still had a layer of clothing on.
"All of your clothes need to be removed," she repeated.
Sobbing, Jordan pulled her cami up and over her head, exposing her breasts to the chill of the air in the basement jail. Then she slowly pulled down her panties and stepped out of them. She covered her sex with one hand and tried as best she could to shield her breasts with her other arm.
"That's right," the Matron acknowledged Jordan's completion of the immediate task at hand. She pressed a button on her tablet, and a couple of moments later, the door opened. A young man, not much older than Jordan, she thought, came in. He picked up the pile of clothes and was going to exit the room, but as he stood back up from bending over to pick them up, his eyes locked on Jordan's figure, and he embarrassingly felt the bulge in his pants grow. He hoped the Matron wouldn't notice. If he got caught, he'd certainly lose his job and probably be subjected to the whipping post as well. He strategically placed the bundle of clothes in front of him to almost cover the area where his erection might be observed, and scurried out the door.
"Now," said the Matron to Jordan. "My next job is to make sure that you are prepared for what will happen between now and the end. Do you have any questions that you'd like for me to answer about the process?"
"Wha...what...what can I do to stop this?" the prisoner stammered. "This is a mistake! I want to recant my subversive speech," she said. "I want to beg the Empire for forgiveness."
"Oh, my dear," the Matron said, "you are so young and naive," she said. "There is no way to undo it. Once you've been delivered to me, it is too late."
A dread set upon Jordan's face. And as horrifying as it was that she knew she would face the cross tomorrow, there was also something incredibly erotic about the knowledge that she had absolutely no control over what would happen, and was powerless to stop it. She couldn't believe she was wet - not at a time like this, but she also couldn't deny it.
"What will happen to me now?" she asked.
"Well, when we're done here, I'll see to it that you have a gallon jug of water available. The law prohibits us feeding the condemned, so I can't bring you any food, but if you go through the gallon of water, I'll bring you more. You can have as much water as you want between now and the time you leave tomorrow morning, but make sure you empty your bladder before you're collected, because once you leave here, there will be no further opportunity to do so except from the cross."
This explanation made Jordan even wetter. She didn't understand why the anticipation of being put to death was so arousing, but she couldn't deny that it was.
The Matron saw that the area between Jordan's legs was moist. She nodded slightly in acknowledgement of this, and said to Jordan, "Does this turn you on?"
Jordan's face turned flush with embarrassment. She tried to look away.
"It's okay," the Matron said. "There are some people who find it arousing. I don't know why, and I don't think I ever will, but I'm aware that some people do. It's okay."
Jordan nodded.
"Anyway, you'll be collected around 3:30 or 4:00 tomorrow morning. You'll be driven back to...where were you arrested?" she asked, more of herself as she checked the paperwork, than Jordan.
"Oh, County 16," she read aloud. "You'll be driven to County 16 so that you arrive there around 7:00. Then at 8:00, they'll ring the bells on the courthouse and fasten you to your patibulum. Around 8:30, they'll bring you out to the dais. There will probably be a lot of spectators there. Crucifixions draw large crowds, and the Empire hopes they keep people in line."
"And then, crucified?" Jordan asked, both in terror and in erotic fascination.
"Not yet. First you'll be whipped. The procedure calls for the prisoner to be whipped before crucifixion. You'll be forced to your knees and whipped.
At that, Jordan almost came. While she had never witnessed a crucifixion before, she had seen whippings delivered by the Empire as justice, and she had secretly wondered what would be like to be bound and whipped. Although she was going to die soon after, she was truly excited about experiencing a real Empire Justice whipping.
The Matron continued, "After you've been whipped, you'll be led over to your cross. In most counties, and I think County 16 is no exception, its no more than a few hundred feet."
"And crucified?" repeated Jordan.
"Yes, then you'll be crucified. The Empire likes to crucify people where the crime was committed, so that others will fear The Empire, and so that the victims can know justice was done."
"How long will I hang on the cross?" asked Jordan.
"That depends on a great many things, " she replied. "I hope not very long, for your sake."
Jordan became lost in her own imagination. She still didn't want to die, and she still didn't think she was deserving of it, but something inside her had taken over, and she wanted more than anything to experience what she imagined would be exquisite pain and suffering, and while it would not be pleasant, it might also provide the best sexual gratification she had ever experienced in her 22 short years.
"Then if there are no other questions, I'll leave you for now," she said. "I'll make sure you have a gallon of water, and I will be back to prepare you before you are collected in the morning."
Jordan nodded. The Matron nodded back, and again pressed a button on her tablet. In a moment, the door opened, and she exited the room. The door closed, leaving Jordan with only her thoughts.
STORIES OF THE EMPIRE: JORDAN (Part I)
"You have been found guilty of subversion of the empire," the judge read, "and as prescribed in the Great Covenant of 2047, you are sentenced to death. Your execution shall commence within twenty-four hours in the county in which your crime was committed. May God have mercy on your soul."
Jordan Ryesh shuddered. It all seemed like a bad dream to her. The bailiff approached her and said, "Hands behind your back." Jordan watched the bailiff as she removed a set of handcuffs from her belt. In a numb disbelief of what had just happened, she shook her head slightly and placed her hands behind her back, which the bailiff promptly bound and secured.
"This way," she curtly directed, and Jordan had no choice but to follow. In the days before the American Empire, there would have been a careful review of her case, and an automatic appeal of her sentence. But now, there was no appeal. No review. No examination. The Empire wanted her dead, and the Empire was going to get what it wanted. It always got what it wanted.
It wasn't really any different now than it had been previously. The uber-wealthy still controlled everything, just as it had in the last days of the United States, but once the key players in all three branches of the government had been sufficiently paid, the abdication of power, the forfeiture of the Constitution and its replacement by the Great Covenant of 2047, those in power no longer needed to hide behind the political puppets they had already controlled for so long. Now, they could overtly rule the Empire without the need for politicians or procurators.
At twenty-two years of age, Jordan didn't know anything but the Empire, but her grandmother had always fondly told stories of what she called the Free United States. Jordan listened, but it was only now, when her fate had been sealed by the Regional Judiciary of the American Empire, that she longed for the Free United States that her grandmother had always talked about. She was guilty of nothing but offering her opinion, something that had always been encouraged by her parents and grandparents. But her opinions were contrary to the official teachings of the Empire, and enough people had heard those opinions that it was easy enough for the Regional Judiciary to convict her.
Jordan hadn't really been paying attention to where she was being led, but was aware of traveling down a couple flights of stairs into the basement of the Judiciary building. A door in front of her was opened, and she was ushered into the jail. The bailiff handed the packet of paperwork that she was carrying to the Matron of the jail, removed the cuffs from Jordan's wrists, and turned around and left, closing the iron door as quickly as she had opened it moments ago.
The Matron eyed Jordan, then turned her attention to the folder on top of the stack of papers. Jordan could make out the red rubber-stamped letters on the cover of the folder that said "Condemned."
"Jordan Ryesh. Is that you?" she asked.
Jordan thought about protesting and claiming she was not, in fact, who the paperwork claimed she was, but she knew that would come back and bite her, and probably make things worse for her than they already were, if that were even possible. So she merely nodded.
"You've been condemned by the Empire," the Matron continued, in an almost sympathetic tone.
Jordan said nothing, but just looked at the floor in front of her.
"You need to remove all of your clothes," she commanded Jordan.
Jordan looked up at her in surprise. She didn't think she'd be stripped until tomorrow morning, but it was to be now. She reached up and fumbled with the button on her blouse, but couldn't seem to get it to unbutton. She began to shake from nervousness.
The Matron said, not unkindly, "Just relax. Take your time. Compose yourself."
Jordan took a deep breath. She had never been so humiliated in her life, but she knew that superlative would be itself exceeded many times over the short remaining span of her life. She couldn't help but allow the tears to flow as she exhaled. She slowly unbuttoned each button of her blouse, removing it after the last button had been undone. It revealed a camisole, which Jordan had always preferred to a bra. Next, she slowly kicked off the shoes she was wearing and the socks as well. She unbuttoned the long skirt she had worn for the court. The skirt had been suggested by her attorney, hoping that her youthful attractiveness and modest dress would sway the court, but those efforts had been in vain.
She stepped out of the skirt and placed it on the floor next to her blouse, shoes and socks.
She hesitated, vainly hoping that would be enough. She already felt the shame and humiliation of being exposed, even though she still had a layer of clothing on.
"All of your clothes need to be removed," she repeated.
Sobbing, Jordan pulled her cami up and over her head, exposing her breasts to the chill of the air in the basement jail. Then she slowly pulled down her panties and stepped out of them. She covered her sex with one hand and tried as best she could to shield her breasts with her other arm.
"That's right," the Matron acknowledged Jordan's completion of the immediate task at hand. She pressed a button on her tablet, and a couple of moments later, the door opened. A young man, not much older than Jordan, she thought, came in. He picked up the pile of clothes and was going to exit the room, but as he stood back up from bending over to pick them up, his eyes locked on Jordan's figure, and he embarrassingly felt the bulge in his pants grow. He hoped the Matron wouldn't notice. If he got caught, he'd certainly lose his job and probably be subjected to the whipping post as well. He strategically placed the bundle of clothes in front of him to almost cover the area where his erection might be observed, and scurried out the door.
"Now," said the Matron to Jordan. "My next job is to make sure that you are prepared for what will happen between now and the end. Do you have any questions that you'd like for me to answer about the process?"
"Wha...what...what can I do to stop this?" the prisoner stammered. "This is a mistake! I want to recant my subversive speech," she said. "I want to beg the Empire for forgiveness."
"Oh, my dear," the Matron said, "you are so young and naive," she said. "There is no way to undo it. Once you've been delivered to me, it is too late."
A dread set upon Jordan's face. And as horrifying as it was that she knew she would face the cross tomorrow, there was also something incredibly erotic about the knowledge that she had absolutely no control over what would happen, and was powerless to stop it. She couldn't believe she was wet - not at a time like this, but she also couldn't deny it.
"What will happen to me now?" she asked.
"Well, when we're done here, I'll see to it that you have a gallon jug of water available. The law prohibits us feeding the condemned, so I can't bring you any food, but if you go through the gallon of water, I'll bring you more. You can have as much water as you want between now and the time you leave tomorrow morning, but make sure you empty your bladder before you're collected, because once you leave here, there will be no further opportunity to do so except from the cross."
This explanation made Jordan even wetter. She didn't understand why the anticipation of being put to death was so arousing, but she couldn't deny that it was.
The Matron saw that the area between Jordan's legs was moist. She nodded slightly in acknowledgement of this, and said to Jordan, "Does this turn you on?"
Jordan's face turned flush with embarrassment. She tried to look away.
"It's okay," the Matron said. "There are some people who find it arousing. I don't know why, and I don't think I ever will, but I'm aware that some people do. It's okay."
Jordan nodded.
"Anyway, you'll be collected around 3:30 or 4:00 tomorrow morning. You'll be driven back to...where were you arrested?" she asked, more of herself as she checked the paperwork, than Jordan.
"Oh, County 16," she read aloud. "You'll be driven to County 16 so that you arrive there around 7:00. Then at 8:00, they'll ring the bells on the courthouse and fasten you to your patibulum. Around 8:30, they'll bring you out to the dais. There will probably be a lot of spectators there. Crucifixions draw large crowds, and the Empire hopes they keep people in line."
"And then, crucified?" Jordan asked, both in terror and in erotic fascination.
"Not yet. First you'll be whipped. The procedure calls for the prisoner to be whipped before crucifixion. You'll be forced to your knees and whipped.
At that, Jordan almost came. While she had never witnessed a crucifixion before, she had seen whippings delivered by the Empire as justice, and she had secretly wondered what would be like to be bound and whipped. Although she was going to die soon after, she was truly excited about experiencing a real Empire Justice whipping.
The Matron continued, "After you've been whipped, you'll be led over to your cross. In most counties, and I think County 16 is no exception, its no more than a few hundred feet."
"And crucified?" repeated Jordan.
"Yes, then you'll be crucified. The Empire likes to crucify people where the crime was committed, so that others will fear The Empire, and so that the victims can know justice was done."
"How long will I hang on the cross?" asked Jordan.
"That depends on a great many things, " she replied. "I hope not very long, for your sake."
Jordan became lost in her own imagination. She still didn't want to die, and she still didn't think she was deserving of it, but something inside her had taken over, and she wanted more than anything to experience what she imagined would be exquisite pain and suffering, and while it would not be pleasant, it might also provide the best sexual gratification she had ever experienced in her 22 short years.
"Then if there are no other questions, I'll leave you for now," she said. "I'll make sure you have a gallon of water, and I will be back to prepare you before you are collected in the morning."
Jordan nodded. The Matron nodded back, and again pressed a button on her tablet. In a moment, the door opened, and she exited the room. The door closed, leaving Jordan with only her thoughts.
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