stories (without pic) by thecurious one. Usually someone dies.

[thecuriousone]

I have threads in the pics section both crux and bdsm, but lately I start to focus more on stories then on pics. So time to start a tread in the stories section.

The first one is without crucifixion. It is about a woman completely submitting to her master, without realizing how far he likes to take things. Contains drowning and debreasting.

 

[thecuriousone]

The path to total obedience

The first time I met Don, my world changed forever. I had always known there was a part of me that craved submission, an intense yearning for the kind of power dynamics I had only read about in books. It wasn’t until I stepped into the dimly lit BDSM club and met him that I truly understood what I wanted and needed.

Don was a commanding presence. Tall, with piercing blue eyes and an air of authority that made me feel both nervous and exhilarated. The moment he looked at me, I felt an electric charge run through my body, a signal that this man was different, that he was the one who could take me to the places I had only dreamed of.

Our first session together was unforgettable. Don led me to a private room in the back of the club, the walls lined with various implements of discipline and control. He moved with a confidence that spoke of experience, and I followed him willingly, my heart pounding in my chest.

"Take off your clothes," he commanded softly, but with an edge that left no room for disobedience. I did as he said, my hands trembling slightly as I undressed. He handed me a corset, black and intricately designed, and instructed me to put it on. The corset was tight, its laces pulling my waist into an hourglass shape and restricting my breathing just enough to remind me of my vulnerability.

"Beautiful," he murmured as he tightened the laces, his hands lingering on my bare skin. "You look perfect, Tina."

As the session began, I felt a mix of fear and excitement. Don was skilled in his craft, and he pushed my boundaries with a careful precision that left me breathless. He used a flogger on my back, the sting of the leather interspersed with gentle caresses that sent shivers down my spine. Each strike of the flogger brought a mixture of pain and pleasure, and I found myself sinking deeper into a state of submission.

"Do you like this, Tina?" he asked, his voice low and seductive.

"Yes, Master," I replied, my voice trembling with a mix of pain and pleasure.

"Good girl," he said, his approval washing over me like a wave. "You belong to me now, Tina. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Master," I whispered, feeling a deep sense of fulfillment in my obedience.

Over the next few months, our sessions became more intense. Don knew exactly how to push my limits, each session a dance of trust and control. The corset became a symbol of our dynamic, its tightness a constant reminder of my submission to him. With each session, I felt myself falling deeper under his spell, craving the intensity of the power dynamics we shared.

It wasn’t long before I realized that I wanted more than just sessions with Don. I wanted to be his completely, to surrender to him in a way I had never surrendered to anyone before. One evening, after an especially intense session, I found the courage to voice my desire.

"Don," I said, my voice trembling slightly, "I want to be your permanent slave."

He looked at me, his eyes searching mine for any hint of doubt. "Do you understand what that means, Tina? Complete obedience to whatever I want for you, no matter how harsh. If you disobey, the punishment will be severe."

I nodded, my resolve unwavering. "I understand, Master. It's what I want."

He gave me until the end of the month to make my final decision. The days that followed were a mix of excitement and anxiety, but I never wavered. I knew what I wanted.

The end of the month arrived, and I confirmed my decision to Don. He arranged a collaring ceremony, a significant ritual that would mark my permanent submission to him.

On the night of the ceremony, Don dressed me in nothing but a corset and lacquer high-heeled boots. The cool night air brushed against my exposed skin as he led me to a disused railway bridge across the river. The bridge, with its decaying structure and eerie silence, added to the gravity of the moment.

As we approached, I saw a group of people waiting. Among them were familiar faces from the BDSM community, but there were also two women I didn’t recognize. They were very skinny, wearing steel collars and raincoats, their expressions blank.

Don led me to the center of the group and turned to face me, holding a sturdy steel collar in his hands. "Are you ready, Tina?" he asked, his voice firm.

I took a deep breath and nodded. "Yes, Master."

He fastened the collar around my neck, the steel cold against my skin. The click of the lock sent a shiver down my spine. "This collar is permanent," Don stated, his voice resonating with finality. "It has a GPS tracker, and inside is a device that, when activated with an app on my phone, will extend a razor-sharp blade through the throat of the wearer. I will always know where you are, and I will have the power to end your life with a single swipe."

The weight of his words settled over me, but instead of fear, I felt a deep sense of belonging. I had chosen this path, and I was ready to accept all that it entailed.

"From this moment on, you are no longer Tina," Don continued. "Your new name is Number 6."

He gestured to the two women in raincoats. "These are Number 4 and Number 5."

They nodded slightly, acknowledging me as one of them. The ceremony continued with me vowing to obey Don, to submit to his every command. With each word, I felt my old self fading away, replaced by a new identity, a new purpose.

As the ceremony concluded, Don pulled me close, his voice a whisper in my ear. "You are mine now, Number 6. Completely and utterly mine."

A sense of peace washed over me. I had found my place, my purpose. I was his, and in that surrender, I found a strength I had never known before. The future stretched out before us, unknown and thrilling. Whatever it held, I knew I would face it with Don, my Master, my owner, my everything.

Then, without warning, Don gave an order. "Number 4 and Number 5, take off your raincoats."

The two women complied, revealing that they were wearing nothing but corsets underneath. I gasped when I saw Number 4's chest. Her breasts were completely gone, replaced by smooth, flat skin marred by scars. Don noticed my reaction and smiled.

"One year ago, I ordered Number 5 to cut off Number 4's tits," he explained. "And in the future, when I feel like it, I will order you, Number 6, to cut off the tits of Number 5."

I felt a cold chill run through my body at his words, but I remained silent, my resolve unshaken. This was the life I had chosen, and I was prepared to accept all that came with it.

Don continued, his voice calm and authoritative. "In my cellar, there are two cages. They are for holding my slaves. As I now have three slaves and only two cages, one of you is abundant. I will give a demonstration of how obedient my slaves are."

He turned to Number 4. "Chain the sturdy steel shackles to your ankles, wrists, and waist and connect them with chains," he commanded.

Number 4 obeyed without hesitation, her movements precise and practiced. Once she was securely shackled, Don handed her a 30-pound weight and instructed her to chain it to her restraints. She did so, her expression serene despite the heavy burden.

"Number 1 to 3 all went through the same cycle," Don explained. "Now it is Number 4's time. In the future, if I manage to obtain a Number 7, then Number 5 will share their fate. And when I have a Number 8, then you, Number 6, will go the same direction."

I watched in stunned silence as Don gave his final command. "Number 4, jump from the bridge."

Without a moment's hesitation, Number 4 stepped to the edge of the bridge and leaped into the river below. The weight dragged her down quickly, and she disappeared beneath the surface.

I was in shock, my mind reeling from what I had just witnessed. But as the others applauded, I realized that this was the reality I had chosen. This was the life I had committed to.

Don turned to me, his eyes locking onto mine. "Do you understand, Number 6? Complete obedience is not optional. It is absolute."

"Yes, Master," I replied, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside me.

"Good," he said, a satisfied smile spreading across his face. "Welcome to your new life, Number 6. You will serve me well."

As the group dispersed, Don took my hand and led me away from the bridge. My mind was still processing everything that had happened, but one thing was clear: I was his now, completely and utterly. And in that surrender, I found a strength and purpose I had never known before.

 

[Wragg]

lately I start to focus more on stories then on pics.

Good for you! And I am enjoying this one!

 

[thecuriousone]

Good for you! And I am enjoying this one!

Wow you're a fast reader.

 

[Wragg]

Wow you're a fast reader.

You should see my in-tray at work

 

[thecuriousone]

Something I wrote for https://www.cruxforums.com/xf/members/starbuckslut.30346/

It got a lot in it. Betrayal, a makeshift trial, kidnapping, rape, crucifixion, dismemberment and debreasting, pussy torture, you name it. Let's just say: not a children's bedtime story.


The trial

I had always prided myself on my work ethic and ambition. Since joining Titan Enterprises six months ago, I had poured all my energy into securing a promotion. As a woman in her thirties, slender, and, as some would say, stunningly beautiful, I knew the stereotypes I had to combat. But I was determined to prove that my skills and dedication were what mattered. My department head, Jasmin, was strict and demanding, often unfair, but I navigated her challenges with resilience.

One day, my aspirations came crashing down. I was called into the office of Mr. Akras, the general manager. His reputation for strictness did little to ease the knot of anxiety in my stomach as I stepped into his imposing office.

"Miss Jenny, we have a serious issue," he began, his voice cold and authoritative. "We have evidence of a significant embezzlement of funds, and all signs point to your computer being used for these transactions."

The accusation hit me like a physical blow. "Mr. Akras, there must be some mistake. I didn't do it. I would never..."

He interrupted, his gaze steely. "The evidence is conclusive. Your computer, your login credentials. During your regular working hours. There's no other explanation."

Panic surged through me. "Please, someone must have accessed my computer. I'm innocent! I would never jeopardize my career like this!"

But my pleas fell on deaf ears. "You're dismissed, effective immediately. Security will escort you out."

My heart pounded as two security guards appeared, flanking me. Humiliation burned my cheeks as I was led through the corridors. All other employees were looking at me. We exited through the back door, where a white van was standing, engine running idle. Dread crept in. "What's going on?" I demanded, panic rising.

Before I could resist, one of the guards grabbed my arm, and I felt a sharp prick in my neck. Darkness quickly overtook me.

I awoke in a nightmare. Handcuffed spreadeagle to a cold metal frame in a dimly lit basement, panic surged through me. Around me stood several high-ranking senior managers, including Mr. Akras and Jasmin. Some were way over seventy years old, grotesquely overweight, their presence lending a disheartening air to the scene.

Mr. Akras stepped forward. "You won't get away with embezzling our money. Half a million is too much to ignore. It's not that we can't miss it, it's about being loyal. Principles. Trustworthiness. It is unlikely that we can retrieve the money, but we got you. We suspect with good reason that certain people from a rival company are involved, and they will meet with accidents soon. Or maybe they simply go missing. As for you, you will be judged by the board of managers. Your fate will be not that bad if you return the money."

I struggled against my restraints. "It wasn't me! I'm innocent! Please, I need access to my computer, my files... I can't defend myself without them!"

They sneered at my pleas. Jasmin, her voice dripping with contempt, said, "Jenny, always the perfect employee. Did you think you could fool us all?"

Another manager, his voice wheezing, taunted, "Your beauty won't save you now. You're nothing but a pretty face trying to hide your guilt."

Desperation clawed at me. "Please, listen to me! I have nothing to do with this. I'm not getting a fair trial!"

Their laughter echoed through the basement, cold and mocking. "A fair trial?" scoffed an elderly manager. "You had your chance, and you blew it."

My heart pounded as they deliberated, their minds already made up. The verdict was unanimous. "Guilty," Mr. Akras pronounced with finality.

Tears streamed down my face. "Please, you have to believe me. I'm innocent..."

But their eyes held no mercy. "Because of the damage you've done to the firm, your sentence will be death," Mr. Akras said, his voice devoid of emotion. "A slow, painful death."

Horror and disbelief washed over me as they began stripping me of my clothes, leaving me exposed and vulnerable. They forced me down me to an X-shaped cross on the floor, and secured me with metal cuffs. The cold metal was biting into my skin, making me worry about losing circulation in my hands and feet. My mind raced, grappling with the severity of my situation. I knew my nightmare was far from over. The fight for my life had only just begun, me losing ground rapidly. I was determined to survive, to prove my innocence, no matter the cost. I just had to come up with a plan fast..... somehow.....eh....

The rough wood of the cross bit into my back as they secured me in place. Every inch of my skin felt raw, my mind struggling to process the sheer terror of my situation. I tried not to squirm, trying to prevent chafing of my skin against the splintered wood.

Mr. Akras stepped forward, his eyes lacking any compassion. "You brought this upon yourself, Jenny. Actions have consequences."

"I swear, it wasn't me!" I cried, my voice breaking. "I'm innocent! Please, you have to believe me!"

But my pleas were met with mocking laughter. Jasmin sneered, her eyes filled with cold satisfaction. "Your tears won't save you now. This is what happens when you betray the company."

The other managers, grotesquely overweight and seemingly enjoying my discomfort, circled around me. They mocked my desperation, throwing insults that cut deeper than any physical pain. "You're just a pretty face," one wheezed. "Pretty face, nice body, a bit small rack. But at least you did not have a boobjob, that would make them fake and lower their value. Did you think your body would protect you?"

"Please," I begged, tears streaming down my face. "I didn't do it. I don't deserve this. Someone set me up!"

My words were lost in the cacophony of their cruel laughter. The elderly manager with the wheezing voice stepped forward, lowering his pants. "Let's begin with a good fucking to warm her up, and to loosen my stiff bones a little bit," he said, his tone almost gleeful. They took turns raping me, their immense weight pressing on me. Viagra was handed out, to make sure they were all able to deliver several times. Some of them were turning so alarmingly red, that I was worried about them having a heart attack on top of me. I pleaded and begged at first, but I realized that when they grew tired of this gangrape, it would probably get a lot worse. So I tried to shut down my mind as much as possible. After what seemed like hours and hours, I succeeded in losing consciousness.

I woke up screaming as a nail was driven through my wrist, the pain immediately radiating through my entire arm. "Stop! Please, stop! I'm begging you!" But they smacked down the hammer again and again, until the bones in my wrist were shattered and the nail was deep enough.

They were relentless. The second nail was driven through my other wrist, and I could not comprehend what damage this did to the bones, nerves and tendons in my wrist. My vision blurred, and I could barely keep my head up. They moved to my ankles, securing them with the same brutal efficiency.

Once they had finished, they hoisted the cross upright, puffing and sweating in the process, bunch of obese old men. The shift in gravity sent new waves of agony through me. My whole body felt like it was on fire, every nerve ending screaming in pain. I hung there, utterly helpless and in severe pain, as they continued to taunt and mock me.

"How does it feel, Jenny?" Jasmin asked, her voice dripping with malice. "To know that you can't charm your way out of this one? You can't seduce the nails in your wrists and ankles after all."

"Please," I whispered, my voice barely audible. "Have mercy."

"Mercy?" Mr. Akras scoffed. "Mercy is for the innocent. And you, Jenny, are anything but. By the way, we love torturing you. In its own twisted way, it's good that you betrayed the company. It gave us a fair and straight reason to punish you."

I struggled to breathe while trying to comprehend the cruel things he said. Each gasp of air was becoming a battle more and more. I knew I was about to choke soon if nothing changed. I lifted myself up again and again, fighting for a better position to breathe, begging them to help me. After a while, my vision dimmed from time to time when I was unable to lift myself up far enough for longer times. It was getting harder and harder. Then the fattest man of the board of managers, Mr Creed, spoke up with seemingly a hint of compassion in his voice. "You need help because you can not breathe. I will be nice to you and help you. Later on you will curse me for this." He called for a security guard to bring a telescopic stick with a spiked tip. It looked really mean, A metal rod, with on one end a parody of a dildo. It was far too big for comfort, but the worst were the dozens of thumbtacks pointing outwards from the whole surface of the dildo. I screamed and closed my eyes, because I did not want to see what he did with that monstrous device. But that did not stop him from forcing it between my legs. With a few clicks it extended until the spiked end was deep inside my pussy, and the other end was resting firmly on the ground. To my dismay it added a new dimension to my pain, and droplets of blood were soon oozing out of my stretched pussy. I screamed like never before, so loud that some of them pressed their palms to their ears. Mr Creed ordered me to be gagged, because the noise was causing him discomfort. I could no longer scream or beg, my speech was reduced to just unintelligible muffled moams.

Mr. Akras said that it was dinner time. They left me to suffer while they were enjoying a lavish meal in one of the best restaurants in the area.

Jasmin was the first to return. It was clear that she had enough wine to be drunk. She walked to me with a smirk on her face. "I have to thank you, Jenny," she said with the meanest tone I ever heard in her voice. "Why? For taking the blame. It would have been so unpleasant to be in your place, so a big thank you for dying in my place. You're such a good employee. By the way, it's really good that you are gagged. So you can't tell them what I just said. Not that they will believe you anyway. And I can freely enjoy all the money that I took. I feel like going shopping tomorrow. What present will I be buying for myself? A pearl necklace? Diamond earrings maybe? A new car? A yaught? You name it, I can pay it sooooo easily now!" She laughed hysterically.

I did not look at Jasmin. I looked at Mr Akras and one of the older board members, who stood silently in the entrance of the basement. I looked at the disapproving look at their faces, that slowly turned to anger. I looked at them with a mix of satisfaction, hope and a look in my eyes that said: "I told you so, I was innoncent all the time."

Mr Akras spoke loud. "Jasmin." Just one word. Nothing more. Shocked, she turned around. Her face turned pale. She panicked. Looking for the exit. The only exit, that was blocked by the huge bodies of Mr Akras and the other board member. And within a short time, by the other managers, who came in one by one. She started to step backwards, while Mr Akras slowly but steadily moved in her direction. "Please, I can explain this. It is not what it seems. I...." "Silence! We know enough!" shouted Mr Akras. He explained to the late comers what he just witnessed. Despite all my pain, I felt immense relief.

Mr Creed called for the guards. "Please take this disgusting traitor away, and lock her in the holding cage. Keep her alive. Next meeting, we will deal with her..... harshly." Two security guards came in and dragged a screaming and struggling Jasmin away. I felt sad for the fate that was waiting for her, but really relieved now my innoncence has finally been proved. Through my gag I tried to say: "Please let me down. Now you finally know I am innoncent, like I always said. There is no reason to punish me."

The board members looked at me. One of them said: "What do we do with this one? After all, she did not do it. Do we have to let her go?" Abruptly, Mr Creed interrupted him with his voice full of authority. "If we let her go, even if she does not run to the police, what she almost for sure will do, she will demand several millions of compensation. We were torturing her as punishment for betrayal. Now she happens to be innoncent, let's just torture her for fun. After all, we all like to cause pain to a beautiful woman. Until she is dead, of course. There is no reason to ruin our evening by denying our true motives and stop what we started." All of them nodded approvingly.

I couldn't believe my ears. The realization that this would truly be the end settled over me. In my thoughts, I said goodbye to my parents. To my brother. To my cat. To my life.

Mr Akras stepped forward, holding two meathooks. With a captivating smile on his face, he said: "Let's continue. Jenny, I think you have been struggling long enough to stop this spiked dildo from going too deep. You could use a little help." I looked in awe as he grabbed my tit and rammed the meathook through until the tip came out on the other side of my tit. All I could do was another attempt at screaming even louder, but severely hampered by the gag. He did the same with my other tit, while all board members made approving and encouraging remarks.

Ropes were lowered from a beam above my head, attached to my tits and pulled tight. The spiked dildo was not so deep in my pussy any more, but I would not really call it an improvement of my situation. I had lost quite a lot of blood between my legs by this time. Even if I would be released and rushed to hospital, the damage would be lasting forever.

"Still, I have the feeling there is something missing. I just can't find it with my limited imagination," Mr Akras said. The oldest manager spoke up with a trembling voice. "Electricity, Mr Akras. I am sure a couple of electrodes at the right position will give Miss Jenny great pleasure." Mr Arkas his eyes sparkled. "Of Course, Mr Holm. What would we be without your excellent input? Guard, please bring the electrodes." I just couldn't believe my ears again. Even after all this extreme torture, they still had worse for me in store.

They attached electrodes to the rod, and more electrodes to the meathooks in my tits. I already have been tortured beyond my worst imagination, and still they managed to take torture to a higher level. I was shocked and spasmed. Everything caused me pain. The nails through my wrists and ankles, the tearing of my tits by the meathooks, the ripping away of my skin inside my pussy by the spiked dildo.... I screamed and howled in my gag. I fainted several times, but then they gave me an injection with some kind of stimulant to keep me awake. It did nothing to stop the pain. It felt more like it only multiplied the pain.

They stopped for a brief moment. Mr Creed looked me in the eyes. "We have been recording this session. The highlights will be sent to your family and friends. To give them some kind of opportunity to say goodbye. Of course, with our faces blurred. I think they like to know how your day at work is going." He smiled. I did not care any more, my world was just pain. He took off my gag. "I like to know if you want to end the torture. Do you want us to cut you down?"

I could not believe my ears. They were going to release me. Maybe after months in a hospital, I would be more or less OK. I mustered the last remaining strength that was still in me to say: "Yes please. Cut me down." Mr Creed looked friendly for a second, then his face turned grim again. "As you Wish, miss Jenny. Bring the tools."

They brought a jigsaw. "Miss Jenny," Mr Creed explained. "You do understand that with this jigsaw, I can't cut through nails? But it is perfectly capable of cutting through flesh and bone, so don't worry. I can cut you lose."

What a deception! They have absolutely no intention to spare my life! It was just a really mean mindgame. They powered up the jigsaw and slowly started cutting off my left leg, just below the crotch. I tried to beat my previous screaming performances again. In other sircumstances, if screaming was an olympic sport, I could compete for the gold medal. With a thud, my leg landed on the ground.

They did not stop after my left leg. They continued with my right leg. Everything was a haze now. I barely noticed my right leg coming loose, and barely realized that they started cutting first my left arm and after that my right arm. I vaguely felt the strain on my tits increasing as the meathooks that pierced them were now carrying most of my weight. The blood from my pussy started flowing in thicker streams now more of my weight was resting on the spiked dildo. Before it was sweating hot, but now I just felt cold. I vaguely saw their faces as they stared at me like being hypnotized. Next they started cutting my tits off. Before my eyes I saw the faces of my deceased grandmother. While my tits came loose, I slided further down the spiked dildo, until it was deeply embedded in my womb. My last thought was: "Here I come, granny." After that it was dark.

Mr Akras had a sad look on his face. He pronounced: "She is gone now. The fun is over. She lasted really long. A real fighter. She granted us a great evening." Mr Creed said: "She was very nice. But we have something to look forward to. Next meeting we can use Jasmin. She is also beautiful and looks strong too, maybe she will also last through a lot of torture. But it's good that the session is over now. My age is playing, and I am very tired by now. Guards, please dispose of the body parts in the incinerator. Goodnight, gentlemen, and thank you for participating. I look forward to our next meeting."

 

[thecuriousone]

Just a quick flirt with chat gpt followed by some editing. A dare gone bad ending in lynching.

Of dares and betrayal ​

Emily​

I never thought it would end like this. The dare seemed harmless enough at first, just another crazy challenge from my friends. At least, I thought they were my friends. We’d spent countless nights together, laughing and sharing stories. But now, as I stood at the edge of the bad neighborhood, wearing the skirt with those hateful words, I realized too late how wrong I was.

The skirt felt clung tightly around my body, the words “All Immigrants Get Out of This Country” emblazoned across it in bold letters. I looked back at Raj, Maria, and Sam, their faces lit up by the glow of their phones, ready to record my every move. There was a strange, malicious glint in their eyes that I’d never noticed before.

“Come on, Em! Don’t be a chicken!” Raj shouted, his voice dripping with mock encouragement.

I forced a smile and took a deep breath. “Alright, here I go,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. With every step, my heart pounded louder in my chest, and my stomach churned with anxiety.

The Friends​

Raj, Maria, and Sam stood a few paces behind, their phones held high to capture every moment of Emily’s walk. They exchanged glances, smirking and whispering to each other.

“This is gonna be epic,” Sam said, his grin wide and eager. “She actually thinks we’re doing this for fun.”

Maria chuckled darkly. “She’s too naive. This is what she gets for acting so high and mighty.”

Raj shook his head, eyes locked on Emily as she walked further into the neighborhood. “She’s about to learn a hard lesson. Let’s see how long she lasts.”

Emily​

As I walked deeper into the neighborhood, the lively chatter around me turned to a heavy silence. I could feel the weight of their stares, the disbelief and anger radiating from every direction. Whispers turned to murmurs, then to shouts.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Are you out of your mind?”

The voices grew louder, angrier. My heart raced, and my breath came in short, panicked gasps. I wanted to run, to tear off the skirt and disappear, but it was too late. I was surrounded.

A young man stepped in front of me, his face twisted with fury. “You think this is funny? Walking in here with that?” He shoved me hard in broken English, and I stumbled, barely keeping my balance.

Others joined in, their faces a blur of rage and resentment. The shouts became a cacophony, a torrent of words in languages I didn’t understand, each one sharper and more terrifying than the last. Someone threw a rock, and it hit me in the shoulder, sending a jolt of pain through my body. I cried out, but my voice was lost in the uproar.

“Racist bitch!”

“Get out of here!”

Hands grabbed at me, pulling me, hitting me. The pain was overwhelming, the fear suffocating. I curled into a ball, trying to protect myself, but the blows kept coming. Stones and fists rained down on me, and I could hear the jeers and insults, the foreign words mixing with English in a terrifying symphony of anger.

The Friends​

Raj, Maria, and Sam watched in stunned silence as the scene unfolded before them. What had started as a joke was spiraling out of control.

“This is perfect,” Sam said, his voice tinged with excitement. “She’s getting what she deserves.”

Maria nodded, a cruel smile playing on her lips. “Let’s see how far this goes.”

Raj, still holding his phone, laughed. “She’s just a dumb girl who needed to be taught a lesson.”

Emily​

I tried to crawl away, but there was no escape. The circle of anger closed in on me, the faces of my tormentors a blur of fury. I felt a boot connect with my ribs, and the pain exploded, white-hot and blinding. Tears streamed down my face, and I screamed, a desperate, guttural sound that was swallowed by the noise around me.

“Take it off!” someone shouted. Hands reached out, tearing at my shirt. In moments, my shirt was ripped away, leaving me exposed and terrified.

“Handcuff yourself! Behind your back!” another voice barked. A pair of metal cuffs were thrust into my hands. I knew that resistance would get things only worse. With shaking fingers, I obeyed, locking my wrists behind my back. But it wasn’t over. They lifted me up, and I felt the rough bark of a tree against my back as they secured my ankles, hoisting me upside down.

The Friends​

Raj, Maria, and Sam moved closer, their laughter mingling with the shouts of the crowd. They didn’t even try to help.

“She looks ridiculous,” Maria sneered.

Raj smirked, his phone capturing every moment. “Yeah, this is priceless.”

Sam picked up a stone and threw it, hitting me in the side. “Guess she’ll think twice before messing with us.”

Emily​

The blood rushed to my head as I hung there, upside down and helpless. The stones continued to hit me, each one a spike of agony. My skin was raw and bleeding, my vision swimming with tears. The world was a blur of pain and fear, and I could feel myself slipping, my consciousness fading.

Through the haze, I saw Raj, Maria, and Sam joining in, throwing stones and laughing. My friends. My betrayers. The hurt of their betrayal cut deeper than any stone.

Suddenly, a wave of liquid hit me, and I smelled the sharp scent of gasoline. Panic surged through me, but I couldn’t move, couldn’t escape. Someone struck a match.

“No, please!” I screamed, but my voice was lost in the chaos.

The flames ignited, and the pain was immediate, searing. My screams filled the night as the fire consumed me, the agony indescribable. In those final moments, all I felt was the burning, the betrayal, and the overwhelming terror.

Epilogue​

By the time the police arrived, the crowd had dispersed, leaving behind a scene of horror. The officers found me too late, my body charred and lifeless. Raj, Maria, and Sam had disappeared into the night, their laughter and the footage of their cruel joke echoing in the dark.

I died in pain, betrayed by those I trusted, a stark reminder of the cruelty that can lurk behind a friendly smile. The memory of that night would stay with the people I thought were my friends, a proof to themselves that they were capable of doing something really cruel and getting away with it.

 

[thecuriousone]

Usually my stories play in the real world, or at leastin a world that is so close to reality that it is plausible. Sometimes in an imaginary past. This is one of the rare examples of the supernatural in my stories. I don't post warnings for gruelty and violence, because this is cruxforums anyways. But I do post a warning for people that are easily offended by different political views. They may wish to skip this story to avoid annoyance.

The demon's seeds

I am the unseen horror, the whisper in the dark, the chill that raises the hairs on the back of your neck. I am a demon, a feeder on fear and pain, forever hungry, forever lurking. My existence is sustained by the agony of others, the exquisite torment that seeps into the very fabric of the human soul.

In the distant past, I roamed the wilds, feasting on the raw suffering of predator and prey. The panic of a rabbit caught in a wolf’s jaws, the desperate struggle of a deer against a lion, these were my first sustenance. But animals, with their simple minds and primal fears, offered little nourishment. Their suffering was fleeting, their pain shallow.

It was when I turned my attention to humans that I discovered the true depths of agony. Intelligent, complex beings, their fears and pains are multifaceted and profound. They nourish me in ways that no animal ever could. Over the centuries, I perfected my craft, learning to plant seeds of corruption in the minds of men and women, turning them into instruments of fear and pain.

The Spanish Inquisition was a particularly fruitful time. I slipped into the minds of prison guards, priests, and inquisitors, nurturing their latent sadism, transforming them into torturers. The screams of the accused, the crackle of burning flesh, the breaking of bones, it was a banquet of suffering.

Religious communities have been a good field for my seeds. While some minds are pure, others are so easy to influence.

Even now, in the modern world, I continue my work. I drift through cities and towns, planting seeds of darkness in the susceptible. The weak-willed, the insane, the inherently evil—all are fertile ground for my influence. Some seeds never hatch and are a waste of my energy. Other seeds flourish not enough, only growing into dark fantasies that never escape the confines of the mind. But a few grow into monsters. And that is the main ingredient of my diet.

Tonight, I am drawn to a nondescript house in a quiet neighborhood. Inside, one of my creations is at work. David, a serial killer born of my corruption, has a new victim. A young woman, bound and gagged, her eyes wide with terror, struggles against her restraints. I slip into the room, invisible, savoring the fear that radiates from her.

David approaches with a malevolent grin, holding a pair of pliers. He grips her fingers, one by one, breaking each with a sickening crunch. Her screams are music to my ears. He moves on to a blowtorch, the blue flame dancing in his eyes as he presses it against her skin. The smell of burning flesh fills the room, mingling with her cries of agony. He takes his time, inflicting maximum pain with each act, and I drink it all in, feeling my power surge with every moment of her suffering.

Satisfied for now, I leave David to his dark work and shift my attention elsewhere. I reach out with my senses, checking on another seed planted in the mind of a woman named Sarah. She sits in her dimly lit apartment, her eyes fixed on the screen of her computer, browsing Cruxforums and other BDSM sites. Her fantasies are dark, filled with images of pain and dominance, but they remain just that—fantasies. The seed in her mind has sprouted but lacks the strength to drive her to real harm. She remains a spectator of darkness, her desires unfulfilled. I leave her alone, a waste of my time.

Frustrated but undeterred, I turn my attention to a far more promising target. In the political arena, one man stands poised to wield immense influence: Donald Trump, a candidate for the presidency of the United States. His mind is fertile ground for my corruption, already ripe with ambition, ego, and insecurity. The seed I planted in him is growing rapidly, feeding on his innate tendencies.

I slip into Trump's thoughts, feeling the surge of paranoia and mistrust that I have carefully cultivated. His mind is a storm of ambition, hate and fear, a chaotic blend of desires and insecurities. I amplify his prejudices, stoke his fears, and magnify his sense of entitlement. His rhetoric becomes more divisive, his policies more draconian. He sees enemies everywhere, threats to his power lurking in every shadow. It is just a matter of time before his deeds will start to nourish me on an unprecedented scale.

I revel in the collective anxiety about to come, the pervasive dread that grips the globe. The seed in Trump's mind grows ever stronger, promising a harvest of fear and pain on an unprecedented scale. The world will become a theater of suffering, where I am the unseen director, orchestrating a symphony of despair.

 

[thecuriousone]

Something with drowning, abduction and rape.

A Beautiful Day for a Jog

Chapter 1: A Beautiful Day for a Jog

Jogging along the nature trail had become my daily escape. The rhythmic pounding of my feet on the dirt path, the fresh air filling my lungs, and the occasional deer sighting—this was my sanctuary. Plus, it didn’t hurt that I got to flaunt my toned legs in my cute running shorts. Yep, life was good. Little did I know that today’s jog would be anything but ordinary.

The sun was shining, the birds were chirping, and I had just hit my stride. I passed the old wooden sign that marked the halfway point and felt a burst of energy. There’s something about pushing past your limits that feels so damn good. That, and the knowledge that a post-run smoothie was waiting for me at home.

As I rounded the bend near the river, I spotted a white van parked on the side of the road. It wasn’t unusual to see vehicles here; fishermen often parked their cars and trucks along the riverside. I didn’t think much of it, even though it seemed a bit out of place for a Tuesday morning.

“Probably someone taking a sick day to fish,” I thought with a smirk. Lucky them.

That’s when everything went to hell. Out of nowhere, a massive figure lunged at me from behind the trees. Before I could even register what was happening, I was tackled to the ground with the force of a linebacker. My brain screamed at me to fight back, but my body was slow to respond.

“Get off me!” I shouted, trying to twist out of his grip. But he was too strong.

“Stay still!” he growled, his voice sending chills down my spine.

I managed to get one arm free and swung it at him, but he easily dodged my attempt. Within seconds, he had my arms twisted painfully behind my back, and I felt the cold bite of handcuffs snap around my wrists.

“Help!” I screamed, but the trail was deserted. My voice echoed uselessly in the empty space.

Before I could scream again, he stuffed a rag into my mouth and covered it with duct tape. I tried to kick at him, but he quickly secured my legs with another set of handcuffs. Panic surged through me as he pulled a bag over my head, plunging me into darkness.

“Please, no!” I tried to shout, but it came out as a muffled whimper.

He dragged me towards the van, my body scraping against the rough ground. I fought with everything I had, but it was no use. He was too strong, and I was too restrained. I heard the van door slide open, and then I was lifted and tossed inside like a sack of potatoes.

The door slammed shut, and the engine roared to life. As the van sped off, I was thrown against the metal floor, the handcuffs digging into my skin. Tears streamed down my face, soaking the inside of the bag. I had never felt so helpless in my life.
Chapter 2: A Day of Torment

The van jolted and bounced over the rough roads, each bump sending fresh waves of pain through my body. I lay there, blind and gagged, my mind racing with a thousand thoughts. Who was this man? What did he want with me? And how the hell was I going to get out of this?

I tried to stay calm, but it was no use. My heart was pounding so hard it felt like it might burst out of my chest. Every time I moved, the handcuffs bit into my skin, reminding me of just how trapped I was. I had to think of a way to escape, but my mind was too clouded with fear to come up with anything useful.

Finally, the van came to a stop. I heard the driver’s door open and the heavy thud of boots on the ground. The back door slid open, and rough hands grabbed me, yanking me out of the van and onto my feet. The bag was pulled off my head, and I blinked against the sudden brightness.

We were in the middle of nowhere. An old, abandoned warehouse loomed in front of me, its windows shattered and walls covered in graffiti. The man shoved me forward, and I stumbled, nearly falling to the ground.

“Move,” he ordered, his voice cold and menacing.

I tried to obey, my mind racing. But with my ankles still cuffed, I made little progress. So he decided to speed things up, grabbed my hair and pulled my to the warehouse. I had to find a way to escape, but for now, I had no choice but to do as he said. He pushed me through the broken door and into the dark interior of the warehouse. The place reeked of mold and decay, and I shuddered as we made our way through the maze of debris.

He shoved me into a small, dank room and slammed the door shut behind us. For a moment, he just stood there, staring at me with a twisted smile on his face.

He ripped off the duct tape that had kept my mouth sealed. I spit out the rag and uttered some unhinged sounds. “Welcome to your new home,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Hope you like it. You’re gonna be here for a while.”

I glared at him, trying to muster as much defiance as I could. “Why are you doing this?” I demanded, my voice shaking.

“Because I can,” he replied simply. “And because it’s fun. I have been observing you for weeks, and now I have you at my mercy.”

My heart sank. This was a game to him, and I was just a pawn. I had to find a way out of here before it was too late.

He ripped off my clothes, and started fucking my ass with zero tenderness. He took a viagra pill to make sure his stamina would be near unlimited. The hours dragged on, each one more agonizing than the last while he forced his lid in every hole of my body. He tormented me relentlessly, never giving me a moment’s peace. He taunted me, insulted me, and laughed at my feeble attempts to fight back. Every time I thought he might let up, he found new energy to make me suffer. He hit me, bumped my head against objects, grabbed my tits and pulled as hard as he could, just to make me feel more miserable.

At one point, he brought in a bucket of ice cold water and dumped it over my head, laughing as I gasped and sputtered. “You look like a drowned rat,” he sneered. “Pathetic.” It had cleaned up the dirt on my body, but not for long. Within minutes I was govered in mud and whatever other dirt was on the ground, mixed with my own blood.

All the time he kept ma hands and feet handcuffed, no chance to escape his endless torture rape.

I wanted to scream, to cry, to beg for mercy. But I knew it would only make things worse. So I gritted my teeth and endured, trying to hold on to the hope that somehow, I would find a way to escape.

As the sun began to set, he finally seemed to tire of his games. He chained a heavy cattlebell weight to my ankles and dragged me back to the van. My legs ached from the added weight, and every step was a struggle.

We drove in silence, the only sound the rattling of the chains and the roar of the engine. I had no idea where we were going, but I knew it couldn’t be anywhere good.

Chapter 3: The Bridge of No Return

The van came to a stop, and my captor yanked me out, dragging me toward a deserted bridge. The air was cold, and a shiver ran down my spine as I looked out over the dark, swirling water below.

“This is the end of the line,” he said, his voice devoid of any emotion. “Time to say goodbye. Step off the bridge.”

I shook my head, panic surging through me. “No, please! I’ll do anything, just don’t make me jump.”

He laughed, a cruel, heartless sound. “You don’t have a choice. Either you jump, or I do something far worse to you.”

I looked down at the water, my heart pounding. There had to be a way out of this. I couldn’t just give up, not now. But as I stood there, the weight of the chains pulling me down, I realized there was no escape.

“Do it,” he commanded, his voice like ice He took a knife from his pocket, and held the tip against my nipple.

With a final, desperate glance back at him, I stepped off the edge of the bridge. The cold water enveloped me, the weight of the cattlebell dragging me down, down, down. I struggled, fought with everything I had, but it was no use. The chains were too heavy, and I was too weak.

Chapter 4: The Final Moments

The water was cold, so cold it felt like needles piercing my skin. I thrashed and kicked, but the weight chained to my ankles was relentless, pulling me deeper into the dark abyss. My lungs screamed for air, but every time I opened my mouth, all I got was more water.

"Is this it?" I wondered. "Is this how it ends?"

My thoughts were a chaotic swirl of panic and regret. I thought about my mom, who would never know what happened to me. I thought about my friends, who would wonder why I stopped showing up to brunch. I even thought about the guy I had a crush on, who would probably never even know I existed.

Funny how your mind works in your final moments.

The edges of my vision started to blur, and a strange sense of calm began to settle over me. Maybe this was it. Maybe it was time to let go.

But then, something inside me snapped. No. This wasn’t how I was going to go out. I wasn’t going to let that monster win. With the last bit of strength I had left, I fought against the chains, kicking and pulling with all my might.

It was a futile effort. The weight was too much, and my body was too weak. But I kept fighting, kept struggling, because that’s who I was. I was a fighter, and I wasn’t going to go down without a fight.

As the darkness closed in, I felt a strange sense of peace. Maybe it was the lack of oxygen, or maybe it was the knowledge that I had done everything I could. Either way, I was ready. Ready to let go. As the water filled my lungs and darkness started to close in, I thought of my family, my friends, all the people I loved. I hoped they would find peace, even if I couldn’t.

I let go my breath and expelled the last oxygen-deprived air from my lungs, only to have it replaced with water.

In those final moments, I thought about the good times. The laughs, the love, the moments of pure joy. And I held onto those memories as the darkness took over, carrying me away into the unknown.

 

[thecuriousone]

Just a flirt with chatgpt that worked out fine:

Dream of Flesh and Fire

It started as a whisper among us, a secret craving we couldn’t fully understand but felt in our bones. We were not ordinary women. There was something darker, more twisted, that drew us together. We wanted to be devoured—literally consumed—and we dreamed of the day it would come true.

It was Maya who first spoke it out loud. Her voice trembled with a kind of reverence, not fear. “I’ve read about tribes deep in the jungles of Irian Jaya. Cannibals. They believe the flesh of the willing feeds the soul.”

We were all quiet for a long time after that, the idea sinking in. We had fantasized about this for so long, it felt like a natural conclusion. To give ourselves completely, our bodies an offering to something primal. The thought aroused us—not in the way of desire for flesh, but for an end. A consuming release.

So we planned the trip, preparing for months. Some of us told our families we were volunteering for humanitarian work. Others left quietly, without a word. In our hearts, we had no intention of returning.

The journey was long. We were a group of six, all of us in our twenties, all of us bound together by the same unspoken hunger. Each step deeper into the jungle brought us closer to what we had yearned for. We didn’t speak much. We didn’t need to. We understood each other, our eyes full of shared madness.

The day we found the tribe—or maybe they found us—it felt surreal, like a dream slipping between the cracks of reality. The natives were quiet, their dark eyes studying us with a mixture of suspicion and curiosity. We offered ourselves without words, simply by kneeling before their chief, our heads bowed in submission.

The chief, a towering figure with painted skin and deep scars that ran across his chest like rivers, circled us slowly. His eyes lingered on our bodies, and I could see the wheels turning in his mind. I felt a thrill of fear, and excitement, surge through me. This was it.

At first, he said nothing. Then, finally, he spoke in his guttural language, and one of the tribesmen translated.

“Too much meat.”

His words hit us like a sudden drop. We hadn’t considered this. We hadn’t thought about logistics. We were just bodies, offerings. But the chief was calculating, and in his eyes, we were more than just flesh.

“To honor the spirits,” the translator continued, “half will be roasted. The others… crucified.”

A murmur rippled through our group. I glanced at Maya, her eyes wide with something between terror and ecstasy. This wasn’t what we expected, but we didn’t resist. We couldn’t. It was too late. We had already given ourselves to this.

I was chosen for the fire.

They stripped me and bound my hands and feet, tying me to a wooden spit like an animal. The air was thick with the scent of the jungle, damp and earthy, but soon it would smell of burning flesh. My flesh.

The others were taken to be crucified, their fate almost worse than ours. I could see them in the distance, nailed to tall wooden crosses. Their cries echoed through the thick canopy as their hands and feet were pierced, but no one moved to stop it. It was what we had all wanted, even if we hadn’t fully understood the cost.

The fire beneath me crackled to life, the heat licking at my skin before the flames truly began to burn. Pain bloomed, but so did something else—a strange, horrifying pleasure. My skin blistered, my muscles tensed, but there was a freedom in it, a release. The fire was purging me, eating away at who I had been, turning me into something else. I wasn’t afraid. Not anymore. I welcomed the flames, their embrace hot and final.

The screams of the crucified women grew louder as night fell. Through the haze of pain, I heard them—screams not just of suffering, but of something more insidious. The ants. The jungle was alive with creatures, and the ants had found the women first. They swarmed over their bodies, crawling into open wounds, feasting on their raw flesh. They were being eaten alive, inch by inch, by the jungle itself.

I saw Maya out of the corner of my eye. Her body hung limp on the cross, her face twisted in agony as the ants crawled over her skin, disappearing into her mouth, her nose, her ears. She couldn’t move, couldn’t even scream anymore. But her eyes—her eyes were still open, and they were full of terror.

The fire consumed me slowly, the heat rising as my skin crisped and blackened. Every nerve in my body screamed, but the pain felt distant now. I could feel my mind drifting, slipping away into some other place. A part of me wondered if this was what I had really wanted, or if we had been fools all along, chasing a fantasy that was nothing but horror.

But then, through the haze of heat and pain, I found clarity. This was our choice. Our madness. We had wanted to be consumed, to be devoured by something bigger than ourselves, and now we were.

As my vision blurred, I could still hear the sound of the crucified women, their last breaths slipping away under the weight of the ants, their flesh torn and chewed by the creatures of the jungle. They would die slowly, piece by piece, their bodies surrendered to the earth.

And I, too, would be eaten—first by fire, then by the smoke rising into the night.

This was our dream. And now, it was our reality.

 

[thecuriousone]

The election is over in this story.

With help from chatGPT

The garbage collector

It was another day on the job, and I was making my rounds in the garbage truck. The streets were strangely empty, but that had become normal after the election. Ever since everything had changed. The police didn’t just keep order anymore—they enforced a new kind of law, the kind that didn’t need to be explained. Orders were orders.

Yesterday, the men had been taken care of. The ones who had chosen the wrong side, the traitors. They’d been dragged out of their homes, bound, and tossed into trucks just like mine. By the end of the day, the landfills had been full of them, buried under mountains of waste, where they belonged. I didn’t think twice about it.

Today, it was the women’s turn.

I pulled the truck to a stop in front of a row of houses. There they were, hogtied and naked, lying by the curb like piles of discarded trash. The police had already done their part, rounding them up, stripping them down, tossing them on the street like yesterday’s garbage. Their faces were streaked with tears, eyes wide with fear. They begged as I stepped out of the truck, pleas tumbling from their mouths like broken records.

"Please! Please don’t do this! I didn’t mean to vote as I did — I was pressured! Please, don’t throw me away!"

I chuckled under my breath, wiping my hands on my pants. “Well, you should’ve thought about that before you filled in the wrong bubble, sweetheart.”

Their eyes followed me as I worked, dragging one woman after another to the back of the truck. Their skin was cold, slick with sweat, their bodies writhing as they tried to free themselves from the ropes. But it was useless. They were trash now. And it was my job to collect them.

The truck’s compactor hissed open, and I tossed the first one in, her scream muffled by the gag in her mouth. She landed hard on top of the others already inside, squirming as the machinery groaned to life, pulling them deeper into the mass of bodies. One after another, I dumped them in, their voices blending into a chorus of cries.

I didn’t mind. In fact, I liked the sound of it. It felt good, knowing I was part of something bigger, part of the cleanup. The job paid well, but there was more to it than that. There was a satisfaction in seeing the waste disappear, in knowing that I was doing my part to make the country better. To make it pure again.

As I loaded the last woman into the truck, I leaned in close, grinning at the fear in her eyes. “Should’ve picked the right side,” I said, mocking her as I shoved her in with the others.

Her muffled sobs were lost in the roar of the compactor as it crushed them down into a tighter, smaller mass. I slammed the door shut and climbed back into the cab, feeling the familiar rumble of the engine beneath me as I headed for the landfill.

The drive there was always quiet, the truck’s roar drowning out what little noise the women made. By the time we reached the landfill, they were barely making a sound. The landfill was huge, a sprawling wasteland of dirt and debris. A bulldozer sat on the far edge, waiting for the day’s delivery.

I backed the truck up to the pit, and with a pull of the lever, the rear gate opened. The women tumbled out, their bodies hitting the dirt with sickening thuds. They wriggled, trying to get free, but there was no escape. The bulldozer revved its engine, its metal blade poised to cover them with soil.

I watched as they screamed, as the bulldozer rolled forward, pushing the earth over them, burying them alive beneath layers of dirt and trash. Their cries were quickly swallowed by the ground, muffled by the weight of the earth pressing down on them.

And just like that, they were gone. Forgotten.

I leaned against the truck, wiping my forehead, feeling oddly satisfied. The job was done, and I had done it well. The country was a little cleaner now, a little better. I turned to leave, still two more rounds to do today before the end of the workday.

 

[thecuriousone]

Football and violence go hand in hand in this story.


Watching the game at the Back Heart Pub


The Black Hart pub was packed, the noise from the football match blaring from every corner as men and women crammed around the large flat-screen TV, their faces flickering in the blue glow. The match was nearing its end, and the air was thick with anticipation. Glasses clinked, drunken laughter floated through the room, but all eyes were fixed on the field where two teams of nude women ran with a desperation that transcended mere sport.

The stakes were painfully clear—lose, and the entire team would face crucifixion in front of a crowd that craved blood as much as victory. This wasn’t about football anymore. It was a spectacle of suffering, a morbid form of punishment that society had twisted into some grotesque entertainment.

Tom, a regular at the pub, leaned forward in his seat, eyes glued to the screen. He took a long swig of his pint, licking the foam from his lips. "C’mon! Finish ‘em already!" he growled, the excitement in his voice barely masking the cruelty beneath.

Beside him, his friend Danny snickered. "Yeah, let’s see those losers scream on the crosses. Bet you that redhead on defense won’t look so tough when they start hammering those nails in." He elbowed Tom, who grinned, their shared joke making their group chuckle. There was a sick enjoyment in the air, an electric charge of sadism.

At the back of the room, two women sat quietly, but even they couldn’t look away. One, a blonde named Lisa, crossed her legs and sipped her wine slowly, her lips curling in mild disdain. "I don’t know why everyone’s getting so worked up," she said, barely glancing at the screen. "They knew what they signed up for. They lose, they pay the price. It’s not like anyone forced them to play."

Her friend Carla nodded, leaning back in her chair. "Exactly. If they can’t handle it, they shouldn’t be out there." She took a drag from her cigarette, the smoke swirling in the dim light. "Besides, it’s not like they’re worth crying over. They’re just another losing team."

The final whistle blew, and a wave of cheers erupted in the pub, glasses raised in the air. The losing team—a group of eleven women, their bodies battered and broken—fell to their knees on the screen, some sobbing, others silent in shock. The camera zoomed in on their faces, capturing the raw, animalistic fear. Their eyes were wide, mouths open in ragged gasps. They knew what was coming.

"Here we go!" Danny shouted, nearly spilling his beer. "Time for the main event!"

A few others in the pub whistled and jeered at the screen. There was an excitement in their voices, a sick kind of anticipation. The crowd in the stadium was the same, roaring louder now that the match was over, ready for the real show—the crucifixions.

The players were dragged by the guards to the edge of the field, where large wooden crosses had already been prepared. Each woman was thrown down, face first, into the dirt. Their arms were spread wide across the wooden beams. Some screamed, others resisted, but it was futile.

On the screen, the first nail was driven into one of the players' wrists—a sharp, piercing cry ripped through the air. The pub fell silent for a moment, transfixed by the brutality. The camera showed the close-up of her face, twisted in agony, her mouth open in a silent scream as her body convulsed against the nails. Blood poured from her wrist, staining the cross as the hammer came down again.

Tom leaned back in his chair, watching with a grin on his face. "There’s something about it, isn’t there? I mean, look at her. She thought she was so tough. Now look at her."

Another man at the bar chimed in, "Serves ‘em right, I say. They lose, they die. Simple as that."

More nails were driven in, each blow punctuated by the cries of the women on the screen. One player—a dark-haired striker—fought viciously, trying to break free even as they forced her onto the cross. But her fight only seemed to fuel the crowd, who roared louder as she was pinned down. When the nail pierced her wrist, her scream was so loud it echoed through the stadium, and the pub erupted in laughter.

"She’s got a good set of lungs on her!" Danny laughed, wiping a tear from his eye. "Bet she’ll be the last one to die, too. Always the tough ones."

Lisa rolled her eyes at the noise but kept watching, her face impassive. "I don’t get what the fuss is about. It’s just a punishment. People act like they’ve never seen someone suffer before."

As all players their ankles were also nailed, the women were hoisted up, their bodies sagging against the crosses, nails driven through their wrists and feet. Some hung limp, simplygiving up, while others writhed in pain, their faces contorted with horror. Blood trickled down their arms and legs, dripping onto the ground below them. The camera panned over each of them, lingering on the details—the trembling muscles, the gasps for air, the way their bodies strained against the wood.

The pub was split—some, like Tom and Danny, were enjoying the show, making rude jokes about the players’ bodies, indifferent to their suffering. Others watched in a kind of detached fascination, like Lisa and Carla, too jaded to feel anything beyond mild contempt. But there were a few, sitting quietly in the corners, who looked away, their faces pale with disgust, but too afraid to say anything.

After what felt like hours, the stadium erupted into chaos. Hooligans began rushing the field, tearing down barriers and clashing with riot police. The camera showed the fighting—bottles thrown, fists flying. The crucified players hung in the background like broken statues, their suffering forgotten as the violence escalated.

"Ah, here we go," Danny said, leaning forward. "Now it’s a real party."

Tom laughed, but it was hollow. Even he seemed to feel the weight of the violence now, the raw savagery on display.

Lisa tapped her fingernails on the table, a bored expression on her face. "I don’t see why people get so worked up. It’s all just a show. Nothing’s really changed."

Carla took another drag of her cigarette, blowing the smoke out slowly. "People like to think they’re civilized, but they always want blood in the end."

Sarah, a woman who had been sitting quietly near the back, stood up abruptly, her face pale. "All this riots, it is just spoiling the game. I can’t watch this anymore," she said softly, more to herself than to anyone else. She grabbed her coat and pushed her way through the crowd, out the door into the cold night air.

The others barely noticed her leave, their eyes fixed on the screen as the riot police clashed with the hooligans, batons cracking against skulls, blood splattering across the field where the women still hung from their crosses.

As the camera lingered on the chaos, Tom finished his drink and leaned back in his chair. "Well, that was entertaining," he said, stretching his arms. "Shame it had to end like that, though."

Danny grinned, clapping him on the back. "Don’t worry, mate. There’s always next week."

The others in the pub nodded in agreement, their faces already turning back to their conversations, their drinks, as if nothing unusual had happened. The suffering on the screen was just part of the show, something to be enjoyed, then forgotten.