Zephirantes
Magistrate
I put this story together fairly hastily, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. The story is stand alone, but in fact I fancy the basic idea quite a bit, so I might add chapters, or make a second version from scratch but longer and more extensive, or... well, I'll think about it.
- - -
THE MAN WITH THE VAN
It was a warm summer day. Mark parked his van under the shade of a large tree, hoping to take a brief respite from the hot sun. Being a wandering merchant is a sweaty business.
As he stepped out, he noticed something peculiar nearby. Just beyond the tree, a young woman was crucified, her naked body displayed for anyone who might pass by. Copious amounts of sweat covered her fragile body, mostly dripping from her exposed, shaved armpits.
She was beautiful, with toned abs, small breasts, a plump, fleshy and totally bare sex, and a pretty face twisted in a mix of pain and concentration as she tried to struggle, writhe with some sort of rhythm...
Then Mark understood: she was rubbing her reddened pussy against the wooden sedile beneath her.
Susan noticed Mark and immediately stopped, her eyes wide with fear and shame.
Mark, intrigued, approached her slowly.
"Hello there, pretty girl," Mark called out gently, trying not to startle her. "I'm Mark. I didn't expect to find anyone out here, especially not in such a... predicament."
Susan's breath hitched, and she forced herself to speak through her pain. "I... I'm Susan," she managed, her sweet voice trembling. "Please, don’t hurt me."
"I’m not here to hurt you," Mark assured her, standing a respectful distance away. "I assure you, I am not used to assault helpless, exposed beauties like you with no reason. What happened to you?"
Susan's eyes filled with tears. "I stole a perfume," she admitted. "A stupid, petty crime. They said this was the punishment." She glanced down at her naked body, nailed to the cross. "Now I’m here, suffering, dying slowly for it, and all bare to make it worse..."
"Being bare suits you just fine, girl. You have a body most girls would die for," Mark remarked, his eyes roving over her body, noting the nails that transfixed her wrists and feet to the wooden cross. "But I agree with you, being nailed to a cross for a stolen item and left to die seems... a bit excessive, to me," he said softly.
“Please, help me then…” she begged him, her voice broken with faint hope.
"But, hell, on the other hand… who am I to disagree with judges and jury? You’ll have to deal with your death sentence the best you can, gal. I won't save you from your punishment, I’m afraid…" he went on to add, shrugging his shoulders with some embarrassment.
"Yeah, I'm afraid too," Susan replied, her voice trembling with fear and a hint of disappointment at the man who, it was clear now, would do nothing to save her from the execution to which she had been condemned.
"Oh," he quipped in surprise, "don't you insist further? don't you beg me on your knees to dismount you from the cross and save your life?"
"Well, I certainly can't pray to no one on my knees, with my hands and feet nailed down. And anyway..." she added, doubtful.
"Anyway?"
"Well, I don't like to beg people. It's always seemed a little excessive to me. I've always been taught to take what I'm entitled to without making too much fuss, and," and here she paused for a moment, "it seems that what I'm entitled to this time is this, doesn't it? Death on the cross, naked. At least, that's what the judge and jury say."
"Yeah, that sounds like sound reasoning to me."
"Don't get me wrong, I don't want to die: surely not now and not like this, executed as a thief. Of that rest assured. But begging just isn't my style. I hate girls who make a scene over nothing!" replied, as an explanation.
"Yeah, me too," added Mark with relief, knowing that the girl cruelly pinned to the cross would not make a scene. "I like people with a no-nonsense attitude."
"Well, we have something in common. And besides, you don't strike me as one to be moved by the words of a poor young and innocent girl like me asking for help, do you?"
"What an excellent judge of character you are, crucified girl," said Mark clearly taken aback by the condemned woman's frankness. "No, even if you cried or begged me for an hour to save you, in fact I wouldn't: agony and death is what they gave you, agony and death is what you will receive. This is how I see it, but having said that... as a thief, you're not so innocent, are you?"
"Yeah, I guess you're rig... argh!" her sentence interrupted by a groan of pain.
"Does it hurt much? I mean, dying like that, all nailed and stretched?" Mark asked, his tone curious but sympathetic.
Susan gave a bitter laugh, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Of course it does," she replied. "The pain is unbearable. It’s in my wrists, my feet, my shoulders... everywhere. And I’m so scared of dying, of being reduced to nothingness."
Mark nodded sympathetically. "I can't imagine how awful that must be," he said, his voice gentle. "Suffering with no respite but for your eventual death."
"Yes, I dunno what's worse, the pain or the knowledge I have just a couple of days to live, at most," Susan confessed, her voice cracking with emotion.
"I'm very sorry for that, Susan. You're a pretty, young girl, it's a shame you are dying this way now," Mark said softly, his eyes filled with pity.
"And I'm sure you smelled perfectly fine even without that perfume, you really shouldn't have stolen it," he said, shaking his head in disapproval.
Susan gave a weak, humorless smile. "Yeah, and... as a 'contrappasso', now I stink of sweat while I die, exposed in the nude, helpless and in utter agony and shame..."
"Oh, do not worry for that. I mean, I imagine you must have a lot of worries as you're dying with nails transfixing your pretty body, but... really, you smell of a fine, healthy female working out. Nothing to be ashamed of," Mark reassured her with a sincere smile.
"Thanks, Mark. You're kind to me, but it is a painful workout, for sure, and…" Susan said, her voice trembling. “Well, thank God the executioner allowed me to relieve myself before putting me here.”
“Well, surely shit and piss would have been less pleasant to smell,” admitted the merchant, “still, nothing to really be ashamed of. I mean, none would have made you a fault for that.”
“That’s very… reassuring,” rebuked Susan with a sarcastic grin, morphing into a sudden grimace of pain.
"But, where are my manners? It seems I had interrupted you as you… well, you looked like you were trying to find some... comfort before I arrived. With your pretty vag, I mean. Does it help?" Mark asked, his curiosity piqued.
Susan blushed deeply, her cheeks turning crimson. "A little," she admitted in a hesitant voice. "It distracts me from the pain, even if just for a moment."
Mark stepped a bit closer, his curiosity growing. "Can you... tell me more about it? How does it feel?"
Susan hesitated, but the look in Mark's eyes was earnest. "It’s... quite humiliating," she began. "But also, in some twisted way, it feels good. Rubbing myself against the sedile, feeling the wood against my labia and clit, splitting myself open, for the world…"
“Well, you had all reasons to believe you were alone…”
"Figure of speech, Mark. It was a way to forget the pain, to feel something else in my body. Something… good even, before the end."
Mark nodded, his gaze intense. "Do you mind if I... watch? Maybe talk to you while you do it?"
Susan's eyes widened in surprise, but she nodded slowly. "Okay, please stay then," she whispered. "And thank you. It really helps to have someone to talk to. To feel less alone." Her cheeks reddened as she realized she was actually asking for some onlooker as she intended to give herself carnal pleasure.
"May I take a pic or two with my phone? It's not every day that I run into a crucified girl, scraping a wooden sedile with her sex," Mark asked with an upside tone.
"Yeah, I can understand that, but... please don't share the pics on the internet while I'm still around!” she yelled. “That would be so embarrassing..." Susan replied, her voice trembling now.
"I see you're a shy and sweet girl, Susan. Sure, I won't share them until you die, okay?" Mark assured her with a smile.
"Yeah, well, I guess..." Susan replied, her voice trailing off.
“I promise: only after you’re corpse. You can start as you feel ready, girl.”
Thus, Mark stood there, and watched as Susan resumed rubbing herself against the sedile, her movements slow and deliberate. "You’re so brave, Susan," he said softly. "I can see how strong you are, even in this horrible situation."
Susan's breath quickened, her body responding to the friction. "It’s not just bravery," she confessed. "It’s more like desperation. I need to feel something other than pain in my tortured body."
"I understand," Mark said, his voice soothing. "Tell me about it. Describe what you’re feeling. I imagine that, to grind your vagina on the sedile like that, you must be inflicting yourself a helluva pain on wrists and feet..."
Susan moaned softly as she rubbed her pussy against the wood. "It’s... a mix of pleasure and pain," she explained. "The rough sedile presses against my clit, and it feels good, but yes, indeed... every movement reminds me of the nails in my wrists and feet."
"So, you're basically torturing yourself to give yourself some pleasure, are you not?" Mark asked, his eyes gleaming with interest.
"Yeah... I'm the torturer of myself it seems... and it makes me feel even more helpless... I won't move my hands nor walk anymore," Susan admitted, her voice trembling.
"And that helplessness excites you, doesn't it?" Mark asked, his voice low and intense.
"I... I think so. I'm, like, offered in sacrifice, for everyone to touch me during my deadly ordeal" Susan replied, her voice breaking with emotion. “An ordeal with no coming back…”
Mark's eyes darkened with desire as he listened. "You’re amazing, Susan," he said, his hand reaching her naked, sweaty belly. "Your strength, your vulnerability, it’s all so... captivating."
Susan's hips bucked, her arousal building. "I hate that I’m enjoying this, at least partially, amidst the torments of my execution," she admitted, her voice shaking. "It feels so wrong, but I can’t help it."
"There’s nothing wrong with finding a bit of pleasure in your situation," Mark reassured her. "You’re human. Very human, in fact: a young, otherwise healthy girl, dying for her crime. You’re allowed to feel."
"I feel like a pain-slut. A masochistic bitch in heat," Susan said, her voice filled with shame.
"Yeah, well, maybe you indeed are one, but, I mean: who cares now? You’re gonna die on that cross, sweet girl, I think you earned the right to some pleasure, masochistic slut or not," Mark replied, his voice gentle.
"Thanks, you have kind words for an executed felon like me," Susan said, her eyes filled with gratitude.
- - -
THE MAN WITH THE VAN
It was a warm summer day. Mark parked his van under the shade of a large tree, hoping to take a brief respite from the hot sun. Being a wandering merchant is a sweaty business.
As he stepped out, he noticed something peculiar nearby. Just beyond the tree, a young woman was crucified, her naked body displayed for anyone who might pass by. Copious amounts of sweat covered her fragile body, mostly dripping from her exposed, shaved armpits.
She was beautiful, with toned abs, small breasts, a plump, fleshy and totally bare sex, and a pretty face twisted in a mix of pain and concentration as she tried to struggle, writhe with some sort of rhythm...
Then Mark understood: she was rubbing her reddened pussy against the wooden sedile beneath her.
Susan noticed Mark and immediately stopped, her eyes wide with fear and shame.
Mark, intrigued, approached her slowly.
"Hello there, pretty girl," Mark called out gently, trying not to startle her. "I'm Mark. I didn't expect to find anyone out here, especially not in such a... predicament."
Susan's breath hitched, and she forced herself to speak through her pain. "I... I'm Susan," she managed, her sweet voice trembling. "Please, don’t hurt me."
"I’m not here to hurt you," Mark assured her, standing a respectful distance away. "I assure you, I am not used to assault helpless, exposed beauties like you with no reason. What happened to you?"
Susan's eyes filled with tears. "I stole a perfume," she admitted. "A stupid, petty crime. They said this was the punishment." She glanced down at her naked body, nailed to the cross. "Now I’m here, suffering, dying slowly for it, and all bare to make it worse..."
"Being bare suits you just fine, girl. You have a body most girls would die for," Mark remarked, his eyes roving over her body, noting the nails that transfixed her wrists and feet to the wooden cross. "But I agree with you, being nailed to a cross for a stolen item and left to die seems... a bit excessive, to me," he said softly.
“Please, help me then…” she begged him, her voice broken with faint hope.
"But, hell, on the other hand… who am I to disagree with judges and jury? You’ll have to deal with your death sentence the best you can, gal. I won't save you from your punishment, I’m afraid…" he went on to add, shrugging his shoulders with some embarrassment.
"Yeah, I'm afraid too," Susan replied, her voice trembling with fear and a hint of disappointment at the man who, it was clear now, would do nothing to save her from the execution to which she had been condemned.
"Oh," he quipped in surprise, "don't you insist further? don't you beg me on your knees to dismount you from the cross and save your life?"
"Well, I certainly can't pray to no one on my knees, with my hands and feet nailed down. And anyway..." she added, doubtful.
"Anyway?"
"Well, I don't like to beg people. It's always seemed a little excessive to me. I've always been taught to take what I'm entitled to without making too much fuss, and," and here she paused for a moment, "it seems that what I'm entitled to this time is this, doesn't it? Death on the cross, naked. At least, that's what the judge and jury say."
"Yeah, that sounds like sound reasoning to me."
"Don't get me wrong, I don't want to die: surely not now and not like this, executed as a thief. Of that rest assured. But begging just isn't my style. I hate girls who make a scene over nothing!" replied, as an explanation.
"Yeah, me too," added Mark with relief, knowing that the girl cruelly pinned to the cross would not make a scene. "I like people with a no-nonsense attitude."
"Well, we have something in common. And besides, you don't strike me as one to be moved by the words of a poor young and innocent girl like me asking for help, do you?"
"What an excellent judge of character you are, crucified girl," said Mark clearly taken aback by the condemned woman's frankness. "No, even if you cried or begged me for an hour to save you, in fact I wouldn't: agony and death is what they gave you, agony and death is what you will receive. This is how I see it, but having said that... as a thief, you're not so innocent, are you?"
"Yeah, I guess you're rig... argh!" her sentence interrupted by a groan of pain.
"Does it hurt much? I mean, dying like that, all nailed and stretched?" Mark asked, his tone curious but sympathetic.
Susan gave a bitter laugh, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Of course it does," she replied. "The pain is unbearable. It’s in my wrists, my feet, my shoulders... everywhere. And I’m so scared of dying, of being reduced to nothingness."
Mark nodded sympathetically. "I can't imagine how awful that must be," he said, his voice gentle. "Suffering with no respite but for your eventual death."
"Yes, I dunno what's worse, the pain or the knowledge I have just a couple of days to live, at most," Susan confessed, her voice cracking with emotion.
"I'm very sorry for that, Susan. You're a pretty, young girl, it's a shame you are dying this way now," Mark said softly, his eyes filled with pity.
"And I'm sure you smelled perfectly fine even without that perfume, you really shouldn't have stolen it," he said, shaking his head in disapproval.
Susan gave a weak, humorless smile. "Yeah, and... as a 'contrappasso', now I stink of sweat while I die, exposed in the nude, helpless and in utter agony and shame..."
"Oh, do not worry for that. I mean, I imagine you must have a lot of worries as you're dying with nails transfixing your pretty body, but... really, you smell of a fine, healthy female working out. Nothing to be ashamed of," Mark reassured her with a sincere smile.
"Thanks, Mark. You're kind to me, but it is a painful workout, for sure, and…" Susan said, her voice trembling. “Well, thank God the executioner allowed me to relieve myself before putting me here.”
“Well, surely shit and piss would have been less pleasant to smell,” admitted the merchant, “still, nothing to really be ashamed of. I mean, none would have made you a fault for that.”
“That’s very… reassuring,” rebuked Susan with a sarcastic grin, morphing into a sudden grimace of pain.
"But, where are my manners? It seems I had interrupted you as you… well, you looked like you were trying to find some... comfort before I arrived. With your pretty vag, I mean. Does it help?" Mark asked, his curiosity piqued.
Susan blushed deeply, her cheeks turning crimson. "A little," she admitted in a hesitant voice. "It distracts me from the pain, even if just for a moment."
Mark stepped a bit closer, his curiosity growing. "Can you... tell me more about it? How does it feel?"
Susan hesitated, but the look in Mark's eyes was earnest. "It’s... quite humiliating," she began. "But also, in some twisted way, it feels good. Rubbing myself against the sedile, feeling the wood against my labia and clit, splitting myself open, for the world…"
“Well, you had all reasons to believe you were alone…”
"Figure of speech, Mark. It was a way to forget the pain, to feel something else in my body. Something… good even, before the end."
Mark nodded, his gaze intense. "Do you mind if I... watch? Maybe talk to you while you do it?"
Susan's eyes widened in surprise, but she nodded slowly. "Okay, please stay then," she whispered. "And thank you. It really helps to have someone to talk to. To feel less alone." Her cheeks reddened as she realized she was actually asking for some onlooker as she intended to give herself carnal pleasure.
"May I take a pic or two with my phone? It's not every day that I run into a crucified girl, scraping a wooden sedile with her sex," Mark asked with an upside tone.
"Yeah, I can understand that, but... please don't share the pics on the internet while I'm still around!” she yelled. “That would be so embarrassing..." Susan replied, her voice trembling now.
"I see you're a shy and sweet girl, Susan. Sure, I won't share them until you die, okay?" Mark assured her with a smile.
"Yeah, well, I guess..." Susan replied, her voice trailing off.
“I promise: only after you’re corpse. You can start as you feel ready, girl.”
Thus, Mark stood there, and watched as Susan resumed rubbing herself against the sedile, her movements slow and deliberate. "You’re so brave, Susan," he said softly. "I can see how strong you are, even in this horrible situation."
Susan's breath quickened, her body responding to the friction. "It’s not just bravery," she confessed. "It’s more like desperation. I need to feel something other than pain in my tortured body."
"I understand," Mark said, his voice soothing. "Tell me about it. Describe what you’re feeling. I imagine that, to grind your vagina on the sedile like that, you must be inflicting yourself a helluva pain on wrists and feet..."
Susan moaned softly as she rubbed her pussy against the wood. "It’s... a mix of pleasure and pain," she explained. "The rough sedile presses against my clit, and it feels good, but yes, indeed... every movement reminds me of the nails in my wrists and feet."
"So, you're basically torturing yourself to give yourself some pleasure, are you not?" Mark asked, his eyes gleaming with interest.
"Yeah... I'm the torturer of myself it seems... and it makes me feel even more helpless... I won't move my hands nor walk anymore," Susan admitted, her voice trembling.
"And that helplessness excites you, doesn't it?" Mark asked, his voice low and intense.
"I... I think so. I'm, like, offered in sacrifice, for everyone to touch me during my deadly ordeal" Susan replied, her voice breaking with emotion. “An ordeal with no coming back…”
Mark's eyes darkened with desire as he listened. "You’re amazing, Susan," he said, his hand reaching her naked, sweaty belly. "Your strength, your vulnerability, it’s all so... captivating."
Susan's hips bucked, her arousal building. "I hate that I’m enjoying this, at least partially, amidst the torments of my execution," she admitted, her voice shaking. "It feels so wrong, but I can’t help it."
"There’s nothing wrong with finding a bit of pleasure in your situation," Mark reassured her. "You’re human. Very human, in fact: a young, otherwise healthy girl, dying for her crime. You’re allowed to feel."
"I feel like a pain-slut. A masochistic bitch in heat," Susan said, her voice filled with shame.
"Yeah, well, maybe you indeed are one, but, I mean: who cares now? You’re gonna die on that cross, sweet girl, I think you earned the right to some pleasure, masochistic slut or not," Mark replied, his voice gentle.
"Thanks, you have kind words for an executed felon like me," Susan said, her eyes filled with gratitude.
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