"The man with the van" [female crucifixion, reluctant]

[Zephirantes]

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.

 

[Zephirantes]

"More executee that executed, isn't it? I mean, by the strength you display in masturbating your pussy on the sedile, you seem pretty alive to me... a hot, lively girl, marching toward her painful and untimely demise, alas," Mark said, his voice low and intense.

"Actually, by the law I'm dead since the very moment I was nailed and the cross was raised, so, I'm an executed criminal already. It's just, my body didn’t get the memo… it doesn't align well with my new legal status yet, but it will in a couple of days at most," Susan replied, her voice trembling.

"Yeah, that's it. I understand. You're a brave, strong executed girl, then," Mark said softly.

"Mark," she whispered. "Do you think... do you think there’s something after this? After I die?"

Mark paused, considering her question. "Philosophy ain’t my forte, but… I’ll be honest with you, I don't think so," he admitted. "Still, right now, you’re alive. Right now, you’re feeling everything, and you’re not alone. Focus on that. Focus on the moment, crucified beauty."

Susan nodded, tears slipping down her cheeks. "I’m trying," she said softly. "I’m trying to hold on to every moment, but it is full of pain, and dread, and..."

"...and?" Mark prompted gently.

"And of humiliating pleasure." Susan's voice trembled as she confessed.

"Seems the perfect mix to spend a couple of days, baby," Mark said with a wry smile. "Just think, you're doing a most difficult thing. You'll taste feelings most people cannot even imagine. Take some pride in that, Susan."

Susan’s eyes met Mark’s, a mix of fear and longing in her gaze. "Will you stay with me?" she asked softly. "Until the end?"

Mark nodded, stepping even closer. "I can, but, you know, I've a business to attend to, so..."

“Please, Mark. Don’t leave me here to die alone!” she pleaded, tears in her beautiful, demanding eyes.

"Look, girl: if I stay, I have to attract customers to sell my stuff, and, well..."

“That’s okay for me! They can watch me die too!”

"Maybe you don't like having a crowd next to you buying stuff from me and meanwhile watching your agony and... masturbation," replied the merchant, dubious.

"Oh, I can deal with that, I think. Splitting my vag on the sedile for all to see as the cross kills me. Better than dying alone!" she replied with exaggerated and clearly feigned enthusiasm, but nonetheless heartening both to her speaking and to him listening, dumbfounded, to the poor dying girl.

"Okay, I’ll stay, then," he promised, with a big, comforting smile. "I’ll be here with you, through every moment, until you die. Hope to see you having a lot of good orgasms, I confess, before you go."

Susan’s body tensed as a wave of pleasure washed over her, her eyes closing as she let out a soft cry. Indeed her vulva seemed almost split into two by the triangular sedile embedded into her cross. "Oh God, Mark," she moaned. "It feels so good, but it hurts so much."

Mark reached out, his hand gently caressing her belly. A ribald finger probed her tense belly-button. "You’re incredible, Susan," he whispered. "Keep going. Let yourself feel it all."

Susan’s breaths came in short gasps, her body trembling with a mix of agony and ecstasy. "I’m scared, Mark," she confessed. "I don’t want to die. I don’t want to be annihilated, to become nothing."

Mark’s hand moved up to her breast, his fingers gently squeezing her perky nipple. "You won’t be nothing," he said firmly. "People will remember you, Susan. They’ll remember your bravery, your beauty. I will, at least. Your pussy, even, avidly grinding the wood. Both your pleasure and suffering will leave a mark on people's memories. On my memory…"

That said, he pulled out his phone and began taking pictures of her throbbing, gashing cunt on the sedile. "And these pics, in the unlikely event I forget, will help freshen my memory," he added with a genuinely amused laugh.

Susan’s eyes filled with tears again, but she nodded: Susan knows she is a condemned woman, her role is to let the cross kill her and let the viewers do what they want to her, and if Mark wants to photograph her while she is suffering and enjoying, well: so be it.

So she just tries to find some comfort in his words. "Thank you," she whispered. "For being here. For making me feel less alone."

Mark leaned in, his lips brushing against her belly. "I’m here, Susan," he murmured. "I’ll be with you until your end."

Susan’s body convulsed as another wave of pleasure and pain washed over her. "Oh God," she moaned again. "It’s so intense. I can’t... I can’t take it."

"Sure you can," Mark said, his voice steady. "You’re a big girl!” he said, and then explained: A girl big enough to be let here to die naked for all to see, ready to snuff it for her crime, and clearly accustomed to give herself unholy pleasures."

"Yeah, I've been a bad girl, the judge said I deserved this torment, I was big enough to be hurt and killed," Susan replied, her voice trembling.

"Just let yourself feel everything. Your suffering body also deserves some relief, now and then..." Mark encouraged.

Susan’s hips bucked harder against the sedile, her moans growing louder. "Mark," she gasped. "I’m... I’m going to cum. I can’t believe I’m cumming like this. Like a slut! I am a filthy slut that craves cumming even during her capital punishment! Oh God!"

"Well, who am I to contradict a crucified baby like you calling herself a slut?" Mark said with a chuckle. "Let it happen, gal" he urged. "Let yourself go. Cum like the slut you say you are, baby."

Susan’s body arched as she came, her juices mixing with the sweat and tears that covered her, her eyes wide shut and her tongue out as, for a very brief moment, in her mind death melted into an orgasm, and the hard, wooden cross and sedile changed into a giant phallus, deflowering her soul without mercy. Making her a woman ready for sex and death. "Oh God, oh God," she cried out, her voice echoing in the empty space around them, as she squirted her liquid pleasure in front of the cross on which she was dying.

Girl juices, leaking from her pussy, soaked the wooden sedile splitting her slit in two.

Mark watched in awe as Susan’s body trembled with the force of her orgasm. "You’re amazing," he whispered. "So gorgeous, so brave, so burning hot."

Susan’s breaths slowed as the aftershocks of her orgasm faded, leaving her feeling even more helpless and exposed, forever pinned with her arms spread on the cross that slowly kills her. "Thank you," she said softly. "For being here. For talking to me... for everything."

Mark nodded, his eyes filled with admiration. "As I said, I’ll stay with you, Susan," he promised again. "Until the very end. But maybe next time I can help you."

"Help me?" Susan asked, her voice filled with curiosity.

"Well, surely I cannot save you, alas. You'll die there, sweet girl. But I can surely finger your plump twat and give you a cum or two. Do you fancy that?" Mark replied, his cheerful voice betraying the intensity of the moment.

Susan’s eyes fluttered closed, her body relaxing slightly despite the pain that still wracked her. "That will help, indeed," she whispered. "You fingers inside me, proof that I’m not alone. Yeah, I fancy my cunt invaded by you, thanks."

Mark’s hand moved back up to her nipple, and then up on her cheek, gently wiping away her tears. "You’re not alone, Susie," he assured her. "I’m here. I’ll be here for the rest of your life."

"So, we're like a husband and wife, then? A married couple?" Susan asked, her voice filled with a mix of cheerfulness and despair.

"Sorta, but for the little detail you cannot move from the cross on which you're gonna die in a day or two..." Mark replied with a sad smile.

Susan nodded, a small, sad smile playing on her lips. "Thank you," she said again, her voice barely a whisper. "Thank you, Mark. I look forward to having my slutty pussy fingered by you."

"You're welcome, executed girl. You know, as much as I'm sorry you'll soon snuff it, I think you're perfect like that, pinned to your wooden killer." Mark said, his voice filled with admiration.

"Oh... you think so?" Susan asked, her voice trembling with emotion.

"Sure. Had they not crucified you, it would have been a pity. You deserve this, but not only to punish you, but also to exalt your beauty." Mark replied.

"Is that, what? A compliment mayhap?" Susan asked, feigning disappointment and changing her language to a higher standard, so surreally inappropriate for a naked girl who has just cummed like a whore.

"Yeah, a compliment from a person that, if you were free, would gladly crucify you anyway," Mark said with a chuckle.

"A dangerous compliment, then," Susan replied, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and excitement.

"Yes. But now, lemme prepare the van and look for customers. You know, you're gonna die there and have nothing to do, but I, on the contrary, have to make a living in a way or another..." Mark said, his voice trailing off, amused by his own pun.

"Yeah, he really seems the kind of man that laughs at his own joke," thought Susan, a faint smile on her suffering face. "And that's okay, I like him like that. And hope I'll like his fingers even more!"

As the sun began to set, casting long shadows over the scene, Mark stayed by Susan’s side, his presence a small comfort in her long, long agony. As night fell, the temperature dropped slightly, bringing a small measure of relief to Susan’s overheated body. Mark stayed close, his presence a constant reassurance. He occasionally reached out to touch her helpless figure and invade her exposed genitals, offering small comforts on Susan's painful yet inevitable path that will take her out of this world.

 

[tygavin]

Okay that was hot as hell. Thank you.

 

[Zephirantes]

Okay that was hot as hell. Thank you.

Was it? Sometimes I have the impression that the best erotic/porn stories are written in a flash, without too much refinement or complexity.
Just a small number of characters, a sexy situation, and that's it.

 

[thecuriousone]

Highly original.

 

[Zephirantes]

Highly original.

Thanks, you're most kind.

I think I read something, many years ago, of a merchant meeting crucified people on a consular road, in ancient Roman Empire.
But it was a rather... remote inspiration.

 

[tygavin]

Was it? Sometimes I have the impression that the best erotic/porn stories are written in a flash, without too much refinement or complexity.
Just a small number of characters, a sexy situation, and that's it.

My stories are usually long. As far as yours I can just say it had the intended effect

 

[thecuriousone]

Was it? Sometimes I have the impression that the best erotic/porn stories are written in a flash, without too much refinement or complexity.
Just a small number of characters, a sexy situation, and that's it.

Exactly, the rush of creativity lasts maybe a couple of hours and when you have to get back in this rush to continue or perfect the story, it is not always as good as you wish. Good short stories are more easy to create.

 

[Zephirantes]

My stories are usually long. As far as yours I can just say it had the intended effect

Probably the secret for a good, long story is to have it well "comparted"... I wonder.
Like yours Death of the Tomb Raider: the single episodes that make up the story are short, and they go directly to the point.
Personally, the part I loved the most was when a girl asks the permission to have Lara, already crucified, cum on her dildo: it was a very sweet scene, you were able to characterize the girl with just a couple of dialogues, I loved that.

Anyway, your appreciation means a lot to me, thank you.

 

[Zephirantes]

I made up a prequel too.
You can find it here: https://www.cruxforums.com/xf/threa...h-the-van-female-crucifixion-reluctant.11432/

I may consider writing a sequel also if you like it.

 

[Zephirantes]

As I said, the story could be stand-alone or part of a larger narrative.
I have decided to create a sequel too.
In order not to burden the site with too many threads, I will post the sequel here as part 2.

- - -

THE MAN WITH THE VAN, PART 2


Mark busied himself with unloading his van, carefully arranging his wares on a makeshift table he set up beside the vehicle. He glanced occasionally at Susan, her naked body glistening with sweat as she ground her pussy against the sedile, her breaths coming in ragged gasps. The rough wood pressed against her clit, sending conflicting waves of pain and unwanted pleasure through her.

The crowd had begun to gather, drawn by Mark's items and the spectacle of her very pornographic suffering. Her young body was extremely stretched and taut as she painfully braced her wrists and nailed feet to rub her twat as hard as she could on the wooden seat. Indeed, her sex gave her some pleasant sensation, but the more she did it, the more reddened it became.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Mark called out, his voice cheerful. "I've got a variety of goods for sale today. Come and take a look while you witness this young woman's final performance, until she snuffs it for good," he said with a wink towards Susan, adding a touch of theatrical flair to his words.

Susan’s eyes fluttered open at his words, her body trembling with a mix of pain and arousal. She moaned softly, her hips bucking involuntarily. "You’re doing great, Susan," Mark said, offering her a reassuring smile. "Remember, you're giving them a show they won't forget."

"I feel like a masochistic porn star," Susan gasped, her voice filled with a strange blend of humiliation and arousal.

"Well, in a sense you are," Mark replied with a chuckle, his eyes twinkling mischievously.

The onlookers murmured in agreement, their eyes fixed on Susan's writhing form. Mark turned his attention back to his goods, laying out various items with practiced ease. He displayed everything from trinkets to more practical items, to very special items, hoping to attract a range of customers.

A middle-aged woman with large glasses approached, her eyes flicking between Mark's wares and Susan's agony. "What do you have here?" she asked, her voice curious.

"A little bit of everything," Mark replied with a smile. "Take your pick. And feel free to watch the show while you browse. I mean, the poor girl Susan is really giving it all..."

"Yeah, and surely she cannot do this twice," she commented, her tone practical.

"Yeah, the experience is quite... well, definitive, so to speak," Mark agreed.

The woman knew what she was looking for: some sex toy! After all, what wandering merchant with a van doesn't sell dildoes and whips and nipple-clamps in this day and age? Sellers must always be BDSM-ready if they want to stay in business.

The woman picked up a nasty riding crop, examining it closely. "It's a shame about the girl, indeed," she said, her voice low. "But I suppose she deserves her capital punishment."

Mark nodded, glancing at Susan. "She does, she stole a perfume. But she's handling her execution with great bravery."

"She's cute as a button. I'm glad they crucified her fully nude, so that, well," she trailed off, looking at Susan's exposed form.

"Can I try this crop on her?" the woman asked, her eyes gleaming with sadistic curiosity.

"Sure, you're welcome. Nailed and naked as she is, she cannot shield her body away, feel free to hit her wherever you want," Mark replied with a nonchalant shrug.

"No spot barred, not even the most delicate and private ones," the woman pressed.

"Even on her tits and pussy?" the woman asked, her excitement barely contained. "I want to test this on her most intimate spots."

"Sure, and who knows, maybe she will like it?" Mark replied, his tone light but his words carrying an edge of dark humor. "Dear Susan here may be a bit of a masochist after all..."

The woman approached Susan, her eyes locked on the girl's exposed and trembling body. "I’m sorry about this," she said, though her voice lacked any real remorse. "Vera Hill, at your service, my dear executee..."

"As I said to Mark," corrected Susan in a scholarly tone, "legally I'm already executed, a corpse basically, since the moment I was nailed to the cross and raised with it." She knew it wasn't in her best interest to correct the woman that was about to hit her body, but hell, she was always a bit of a fussy person after all. And she enjoyed upsetting people that have power over her. Indeed, that was part of the reason why she received such a painful death sentence for a minor crime instead of some more relaxed and quicker way to go, like for instance, being strangled or hanged by the neck or light stuff like that...

"Very well, so now taste this crop, executed girl," Vera said, raising the crop and bringing it down sharply on Susan's left breast, the leather striking her nipple and areola with a loud smack.

Susan screamed, her body convulsing on the cross. "Please, no more!" she begged, her voice cracking with pain and fear. "I'm busy dying here! No time for further tortures!"

"On the contrary, Susan, you have so much spare time on the cross before your death that I think you have leisure to engage in some other... activities," Vera replied with a smirk.

"I think you can handle a bit more, dear," Vera said, her voice sweetly mocking. She brought the crop down again, this time on Susan's right nipple, eliciting another agonized scream.

"You see, folks? This is what happens to thieves," Mark announced, gesturing towards Susan. "She's being punished not just for her crime, but to provide us all a bit of entertainment. Let's give her a round of applause for her bravery in the face of utter pain and death!"

The small crowd clapped and cheered, their faces alight with perverse excitement. Susan's cheeks burned with humiliation, her body shivering with pain.

Vera moved the crop lower, lightly brushing Susan's labia with the tip. "Let's see how you like this," she murmured, pressing the crop against Susan's clit and rubbing it slowly.

Susan gasped, her hips jerking involuntarily. "Oh God, please... no..." she whimpered, her eyes pleading.

"You're doing great, Susan," Mark called out, his tone almost affectionate. "Just try to focus on the pleasure. It might help with the pain, perhaps,"

Vera began to rub Susan's clit more vigorously with the cruel crop, her movements precise and calculated. Susan's body responded despite her suffering, her clit swelling under the relentless stimulation. She moaned, her breaths coming in short, desperate gasps.

"You’re so wet, Susan," Vera observed, her voice dripping with mockery. "Your girly juices are flowing. Maybe you do enjoy this, after all."

"She's a pain-slut!" an onlooker shouted.

Susan's eyes filled with tears of shame. "I... I don't know... I can't help it..." she sobbed, her body shaking with a mixture of arousal and agony.

Mark stepped closer, his hand resting lightly on Susan's belly. "It's okay, Susan. Offer yourself to this abuse and humiliation, too, and drink in all the feelings, good and bad both. This is part of your final experience on this world, make it count." His fingers traced a path down to her navel, teasing the sensitive skin there.

Susan's body arched, her nipples hardening painfully under the continued assault. "It hurts... but it feels... oh God..." she moaned, her voice a tortured whisper.

Vera switched the crop to Susan's inner thighs, delivering sharp, stinging blows that left red welts on her pale skin. "I think your pussy deserves some more attention," she said with a cruel smile.

She brought the crop down hard on Susan's exposed clit, the leather striking the sensitive flesh with a loud snap. Susan's scream was louder this time, her body convulsing on the cross as a wave of unbearable pain and a bit of unwanted pleasure surged through her now very public sex.

"Look at her go!" exclaimed a young onlooker, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "She's really putting on a show for us!"

The small crowd cheered, their voices a cacophony of encouragement and jeers. Susan's body was on fire, every nerve ending alive with agony and arousal. She could feel her juices flowing, her pussy slick and throbbing.

"You’re a real masochist, aren’t you?" Vera taunted, her eyes glittering with malice. "Getting off on your own execution. It’s pathetic, but also... quite entertaining. Knowing that you'll die excites you, right?"

"No, no, I don't wanna die!" Susan cried out.

And yet Susan's mind was a blur of sensations, the pain and pleasure blending into a single overwhelming experience. "Please... I can’t take any more..." she whimpered, her voice barely audible.

Mark leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. "I think you can do this, Susan. Just a little longer. Let the pleasure help you through the pain." His hand slid lower, cupping her breast and squeezing it gently, his fingers pinching her nipple.

Susan's body arched again, her clit throbbing with a mixture of pain and pleasure. "Oh God... oh God... I’m cumming again..." she gasped, her hips bucking against the sedile as a powerful orgasm ripped through her.

Her fluids gushed out as she squirted: a fountain of pussy juices invested Vera in front of her, washing her face and glasses, leaving her... surprised. But in a good way, as a smirk appeared on her now very wet face. The crowd erupted in cheers, their excitement reaching a fever pitch.

"That’s it, Susan," Mark murmured, his voice filled with dark satisfaction. "Show them how much you can take. Show them how a real masochist cums while dying."

Susan's body trembled with the aftershocks of her orgasm, her mind a haze of pain and humiliation. She squirted in public, nailed to the cross, and on the face of her torturer nonetheless! She was aware of every sensation, the rough wood pressing against her clit, the spikes in her wrists and feet, the strain on her muscles.

"I can’t believe she just came like a fountain. What a whore! She's but a filthy slut that craves cumming even during her capital punishment!" said an old onlooker, shaking his head.

A young girl next to him, probably his granddaughter, replied in anger: "If it were me, nailed naked and whipped on the pussy, I would try to do the same thing: coming as much as possible to forget for a moment the pain and the fact that I am destined to die. You should have more respect for those who suffer so much by giving us a great show."

And then, turning to the crucified girl: "Good job Susan, you are a real star, I want you to enjoy this performance of yours, if you can. And don't let these old idiots bother you. There is nothing more heartbreaking than a beautiful, strong and healthy girl like you dying in agony."

"Please... it's enough," Susan begged, her voice a broken whisper.

"Not yet, sweetheart," Vera replied, her tone mockingly gentle. "We still have more to see. More to enjoy,"

"More? Oh god, the pain is so already much..." Susan whimpered.

"There there, honey," Vera said, with a soothing voice, "Shhhhh. I know it hurts. I know. Go ahead and cry all you want. We'll continue later, when you're ready."

For the first time, Susan perceived authentic empathy in the woman's words and stopped crying.

"That's a good girl. No more crying, no more tears. That's it. Such a pretty face. Such a pretty girl. And such a lovely pussy between your legs. Ready to be hurt more, my dear..."

Mark stepped back, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "Keep watching, folks. There's still more to come. Our brave Susan has plenty of suffering left to endure before her untimely end."

He turned his attention back to his wares, continuing to sell his goods while Susan writhed and moaned on the cross, her body a testament to human endurance and the perverse pleasure found in pain.


PS: as a small disclaimer, I ripped a couple of dialogues from Thomas Chaser's excellent story (albeit non-snuff) titled "Shannon's Wager".
I fully recommend it, it's almost 20 years old but it's really that good (written in 2005).
It can be found here for instance: https://www.bdsmlibrary.com/stories/wholestory.php?storyid=3229

 

[DjEtla]

"More executee that executed, isn't it? I mean, by the strength you display in masturbating your pussy on the sedile, you seem pretty alive to me... a hot, lively girl, marching toward her painful and untimely demise, alas," Mark said, his voice low and intense.

"Actually, by the law I'm dead since the very moment I was nailed and the cross was raised, so, I'm an executed criminal already. It's just, my body didn’t get the memo… it doesn't align well with my new legal status yet, but it will in a couple of days at most," Susan replied, her voice trembling.

"Yeah, that's it. I understand. You're a brave, strong executed girl, then," Mark said softly.

"Mark," she whispered. "Do you think... do you think there’s something after this? After I die?"

Mark paused, considering her question. "Philosophy ain’t my forte, but… I’ll be honest with you, I don't think so," he admitted. "Still, right now, you’re alive. Right now, you’re feeling everything, and you’re not alone. Focus on that. Focus on the moment, crucified beauty."

Susan nodded, tears slipping down her cheeks. "I’m trying," she said softly. "I’m trying to hold on to every moment, but it is full of pain, and dread, and..."

"...and?" Mark prompted gently.

"And of humiliating pleasure." Susan's voice trembled as she confessed.

"Seems the perfect mix to spend a couple of days, baby," Mark said with a wry smile. "Just think, you're doing a most difficult thing. You'll taste feelings most people cannot even imagine. Take some pride in that, Susan."

Susan’s eyes met Mark’s, a mix of fear and longing in her gaze. "Will you stay with me?" she asked softly. "Until the end?"

Mark nodded, stepping even closer. "I can, but, you know, I've a business to attend to, so..."

“Please, Mark. Don’t leave me here to die alone!” she pleaded, tears in her beautiful, demanding eyes.

"Look, girl: if I stay, I have to attract customers to sell my stuff, and, well..."

“That’s okay for me! They can watch me die too!”

"Maybe you don't like having a crowd next to you buying stuff from me and meanwhile watching your agony and... masturbation," replied the merchant, dubious.

"Oh, I can deal with that, I think. Splitting my vag on the sedile for all to see as the cross kills me. Better than dying alone!" she replied with exaggerated and clearly feigned enthusiasm, but nonetheless heartening both to her speaking and to him listening, dumbfounded, to the poor dying girl.

"Okay, I’ll stay, then," he promised, with a big, comforting smile. "I’ll be here with you, through every moment, until you die. Hope to see you having a lot of good orgasms, I confess, before you go."

Susan’s body tensed as a wave of pleasure washed over her, her eyes closing as she let out a soft cry. Indeed her vulva seemed almost split into two by the triangular sedile embedded into her cross. "Oh God, Mark," she moaned. "It feels so good, but it hurts so much."

Mark reached out, his hand gently caressing her belly. A ribald finger probed her tense belly-button. "You’re incredible, Susan," he whispered. "Keep going. Let yourself feel it all."

Susan’s breaths came in short gasps, her body trembling with a mix of agony and ecstasy. "I’m scared, Mark," she confessed. "I don’t want to die. I don’t want to be annihilated, to become nothing."

Mark’s hand moved up to her breast, his fingers gently squeezing her perky nipple. "You won’t be nothing," he said firmly. "People will remember you, Susan. They’ll remember your bravery, your beauty. I will, at least. Your pussy, even, avidly grinding the wood. Both your pleasure and suffering will leave a mark on people's memories. On my memory…"

That said, he pulled out his phone and began taking pictures of her throbbing, gashing cunt on the sedile. "And these pics, in the unlikely event I forget, will help freshen my memory," he added with a genuinely amused laugh.

Susan’s eyes filled with tears again, but she nodded: Susan knows she is a condemned woman, her role is to let the cross kill her and let the viewers do what they want to her, and if Mark wants to photograph her while she is suffering and enjoying, well: so be it.

So she just tries to find some comfort in his words. "Thank you," she whispered. "For being here. For making me feel less alone."

Mark leaned in, his lips brushing against her belly. "I’m here, Susan," he murmured. "I’ll be with you until your end."

Susan’s body convulsed as another wave of pleasure and pain washed over her. "Oh God," she moaned again. "It’s so intense. I can’t... I can’t take it."

"Sure you can," Mark said, his voice steady. "You’re a big girl!” he said, and then explained: A girl big enough to be let here to die naked for all to see, ready to snuff it for her crime, and clearly accustomed to give herself unholy pleasures."

"Yeah, I've been a bad girl, the judge said I deserved this torment, I was big enough to be hurt and killed," Susan replied, her voice trembling.

"Just let yourself feel everything. Your suffering body also deserves some relief, now and then..." Mark encouraged.

Susan’s hips bucked harder against the sedile, her moans growing louder. "Mark," she gasped. "I’m... I’m going to cum. I can’t believe I’m cumming like this. Like a slut! I am a filthy slut that craves cumming even during her capital punishment! Oh God!"

"Well, who am I to contradict a crucified baby like you calling herself a slut?" Mark said with a chuckle. "Let it happen, gal" he urged. "Let yourself go. Cum like the slut you say you are, baby."

Susan’s body arched as she came, her juices mixing with the sweat and tears that covered her, her eyes wide shut and her tongue out as, for a very brief moment, in her mind death melted into an orgasm, and the hard, wooden cross and sedile changed into a giant phallus, deflowering her soul without mercy. Making her a woman ready for sex and death. "Oh God, oh God," she cried out, her voice echoing in the empty space around them, as she squirted her liquid pleasure in front of the cross on which she was dying.

Girl juices, leaking from her pussy, soaked the wooden sedile splitting her slit in two.

Mark watched in awe as Susan’s body trembled with the force of her orgasm. "You’re amazing," he whispered. "So gorgeous, so brave, so burning hot."

Susan’s breaths slowed as the aftershocks of her orgasm faded, leaving her feeling even more helpless and exposed, forever pinned with her arms spread on the cross that slowly kills her. "Thank you," she said softly. "For being here. For talking to me... for everything."

Mark nodded, his eyes filled with admiration. "As I said, I’ll stay with you, Susan," he promised again. "Until the very end. But maybe next time I can help you."

"Help me?" Susan asked, her voice filled with curiosity.

"Well, surely I cannot save you, alas. You'll die there, sweet girl. But I can surely finger your plump twat and give you a cum or two. Do you fancy that?" Mark replied, his cheerful voice betraying the intensity of the moment.

Susan’s eyes fluttered closed, her body relaxing slightly despite the pain that still wracked her. "That will help, indeed," she whispered. "You fingers inside me, proof that I’m not alone. Yeah, I fancy my cunt invaded by you, thanks."

Mark’s hand moved back up to her nipple, and then up on her cheek, gently wiping away her tears. "You’re not alone, Susie," he assured her. "I’m here. I’ll be here for the rest of your life."

"So, we're like a husband and wife, then? A married couple?" Susan asked, her voice filled with a mix of cheerfulness and despair.

"Sorta, but for the little detail you cannot move from the cross on which you're gonna die in a day or two..." Mark replied with a sad smile.

Susan nodded, a small, sad smile playing on her lips. "Thank you," she said again, her voice barely a whisper. "Thank you, Mark. I look forward to having my slutty pussy fingered by you."

"You're welcome, executed girl. You know, as much as I'm sorry you'll soon snuff it, I think you're perfect like that, pinned to your wooden killer." Mark said, his voice filled with admiration.

"Oh... you think so?" Susan asked, her voice trembling with emotion.

"Sure. Had they not crucified you, it would have been a pity. You deserve this, but not only to punish you, but also to exalt your beauty." Mark replied.

"Is that, what? A compliment mayhap?" Susan asked, feigning disappointment and changing her language to a higher standard, so surreally inappropriate for a naked girl who has just cummed like a whore.

"Yeah, a compliment from a person that, if you were free, would gladly crucify you anyway," Mark said with a chuckle.

"A dangerous compliment, then," Susan replied, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and excitement.

"Yes. But now, lemme prepare the van and look for customers. You know, you're gonna die there and have nothing to do, but I, on the contrary, have to make a living in a way or another..." Mark said, his voice trailing off, amused by his own pun.

"Yeah, he really seems the kind of man that laughs at his own joke," thought Susan, a faint smile on her suffering face. "And that's okay, I like him like that. And hope I'll like his fingers even more!"

As the sun began to set, casting long shadows over the scene, Mark stayed by Susan’s side, his presence a small comfort in her long, long agony. As night fell, the temperature dropped slightly, bringing a small measure of relief to Susan’s overheated body. Mark stayed close, his presence a constant reassurance. He occasionally reached out to touch her helpless figure and invade her exposed genitals, offering small comforts on Susan's painful yet inevitable path that will take her out of this world.

I promised a few comments.

- The premise is tough to accept. A guy parks his truck in some random wilderness and there happens to be a freshly set up girl being crucified and no one else is around. That's a difficult premise to accept.
- I like the idea of crucifixion for a petty crime like stealing some perfume. In fact I think I used this same idea in one of my stories. Somehow that's more humorous or casually cruel than crux for a serious crime like a murder.
- "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." I like the way she tries to talk herself info accepting her punishment.
- "And thank you. It really helps to have someone to talk to. To feel less alone." I like how she tries to find some small comforts to balance all her pain and worries. Rubbing herself might bring some minor relief. Talking with someone seems to bring some minor distraction or comfort. Her fears about being alone are a theme throughout the story.
- Rubbing her clit brings pleasures and extra pains. Mark points out she's basically her own torturer and she agrees. That's darkly sexy.
- "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. I like the way she can maybe try to find it sexy to be put on display and made so totally helpless.
- Length is about 3,700 words. That's not too long. I'm glad you kept it to that length. Some authors just run on and on, creating a story of 5,000 or 10,000 words or more. I don't like that.
- "Pllease, help me then..." she begged him. I felt this was the best part of the story. Maybe it deserves a much longer scene. Maybe I'll write some kind of scene like this if I do another crux story. I like the idea of the girl pleading for help. I like the idea of an onlooker who at first seems like he's willing to that possibility. He wants to chat about this. "How exactly could I help you?" "What are you asking for?" In other words, he starts to get her hopes up that maybe some help might be possible. Maybe he even taunts her a little more to her her hopes up, like asking, "What will you do for me if I help you out?" Make her imagine her gratitude and make up an offer about all the good things she'd be willing to do, trying desperately to negotiate for her release. But then, after a while, he can dash all of her hopes. "Giving the matter some more thought," he could say. "I think it's best if I don't help you out. I think it's best for you to serve out your sentence to the end." She could react badly to that, crying out in huge pain and frustration, with maybe a small touch of sexy helpless feelings mixed in, knowing there will be no release for her.

Overall the beginning was tough to accept. But after the first two paragraphs I found it engaging. And maybe it gave me a few ideas I might expand on. Great work.

 

[Zephirantes]

Thank you, dear friend, for both your kind comments and accurate criticism.
You've been most gentle.

I agree with you, the start of the story is hard to believe indeed.
Point is, I did it because I tried to achieve 3 goals:

1. Avoiding too many explanations and world building.
   I used to enjoy both, but lately I've come to realize that, as a reader, I often don't want to go thru a lengthy explanation of the world's setting to read a story.
   
   
2. Immediately coming to what's interesting: a crucified girl dying, and a man watching her agony.
   Overall, I think starting in medias res (it's good to use Latin sentences in a crucifixion forum ) is a good thing for a story.
   
   
3. Creating a surreal setting out of the start.
   In snuff-fiction I like an eerie, campy atmosphere, like for instance in Dolcett's comics.
   Something that is so un-realistic to be in the dream-like category.
   Or, well, nightmare-like for poor Susan here.

PS: please feel absolutely free to expand anything you want as you see fit.
I look forward to read some new BDSM or snuff story from you.

 

[malins]

yes the premise isn't "realistic" but that's not always necessary ... just putting the surreal part right at the beginning means the reader can quickly decide whether they can suspend disbelief on that and go on, or would prefer to bail out.

here the storyline pushed enough buttons for me to follow it ... Dolcett stuff doesn't at all but I see how the approach is similar.

Starting in medias res is imho always a good approach ... I think that also & especially applies to stories with a lot of background/worldbuilding, just throw the reader right in and reveal the world as you go along.

Also ... and that's probably unintended, but the title "the man with the van" kind of suggests the common abduct,abuse,kill scenario, but upon reading it isn't, a nice little trick with the expectations.

 

[Zephirantes]

yes the premise isn't "realistic" but that's not always necessary ... just putting the surreal part right at the beginning means the reader can quickly decide whether they can suspend disbelief on that and go on, or would prefer to bail out.

Maybe I should have put there a brief synopsis, really just like one line, saying:

An ordinary man accidentally comes across a crucified girl, conveniently under the shade of a plant to protect her from the heat and make her last longer...

here the storyline pushed enough buttons for me to follow it ... Dolcett stuff doesn't at all but I see how the approach is similar.

Most Dolcett's stuff is focused on cannibalism and like that.
I'm not particularly turned on by that, but I appreciate the execution parts.
In particular, the victims/executees dealing with the complex emotions on undergoing a painful, humiliating death.

And I appreciate, most of all, the "campy" atmosphere: for me it is important because on the one hand it makes sure that it does not get taken too seriously as the story is clearly unrealistic; on the other hand, having put realism aside, it allows us to explore certain situations more freely.

To give you an example: please just imagine writing a snuff story using someone like Dahmer, a real murderer, as the killer of the day.
To write a story related to his murders... not only would you have to accurately inform yourself of his actual crimes (which is repulsive enough) to find space and time in which to set up your story, but the story itself would be... in very poor taste, since you would be exploiting the horrific deaths of real people to tack your own personal narrative on top of it.
If I wrote something like that, I would feel like an exploiter of others' suffering, which I find... reprehensible (to use gentle words).
Also, a story like that, I think (I hope!) no one would like... well, considering the success of the Netflix's show on Dahmer I'm not so sure. At the very least, I would not like it.

I do think that in the domain of storytelling, of literature, of fiction, it is important to free oneself from the obligation to be slavishly adherent to reality.

Starting in medias res is imho always a good approach ... I think that also & especially applies to stories with a lot of background/worldbuilding, just throw the reader right in and reveal the world as you go along.

Also, in snuff stories I am personally more interested in the power dynamics, and reactions to pain, death, and exposure.

I'm not really interested in what caused a cute girl to be nailed naked to a cross and left to die.
My interest is in how she copes with that, how she interacts with the free people (whereas she is pinned to the wood) around her, and so on...

Also ... and that's probably unintended, but the title "the man with the van" kind of suggests the common abduct, abuse, kill scenario, but upon reading it isn't, a nice little trick with the expectations.

When I decided for the title, I wondered briefly that it might have mislead the reader into believing something like that, an "abduct and kill" scenario.
If people were mislead, it's my fault, I didn't give appropriate consideration to that possibility.

What I wanted to convey, was the idea of an everyman with a normal business (a working class man that uses a van to sell his merchandise).
To tell the truth, for the first time in my stories, I tried to tell a snuff story more from a viewer's point of view.
As I said, I tried to portray him as an ordinary person at least by profession, and acceptably sympathetic and affable. Though, mind you, not so sympathetic and empathetic as to save the poor naked girl from the death and agony awaiting her... but enough to keep her company and say a few words of comfort.

Not Prince Charming on a white horse rescuing the girl in distress. But a traveling salesman enjoying the spectacle of her unavoidable humiliation and death, while trying to keep her spirits up to help the girl retain a sense of self (and, in a way, of dignity too) up until the end.
I find this to be the most erotically stimulating combination (IMHO).

 

[tygavin]

Maybe I should have put there a brief synopsis, really just like one line, saying:

An ordinary man accidentally comes across a crucified girl, conveniently under the shade of a plant to protect her from the heat and make her last longer...



Most Dolcett's stuff is focused on cannibalism and like that.
I'm not particularly turned on by that, but I appreciate the execution parts.
In particular, the victims/executees dealing with the complex emotions on undergoing a painful, humiliating death.

And I appreciate, most of all, the "campy" atmosphere: for me it is important because on the one hand it makes sure that it does not get taken too seriously as the story is clearly unrealistic; on the other hand, having put realism aside, it allows us to explore certain situations more freely.

To give you an example: please just imagine writing a snuff story using someone like Dahmer, a real murderer, as the killer of the day.
To write a story related to his murders... not only would you have to accurately inform yourself of his actual crimes (which is repulsive enough) to find space and time in which to set up your story, but the story itself would be... in very poor taste, since you would be exploiting the horrific deaths of real people to tack your own personal narrative on top of it.
If I wrote something like that, I would feel like an exploiter of others' suffering, which I find... reprehensible (to use gentle words).
Also, a story like that, I think (I hope!) no one would like... well, considering the success of the Netflix's show on Dahmer I'm not so sure. At the very least, I would not like it.

I do think that in the domain of storytelling, of literature, of fiction, it is important to free oneself from the obligation to be slavishly adherent to reality.



Also, in snuff stories I am personally more interested in the power dynamics, and reactions to pain, death, and exposure.

I'm not really interested in what caused a cute girl to be nailed naked to a cross and left to die.
My interest is in how she copes with that, how she interacts with the free people (whereas she is pinned to the wood) around her, and so on...



When I decided for the title, I wondered briefly that it might have mislead the reader into believing something like that, an "abduct and kill" scenario.
If people were mislead, it's my fault, I didn't give appropriate consideration to that possibility.

What I wanted to convey, was the idea of an everyman with a normal business (a working class man that uses a van to sell his merchandise).
To tell the truth, for the first time in my stories, I tried to tell a snuff story more from a viewer's point of view.
As I said, I tried to portray him as an ordinary person at least by profession, and acceptably sympathetic and affable. Though, mind you, not so sympathetic and empathetic as to save the poor naked girl from the death and agony awaiting her... but enough to keep her company and say a few words of comfort.

Not Prince Charming on a white horse rescuing the girl in distress. But a traveling salesman enjoying the spectacle of her unavoidable humiliation and death, while trying to keep her spirits up to help the girl retain a sense of self (and, in a way, of dignity too) up until the end.
I find this to be the most erotically stimulating combination (IMHO).

And you hit what you wanted. Very good story.