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The Nailing

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thinking (as some do during Lent) of the Stations of the Cross,
you might think of the Via Crucis,
the incidents between the Scourging and the Nailing,
as you stumble with your cross along the Sorrowful Way ...​
 
THE NAILING

He stands over me,
muscular and bare-chested,
hammer in one hand,
nails in the other

His eyes rove
over my naked body,
lying prone on the
rough wood of my cross

Pinned in place,
by his four assistants
Resistance is futile,
their grip is like iron

His gaze wanders,
from my feet up my legs
I close my thighs tightly,
a pointless effort

His eyes continue,
over my flat tummy,
to my softly mounded breasts,
and finally to my face

Eyes hard as diamonds,
no compassion he shows
“Bind her wrists”,
he commands

Arms outstretched,
leather straps applied
He kneels to my right,
holding out the first spike

A spike so terrifyingly thick,
with a flat dull point,
rust-encrusted shank,
and flattened head

The spike in position,
over my upturned wrist,
the dull tip of cold iron
pressing down on my flesh

He raises his hammer
I look away, averting my gaze,
tensing in dread anticipation,
of the blow soon to come

Come it does,
with unbelievable searing pain
My screams rend the air,
the nail buries in wood

He moves to my left,
the other wrist to nail
I beg for mercy, pitifully
But to no avail

With nerves raw,
sending lightning bolts
to my fevered brain
I scream, and scream again

The first part is over
With tears in my eyes
I watch as he stands
to survey his artistry

My fingers involuntarily curl
blood seeps from my wrists
I am pinned like a butterfly,
beautifully spread

My sweat-sheened chest rises and falls
I struggle to move my legs
Awaiting his orders,
strong hands hold my ankles

“Left one first”,
He growls at his men
My knee is bent,
my sole touches the rough wood

Leather thong to hold,
my left foot in place
Right leg stretched out,
my sex shamefully exposed

A leer on the face,
of the nearest handler
His foul breath in my face,
as he fondles my bare breast

Again the nail hovers,
this time over my delicate foot
The blow comes swiftly,
shattering bones

I arch my back,
twisting violently to the side
My handlers hold on,
‘till my struggles subside

One last spike to go,
the other foot,
strapped tightly in place,
just slightly above the first

I no longer care,
my eyes are glazed
This time no scream,
as the nail sinks into the beam

It’s over,
I am ready,
the crowd closes in,
eager for the raising to begin

Barbaria, 2014
HOT!
 
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