• Sign up or login, and you'll have full access to opportunities of forum.

The Fate of a Goth Girl

Go to CruxDreams.com
Loinclothslave1 said:
Bloody amazing twist! Didn’t see that coming at all...

Great flawed character building PrPr!
Click to expand...
I might have another twist or two coming. Although as a Roman crux story, it isn't likely to be twisting a screw as much as pounding a nail!
 
Stilet2 said:
Excellent!!!!!
Click to expand...
Fossy said:
Wow ... this is going to end in an "all-for-one-one-for-all" part incestuous gang bang, unless Friþugairns can control his tight, German trousers!
Click to expand...
Loinclothslave1 said:
Bloody amazing twist! Didn’t see that coming at all...

Great flawed character building PrPr!
Click to expand...
I must confess that @Stilet2 six days ago expressed the hope in a short conversation on his profile post, that Friþugairns might be aroused by her daughter's torments in the arena. I don't usually change a story for such a suggestion, but the idea was too deliciously erotic to ignore.

Thanks @Stilet2 !
 
The speech continues and we get the decision -

The Praeses continued in his most eloquent voice, using all of his persuasive skills to sway the mob. “In light of the moderate, incompleted, and unpremeditated nature of the crime of the servae, and the extreme cruelty of the sentence, I have consulted cum meis tres honorabilioribus consuasoribus (with my three very trustworthy advisors).” Here, he again turned to introduce the men whose dignity he hoped would sway the crowd:
"Lucius Piso." He stood, and a modicum of applause was given;
"Marcus Claudius." The crowd gave a hearty round of applause for the aristocrat, known to all for his courtesy and fairness;
“And Gaius Calixtus," The arena rang with loud applause for the taciturn and level-headed Centurion.
“With their unanimous concurrence, I am proposing that the crucifixio be commuted to punishment served.”

Antonious paused to gauge the reaction. The amphitheater was quiet as the crowd digested what they had heard. Friþugairns was able to drag his eyes away from leering at Barbaria for a moment. He nevertheless upbraided himself for feeling some hesitation in hoping she would be freed. A lovely girl on the cross was very erotic, he thought.
As the silence dragged on, the Praeses’s concern increased. There were no voices raised in support of the proposed mercy. Many in the crowd looked very disappointed. He waited as long as he dared. He did not want momentum for crucifixion to build anymore. Finally, the Governor spent his last reserve. He delivered his only other argument.
“Naturally, if the Goth cunne is be let off from the full sentence, she must still suffer for her crime. Therefore, she would undergo another fifteen lashes of the scourge, administered here, before you all, on the soft front of her body.” Antonious worried that the girl might not survive that much. But, now, it was her best chance of living through the day. Better than the sure and lingering death of crucifixion.

Each person in the arena reacted in their own personal way to this offer. The Goth girl just managed to hear and understand the terrible nature of the alternative offered and muttered only loud enough for those right beside her to hear, “Ni, ni.” Her father wept tears of agony and shame as he felt torn between his duty to save his daughter and his lustful desire to see the sexy girl whipped more.
Slowly, there arose scattered, muted murmuring in the crowd. Many were nodding in agreement with the Governor. His recommendation, supported by the three respected leaders carried great weight. It was true that they had come to witness the rare execution of a lovely woman. But these were not the blood-thirsty, depraved sadists pictured in the arena with a Caligula or Nero. These were middle-class merchants and tradesmen. Pillars of the community in a quiet, provincial city. Family men with wives and daughters. Some already felt some pity seeing the lonely Goth girl, already tortured beyond human endurance, standing alone and miserable in the arena. Perhaps it would be just to show mercy. And, a frontal scourging would be an incredibly exciting sight.
But for some in the crowd, their bloodlust was up. They had come to see a crucifixion, and they wanted to see one, especially now that they had seen the sexy victim.

For a minute, the mood in the amphitheater was subdued and shifting. Then, as the Governo looked anxiously around the seats, he saw more and more favorable nods and expressions; men were displaying the pollice presso, with the thumb pressed down against the index finger. The Governor breathed a sigh of relief that they would spare the Goth girl.
 
Last edited:
Ok, I too have my thumb firmly down! No one reading will be at all surprised at my decision, of course...

I certainly hope it’s not the Governor’s pathetic son Gaius (sorry if I have the name wrong, that he should disgrace such an illustrious name as w First Man of Rome is appalling) to wield the scourge he can barely lift it!

Hopefully it’s the Gaul hating Centurion performing this most sacred duty, after all the crowd should not be cheated!

Perhaps a Scorpion can be used to deliver the final blows? I’m sure Barb will appreciate her duty to entertain the crowd.

And I’m sure Friþugairns will be suitably entertained...

Wins all around, if you ask me. I realise no one’s asking! :lol:

Very entertaining, PrPr, thank you! :thumbdown:
 
Praefectus Praetorio said:
The speech continues and we get the decision -

The Praeses continued in his most eloquent voice, using all of his persuasive skills to sway the mob. “In light of the moderate, incompleted, and unpremeditated nature of the crime of the servae, and the extreme cruelty of the sentence, I have consulted cum meis tres honorabilioribus consuasoribus (with my three very trustworthy advisors).” Here, he again turned to introduce the men whose dignity he hoped would sway the crowd:
"Lucius Piso." He stood, and a modicum of applause was given;
"Marcus Claudius." The crowd gave a hearty round of applause for the aristocrat, known to all for his courtesy and fairness;
“And Gaius Calixtus," The arena rang with loud applause for the taciturn and level-headed Centurion.
“With their unanimous concurrence, I am proposing that the crucifixio be commuted to punishment served.”

Antonious paused to gauge the reaction. The amphitheater was quiet as the crowd digested what they had heard. Friþugairns was able to drag his eyes away from leering at Barbaria for a moment. He nevertheless upbraided himself for feeling some hesitation in hoping she would be freed. A lovely girl on the cross was very erotic, he thought.
As the silence dragged on, the Praeses’s concern increased. There were no voices raised in support of the proposed mercy. Many in the crowd looked very disappointed. He waited as long as he dared. He did not want momentum for crucifixion to build anymore. Finally, the Governor spent his last reserve. He delivered his only other argument.
“Naturally, if the Goth cunne is be let off from the full sentence, she must still suffer for her crime. Therefore, she would undergo another fifteen lashes of the scourge, administered here, before you all, on the soft front of her body.” Antonious worried that the girl might not survive that much. But, now, it was her best chance of living through the day. Better than the sure and lingering death of crucifixion.

Each person in the arena reacted in their own personal way to this offer. The Goth girl just managed to hear and understand the terrible nature of the alternative offered and muttered only loud enough for those right beside her to hear, “Ni, ni.” Her father wept tears of agony and shame as he felt torn between his duty to save his daughter and his lustful desire to see the sexy girl whipped more.
Slowly, there arose scattered, muted murmuring in the crowd. Many were nodding in agreement with the Governor. His recommendation, supported by the three respected leaders carried great weight. It was true that they had come to witness the rare execution of a lovely woman. But these were not the blood-thirsty, depraved sadists pictured in the arena with a Caligula or Nero. These were middle-class merchants and tradesmen. Pillars of the community in a quiet, provincial city. Family men with wives and daughters. Some already felt some pity seeing the lonely Goth girl, already tortured beyond human endurance, standing alone and miserable in the arena. Perhaps it would be just to show mercy. And, a frontal scourging would be an incredibly exciting sight.
But for some in the crowd, their bloodlust was up. They had come to see a crucifixion, and they wanted to see one, especially now that they had seen the sexy victim.

For a minute, the mood in the amphitheater was subdued and shifting. Then, as the Governo looked anxiously around the seats, he saw more and more favorable nods and expressions; men were displaying the pollice presso, with the thumb pressed down against the index finger. The Governor breathed a sigh of relief that they would spare the Goth girl.
Click to expand...
Honestly, I was certain that the decision was never in doubt ... and I did not see it going this way! An excellently written (as always PrPr) shocker. Let's hope the additional scourging is suitably excruciating to make up for the lack of a crucifixio ...
 
The Fickle Finger of Fate

Galerius Antonious swore loudly. The damned Goth slut was going to get off too easy! He stuffed another piece of bread with Patina de Apua Fricta (Patina of Fried Anchovy) in his mouth and washed it down with a large swig of wine.
MV5BZmViMTljY2UtMWVlMi00NTdmLWJjZmMtMDQ2MjE5ZTQzMWI0XkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyMjUyNDk2ODc@._V1_.jpg

As Gaius Antonious turned to share his satisfaction with Marcus Claudius, a sound came from the far end of the amphitheater, from above the regular seats, from up in the standing room only vomitorium. There, a young man finished draining the last of his wineskin and boldly shouted out at the top of his alcohol-slurred voice. His words echoed throughout the almost silent arena, "Crucifige eam! (Crucify her)"
A shocked silence fell over the space as many heard the words they had desired to say but had been too deferential to utter. A few moments later, another young drunk shouted, "Crucifige eam!” Then another! And then it spread around the hot, confined space under the midday sun like a wildfire, taken up by more and more until it was a loud chant from all around the cavea, “Crucifige eam! Crucifige eam! Crucifige eam!”

Antonious gazed around in shock. How could this be happening? He tried to raise his hands to quell the uproar, but it only became stronger and stronger. While most had before favored mercy, those wanting death were far more passionate. Carried along by the power of the chanting, the crowd was now stampeded to a different choice. All around, the Praeses saw men hold out their hands in the verso pollice, with the upturned thumb, pumping their hands to call for death. They wanted to see the Goth crucified. Barbaria's fate seemed to have taken a sudden, lethal turn!
But the die was not yet cast. The decisions in a Roman amphitheater were not by majority vote. The crowd expressed their opinion, but the senior official, Emperor, or Governor had the final say. Gaius looked to the Goth leader on his left. He looked with pity on the tortured girl, standing dusty and bleeding in the center. The Praeses wouldn’t be rushed. Gaius took a deep breath and extended his right hand flat. All eyes were on those digits. Would he press his thumb down for life, or would he turn his thumb up for death?

Galerius Antonious, by now drunk and bloated on the wine and food, forgetting Barbaria's father sitting right next to him, raised his glass and sneered, "Make the fucking right choice, pater. That stupid Goth whore needs to suffer a true Roman death. I hope the dirty slut’s agony lasts very long as I enjoy her erotic dance on the nails. That’s all a Goth bitch is good for!”
Friþugairns had been sitting, moaning softly to himself. The warring emotions of guilt and lust were driving him mad. Now, this disgusting and obese Roman, with no feelings of human pity, felt free to use such vile language against an innocent girl. The resentment pushed the Goth over the edge. He rose from his seat, roaring at the lad, "Dwala maihstus (idiot shit)! Diabaulus þuk nimai, unfroþs magus (The devil take you, foolish boy)! He snatched the fat young man to his feet with his left hand, and suddenly his right was holding a knife to Galerius’ throat. The chieftain shouted to the Governor, “Dauhtar meins þau sunus þeins (My daughter or your son)!”
The Praeses stood frozen, looking with horror at the knife about to take the life of his only child. His guests were struggling to their feet, and Galerius instantly began weeping, "Tata! Tata! Salva me (Daddy, Daddy, save me)!” A yellow stain quickly appeared on the lower front of his large toga.
“Fraletan Barbaþais meins! (release my Barbaria)!" Friþugairns cried, holding the knife close to the jugular. “Betan, Kindins, fraletan... (I beg you, Governor, release...)!” The old man started to sob.
 
Wow! What a masterful turn of events PrPr has orchestrated here. It will be a lock on next year’s winner of the CF Academy Award for best screenplay. And there will be a special award too (the ‘Broken @Wragg Loathometer’ award) for whatever actor plays the role of the Gov’s repulsive son. Barb Moore will, of course, receive special honors and serious medical attention for her convincing performance as the Goth Girl.
 
Oh please can we see Galerius freaking scourged and tortured? He’s the cause of all this bloody drama in the first place! He’s so corpulent he could easily take double all the lashes Barb’s received and still leave untouched skin for more scourging?

Hmmm, in which case I should change my tune. He’s really the hero, isn’t he? Without him no torture. Barb may have even been liberated if the Goths tracked her down and simply paid gold for her slavery.

Friþugairns Could have been Daddy?

But no scourging or torture of sacks?

Galerius is the real hero!


Or or or, again, I won’t read ahead, boss, their collective fates are in the hands of Maestro.

I really just want to thank you for yet another exciting installment. I hope you can whip up the next installment- Barb knows about whipping things up, I’m sure she’ll assist in you breaking a sweat...
 
Last edited:
Barbaria1 said:
Wow! What a masterful turn of events PrPr has orchestrated here. It will be a lock on next year’s winner of the CF Academy Award for best screenplay. And there will be a special award too (the ‘Broken @Wragg Loathometer’ award) for whatever actor plays the role of the Gov’s repulsive son. Barb Moore will, of course, receive special honors and serious medical attention for her convincing performance as the Goth Girl.
Click to expand...
Will Barb bite the bullet and insist that no stuntwomen or body doubles are used, or will Caprice be brought in to take the heavy stuff? In either case it would be a shame to see their beauty destroyed.
 
Praefectus Praetorio said:
The Fickle Finger of Fate

Galerius Antonious swore loudly. The damned Goth slut was going to get off too easy! He stuffed another piece of bread with Patina de Apua Fricta (Patina of Fried Anchovy) in his mouth and washed it down with a large swig of wine.
View attachment 1008082

As Gaius Antonious turned to share his satisfaction with Marcus Claudius, a sound came from the far end of the amphitheater, from above the regular seats, from up in the standing room only vomitorium. There, a young man finished draining the last of his wineskin and boldly shouted out at the top of his alcohol-slurred voice. His words echoed throughout the almost silent arena, "Crucifige eam! (Crucify her)"
A shocked silence fell over the space as many heard the words they had desired to say but had been too deferential to utter. A few moments later, another young drunk shouted, "Crucifige eam!” Then another! And then it spread around the hot, confined space under the midday sun like a wildfire, taken up by more and more until it was a loud chant from all around the cavea, “Crucifige eam! Crucifige eam! Crucifige eam!”

Antonious gazed around in shock. How could this be happening? He tried to raise his hands to quell the uproar, but it only became stronger and stronger. While most had before favored mercy, those wanting death were far more passionate. Carried along by the power of the chanting, the crowd was now stampeded to a different choice. All around, the Praeses saw men hold out their hands in the verso pollice, with the upturned thumb, pumping their hands to call for death. They wanted to see the Goth crucified. Barbaria's fate seemed to have taken a sudden, lethal turn!
But the die was not yet cast. The decisions in a Roman amphitheater were not by majority vote. The crowd expressed their opinion, but the senior official, Emperor, or Governor had the final say. Gaius looked to the Goth leader on his left. He looked with pity on the tortured girl, standing dusty and bleeding in the center. The Praeses wouldn’t be rushed. Gaius took a deep breath and extended his right hand flat. All eyes were on those digits. Would he press his thumb down for life, or would he turn his thumb up for death?

Galerius Antonious, by now drunk and bloated on the wine and food, forgetting Barbaria's father sitting right next to him, raised his glass and sneered, "Make the fucking right choice, pater. That stupid Goth whore needs to suffer a true Roman death. I hope the dirty slut’s agony lasts very long as I enjoy her erotic dance on the nails. That’s all a Goth bitch is good for!”
Friþugairns had been sitting, moaning softly to himself. The warring emotions of guilt and lust were driving him mad. Now, this disgusting and obese Roman, with no feelings of human pity, felt free to use such vile language against an innocent girl. The resentment pushed the Goth over the edge. He rose from his seat, roaring at the lad, "Dwala maihstus (idiot shit)! Diabaulus þuk nimai, unfroþs magus (The devil take you, foolish boy)! He snatched the fat young man to his feet with his left hand, and suddenly his right was holding a knife to Galerius’ throat. The chieftain shouted to the Governor, “Dauhtar meins þau sunus þeins (My daughter or your son)!”
The Praeses stood frozen, looking with horror at the knife about to take the life of his only child. His guests were struggling to their feet, and Galerius instantly began weeping, "Tata! Tata! Salva me (Daddy, Daddy, save me)!” A yellow stain quickly appeared on the lower front of his large toga.
“Fraletan Barbaþais meins! (release my Barbaria)!" Friþugairns cried, holding the knife close to the jugular. “Betan, Kindins, fraletan... (I beg you, Governor, release...)!” The old man started to sob.
Click to expand...
Excellent chapter. Almost biblical turn of events with the chanting, up until the knife at the throat scene of course ... what will the next episode bring?
 
While the Governor and the guests in the box stood frozen in shock and fear, Gaius Calixtus moved swiftly and surely. Though almost a foot shorter than the Goth, he strode confidently forward and grasped the man's right wrist in a vice-like grip with both his hands. The battle-hardened Centurion used all his strength to pull the hand with the knife away from the lad's throat.
Right behind their leader, the other two soldiers lept forward and wrestled the man’s other arm back. In just a moment, the three had Friþugairns on the ground and his knife taken away. Released from the old man's grip, Galerius melted onto the ground as if dead. His father rushed to the lad, screaming, "He's killed my son!" Meanwhile, the old Goth lay sobbing and ceased all resistance.
Leaving his men to bind the non-resisting elder, Calixtus turned to the Governor and his son. A quick examination showed no blood, and he was able to feel a pulse. "He's not dead, Praeses,” the Centurion comforted, “he has just fainted.”
Then, wrinkling his nose up in disgust, he added, "I think the lad has soiled himself.
Pulling himself together at hearing that his son was alive, the Governor smelled that same foul odor, and called to his servants, “Here, get him back to the atrium and clean him up. Quickly!” As they hauled the heavy body away, Galerius began to come out of his faint, “I’m killed! I’m killed,” he moaned.

The citizens in the amphitheater had been looking on with concern as the Governor had disappeared from sight and shouts were heard from the Imperial Box. Mogurix had rushed up the steps with four men to lend aid. By the time he had arrived, all was under control and Calixtus explained to him what had happened. “Shall I take the German Dog away, Praeses?” the Optio asked.
“No. I want him here. I want him to see the punishment of his daughter. Tie him to that column over there so that he is facing the arena.”
Mogurix and the men quickly fulfilled their orders and prepared to return to the arena floor. Just then, another interruption occurred. Outside the gate, a large commotion suddenly arose with shouting and the clanging of swords. Calixtus turned to the Optio and his men and said, “Ite (Go)!” The Gallic giant charged down the steps toward the gate with his men close behind.
 
Praefectus Praetorio said:
While the Governor and the guests in the box stood frozen in shock and fear, Gaius Calixtus moved swiftly and surely. Though almost a foot shorter than the Goth, he strode confidently forward and grasped the man's right wrist in a vice-like grip with both his hands. The battle-hardened Centurion used all his strength to pull the hand with the knife away from the lad's throat.
Right behind their leader, the other two soldiers lept forward and wrestled the man’s other arm back. In just a moment, the three had Friþugairns on the ground and his knife taken away. Released from the old man's grip, Galerius melted onto the ground as if dead. His father rushed to the lad, screaming, "He's killed my son!" Meanwhile, the old Goth lay sobbing and ceased all resistance.
Leaving his men to bind the non-resisting elder, Calixtus turned to the Governor and his son. A quick examination showed no blood, and he was able to feel a pulse. "He's not dead, Praeses,” the Centurion comforted, “he has just fainted.”
Then, wrinkling his nose up in disgust, he added, "I think the lad has soiled himself.
Pulling himself together at hearing that his son was alive, the Governor smelled that same foul odor, and called to his servants, “Here, get him back to the atrium and clean him up. Quickly!” As they hauled the heavy body away, Galerius began to come out of his faint, “I’m killed! I’m killed,” he moaned.

The citizens in the amphitheater had been looking on with concern as the Governor had disappeared from sight and shouts were heard from the Imperial Box. Mogurix had rushed up the steps with four men to lend aid. By the time he had arrived, all was under control and Calixtus explained to him what had happened. “Shall I take the German Dog away, Praeses?” the Optio asked.
“No. I want him here. I want him to see the punishment of his daughter. Tie him to that column over there so that he is facing the arena.”
Mogurix and the men quickly fulfilled their orders and prepared to return to the arena floor. Just then, another interruption occurred. Outside the gate, a large commotion suddenly arose with shouting and the clanging of swords. Calixtus turned to the Optio and his men and said, “Ite (Go)!” The Gallic giant charged down the steps toward the gate with his men close behind.
Click to expand...
Let battle commence ... but what a pussius Galerius is turning out to be. Great narrative as always, with Galerius providing semi-comedic overtones reminiscent of the great Frankie Howerd in his much acclaimed sitcom "Up Pompeii'. Excellent stuff.
 
You must log in or register to reply here.
Back
Top Bottom