I was going through some older threads and found these magnificent images. Wow! Wow, fucking wow!
I want so badly to experience this! I don't have the means to do so -- I mean, this girl is, for all practical reasons, really crucified! She is helplessly hanging on a cross. No support other than her feet. Her muscles are all beautifully tensed, she is in real pain! (Well, some acting perhaps, but discomfort to be sure!)
She's not enjoying herself -- or maybe she is -- but evokes the real pain and terror of being left to hang in helpless agony.
Have you ever done the wall sit exercise? The one where you put your back against the wall then slide down until your legs are at a 90 degree angle, much like sitting in a chair.
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It's a great exercise for the butt and thighs (as I well know) but it is very uncomfortable as you thigh muscles very quickly tense and cramp trying to support your weight. Try it! You'll see.
I suspect that's what this poor girl is feeling as she hangs, as well as the awful pull on her arms. But with an exercise you can stop when too tired. Someone crucified cannot! She (or he) must hang and endure the agony.
She can't take herself off the cross!
I know there are people nearby to assist her, but it all seems so real! And she can enjoy what must be an awesome emotional and physical experience -- that of hanging naked and helpless on a cross!
Oh I want that experience so, so, so fucking badly!!!!!!!!!!!
I've done that exercise to get ready for skiing, and yes, you push it too long until your quads are exhausted and the cramps in your thighs will put you on the floor. Looking at what happens during crucifixion, a victim would find out how bad those cramps would be the first time she tried to hold herself up on the cross with her knees bent for any length of time. I've described this many times in stories. Here's what I wrote about what Sabina felt in "The Serpent's Eye":
I slipped lower and felt the sharp pains in my wrists as the nails began to pull against my wounds. I tried to ease myself downward, but my thigh muscles were like lead, as if the legs that held me up belonged to someone else. But they were my legs, and so was the agony, the exhaustion, all mine to suffer. I let myself sag lower, groaning at the pain of unforgiving iron pulling at the wounds in my wrists, my arms, shoulders, chest being stretched out as if on the rack.
I settled lower and tried to rest the quivering, straining muscles in my legs. I tried to let my body sag down gently, tried to ease down onto the nails that pierced my wrists, but it was so hard, and my legs were shaking, almost exhausted. The agony in my wrists would all at once get so much worse that I would have to tense my legs and take the pressure in my nailed feet. The pain in my wrists was more than I could bear, but my legs were so weak that I was already almost helpless. I gritted my teeth and forced my legs to relax, groaning as all of my weight pulled my wrists down hard against the nails.
I felt the ropes binding my feet to the cross being loosened and pulled away. I looked to my right and saw Hercules gathering them up, saw the dark stains of my blood on them. The only support left for my feet were the nails. He tossed them onto the pile of bleached bones, wood and rags that was all that remained of the dozens of men and women who had died here on these crosses. Where my bones would be after the crows picked them clean.
The full weight of my body stretched my arms taut against the nails. My shoulders felt as if they were being torn out of their sockets. My breath came in shuddering gasps as I fought against the pain, my whole body trembling. I thought it couldn’t get any worse than this.
Then I screamed and twisted as spasms suddenly seized my thigh muscles and sent knives of pain driving mercilessly into them. My agony went from unbearable to unimaginable. Oh gods it hurts it hurts please stop stop stop I babbled, as if anyone cared. I screamed mindlessly again, spread my legs as wide as I could, then I pressed my knees together, my feet twisting on their nails, shooting bolts of pain up my legs to make the pain down there even worse.
I clenched my teeth against it, so much of it, so many places at once! Even though I was helpless to free my muscles from the iron grip of spasms that clinched them in knots, the unrelenting agony forced me to squirm and writhe in desperation.
My sight blurred, there were bright sparks of light and I thought surely I was about to faint from the agony, but there was no blessed escape from this torture. When it seemed like it would never end, the cramping slowly died down to a dull ache and I sagged limp and exhausted.
I blinked the sweat and tears out of my eyes to see all of the people standing before my cross, watching me struggle, meeting my eyes with grins and taunts, laughing, jeering at me. None of them felt the least sympathy for me. They had just watched the spectacle of me screaming and babbling in worse agony than I could have imagined and they
enjoyed it.
I was just another naked slave girl writhing on a cross to them.
So all of that agony, stripped naked and whipped, nails driven through her wrists and feet, searing pain from her cramping legs, and it's all entertainment to the onlookers who have seen it all before.
