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The Seventeen Moments of He and She

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Blue said:
The Seventeen Moments of He and She
Moment Eight - Tied down

Though they had never discussed it, he decided he would give her one more chance to opt out of the whole procedure before any permanent damage had been done. At some point before the first nail went in, he would find a way to tell her he loved her, looking her straight in the eyes with his piercing gaze. If she responded, “l know,” or, even better, “I love you too” he would immediately stop the procedure, untie her from the cross and send his guard-friends home, paying them in full tomorrow.

However, if she stayed “in character” and continued to beg and plead for her life as planned, that would signal he had completely lost her, the crucifixion would go ahead and her eventual death on the cross was inevitable.

He had been looking for an opening to implement this secret plan at each step thus far, but nothing felt right. Now that the nailing step was at hand, he knew he was running out of time. A pit was growing in his stomach and the ensuing panic was beginning to take over control of his mind. His desperation began to approximate hers.

Nevertheless, he resolved to remain true to his word and proceeded with her execution as they had planned. Turning to his ersatz guards he said: “Ok, let’s get her down on the cross and tied up. You two each grab an arm and I’ll grab her legs.” They all swiftly moved into place.

“OH GOD, NO! OH GOD, NO! PLEASE DON’T PUT ME DOWN ON THE CROSS, NO! NO, OH GOD, NO!!!” Her voice was sheathed in fear, panic, and desperation, her eyes wide open and her entire body drenched in sweat. He untied her wrists but held them firmly in place until the guards could get into position to take over.

He was in command of everything now, albeit reluctantly: “Ok, you got her left arm? Good. You got her right arm now? Great. I’ll grab her legs and we’ll spin her 180 degrees to the right to get her facing away from the cross. She’s strong and gonna’ fight so keep your grip and mind your feet as you step over the cross. Ready? On three: one, two, three!” With that she was lifted off the ground, spun around and lowered to the beam.

“NO, PLEASE, NO, PLEASE...... NO!!!!!!! DON’T DO THIS! PLEASE STOP, PLEASE, PLEASE!!!! DON’T PUT ME ON THE CROSS!!! OH GOD, PLEASE SAVE ME!!!!!!” She was shouting frantically at the top of her lungs, struggling as best she could against her fate. Despite her struggles, the trio of men handling her were up to the task and she soon felt her damp back against the cool wood of the cross.

Lying there was torment for her, the beginning of her long and agonizing relationship with this merciless killing machine. A relationship she would not survive. She was beginning to hyperventilate as he sat on her torso, pushing down on her shoulders. He could see the terror in her eyes steadily mounting while the pit in his stomach grew to encompass his entire body. He never wanted it to go this far...

As she sensed her arms being stretched out her head swung maniacally from side-to-side, almost as if she couldn’t comprehend what was actually happening and needed visual confirmation. She had stopped screaming and was now openly weeping as the men began securing her to the cross.

He had devised a relatively easy method for securing her arms to the beam: having pre-drilled holes where he had measured specific attaching points would be. There, he created a series of three rope loops, one for near her elbow, one for midway between her elbow and wrist, and one covering her palm. The loops were wide enough so that the men could easily bring her struggling arms through them. Once her arms were deemed in position all that had to be done was pull on the ropes and they would tighten in place, held secure by a pre-measured loop. Simple, yet effective... he jokingly referred to it as “Cross by IKEA.”

The system worked well, almost too well... His head was swimming in desperation for a sign of an opening while her head was swimming in sheer, unadulterated terror as the time of her nailing drew near. The men could hear her babbling something that sounded prayerful, but her mouth was quivering too much to make sense of anything.

He was getting visibly shaken, seeing her with arms spread and roped to the beam, ready for nailing. The look of utter panic and terror on her face was crushing him: her soundless open-mouth cries flayed his soul.

“We should um... We’ve got to um... Time to...” He was losing it in front of her and in front of his men. One of them offered to tie her legs. The thought of someone else handling her snapped him out of his daze immediately:” No, I’m good, I’m good now. Thanks, but that’s my job and mine alone.”

He knelt by her feet, grabbed both ankles and lifted her legs high in the air so he could use his shoulder to get her torso in the right spot. “NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!! OH GOD, PLEASE, NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!” This scream was the loudest yet, it was gut-wrenching for him to hear.

He maneuvered her ass to the marked spot despite her flailing legs and pleas for mercy. Once again, he thought about how not twelve hours earlier these same legs had been wrapped around his torso in unbridled passion, begging him to fuck her again and again. In a small show of frustration, he took his left hand and open palm smacked her hard on her belly, knocking the wind out of her just long enough to affix the ropes to her feet, completely securing her to the cross.

She was now fixed by rope to a cross, her cross, the instrument of her execution, the instrument of her death. Soon, the ropes would be replaced by grotesque nails pounded through her wrists and feet. She panicked at the thought of what was next to come, straining against the ropes but felt no give, no wiggle room: he had done a good job securing her. She would not be free from this cross until she was dead.

He panicked at the thought of what was next to come, watching her strain against the ropes, himself gripped in fear, dread, and terror.
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this is new!!!! the executioner who lacks courage. If you don't nail this bitch, she'll be mad at you for the rest of her life.
go a little courage.... make us hear his screams
 
The Seventeen Moments of He and She
Moment Nine - The Scream

He stood up, brushed himself off, and stepped away for a few moments to collect himself. The pit in his stomach had grown like a cancer, metastasizing to his very soul, the very essence of his being. He wanted to let her lie there a bit, give her time to dread the next step so much that it would give her pause about continuing. This would be his last chance to offer her an exit from the whole plan. Surely, once she saw the hammer and nails, she would come to her senses and accept his offer to stop, surely, she would do that… That possibility was the only thing keeping him together at the time.

She was frightened beyond her wildest imagination, enveloped in a cocoon of absolute terror and dread, knowing what was about to happen. She had regained her breath now, recovered from when he slapped the wind out of her. Still, even with regaining her breath there was no calming effect, quite the opposite. She could feel her heart racing as she hyperventilated, lifting her had she could see her sweat-drenched chest rising and falling rapidly, her breasts quivering as they followed her chest. Her nipples betrayed her, hard as pebbles though she certainly did not feel turned on by her situation - she was humiliated imagining what the guards thought of her display....

For their part the guards stood at attention in their original position, just as he had instructed. Though she was naked, exposed, and completely vulnerable to them while he was offsite for a moment, they maintained their promise of not violating her.

She had gradually stopped pleading during this brief respite, transitioning to both sobbing and praying at the same time. She laid her against the wood and looked up at the cloudless blue sky. She prayed that God would accept her ultimate act of atonement and welcome her into His Kingdom above. In the minute or two it took for him to compose himself she found a brief, fleeting feeling of peace.

His return shattered that feeling as she saw the hammer in one hand with the nails in the other. “NO, NO, NO, OH GOD NO!” Her eyes were bulging in sheer terror, straining against the ropes, trying to escape her fate. “Please, I beg you, please, please, please... don’t nail me, please don’t nail me, OH GOD, GOD, GOD, THEY WANT TO CRUCIFY ME, NO...! PLEASE...! STOP! STOP! NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!”

They had discussed this a hundred times: no matter how much she begged and pleaded for her life he was to continue with her execution, just as it would have happened in ancient times. She was still “in character” but the terror she was expressing was real. Her crucifixion was moments away, she was absolutely horrified, trembling with fear along her entire body.

He was horrified too. Kneeling in front of her, he reached for one of the grotesque nails laying in front of him with his trembling left hand. She gasped, her entire face frozen in a silent scream. He probed her wrist with his right hand, eventually finding the proper point of entry. Using his left hand, he positioned the nail and reached for the hammer with his right: both hands were noticeably shaking now, his mind on fire with doubt and regret. She began begging him to stop, incessantly, over and over, almost as if her mouth was moving on its own, detached from her brain.

The moment had arrived, he could clearly feel it... “HEY, HEY, STOP. STOP TALKING!!! SHUT THE FUCK UP AND LOOK AT ME! LOOK AT ME... LOOK. AT. ME..... STOP SCREAMING FOR ONE FUCKING SECOND!!!!”

She didn’t hear him at first, it took a few seconds for her panic-stricken brain to register his voice... she slowed down, only her heavy breathing making a sound. Her body drenched in sweat and her eyes awash with tears. He had a short window to make his case.

Staring into her eyes he emphatically stated his feelings for her: “LISTEN.... LISTEN. TO. ME.... I LOVE YOU...! I LOVE YOU...! AS I HAVE LOVED NO OTHER... I. LOVE. YOU!!!”

She returned his gaze.

“I DON’T WANT TO DO THIS...! YOU DON’T NEED TO DIE ON THIS FUCKING CROSS!!!! YOU CAN STOP NOW…”

She began crying again. This was off-script, and she wasn’t prepared for it. Her head shook back and forth as if silently saying no, no, no.

A shroud of quietude came over the entire site, sunlight streaming through the rough pine branches.

He reasoned with her now, softening his tone: “Please, you’ve got to listen to me… PLEASE! You’ve gone far enough… It’s ok, it’s ok, it’s ok… God will understand!!!! We can build a life together that will make it all right, everything will be all right!”

She looked at her outstretched arms, ready for the nails, while still taking in every word, every nuance of sight and sound from him. Yet she said nothing.

He pleaded: “DON’T. MAKE. ME. DO. THIS… WE SHOULD BE TOGETHER!!!! I LOVE YOU! I LOVE YOU!”

Her head turned to the side, eyes wet with tears. She was so sorry for everything… everything about her life... everything about the horrible sin that brought them together in the first place… everything she was making him feel right now… everything…

He begged: “PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE… DON’T MAKE ME DO THIS!!!

He was emotionally exhausted, spent, desperate. Telling her his true feelings made him feel as vulnerable as she was: he had borne his soul to her, laying everything on the line. It was up to her to choose. She chose him once before, he prayed for her to choose him again.

She looked up at him again through her tear-filled eyes. He was emotionally suffering as much as she was... his pain was as real as hers, and she was causing it. She didn’t expect to feel guilt as one of her emotions, lying on her cross awaiting the first nail.

In a split second her life flashed before her eyes. Memories of her childhood, her parents, her siblings. Memories of her sinful decision and its aftermath, how it haunted her. Memories of loves gained and lost, memories of distant family, friends, all of whom had come and gone over the years. Memories of him, his kindness, his ability to listen without judgment. Memories of their passion together, extreme pleasure given to each for each other. Memories of the crucifix still hanging to her neck just above her breasts and what it represented in her life, how important her faith was to her very existence... God had always guided her in every decision but one… she needed His Guidance now more than ever.

She locked eyes with him for a moment, a sustained, intense moment frozen in time, motionless, absolute stillness enveloping their entire world; then, suddenly, she seemed to be looking through him as if she was addressing someone else: “PLEASE, OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD.... NO, PLEASE DON’T NAIL ME!!! PLEASE, PLEASE, HAVE MERCY, I BEG YOU, NOOOOOOOO!!!!!”

He snapped, right in that moment. One could see it etched in his face. All hope lost, a tidal wave of emotions overwhelmed his brain, destroying all rational thought, all feeling, all boundaries of typical human behavior.

He lifted his hammer high and with the brute force of a thousand shattered souls he crashed it squarely on the nail head with the full weight of his body, cleanly passing through her wrist and plunging deep into the wood. Her scream was banshee-like, deafening... worse than a most gravely wounded animal. His scream was equally intense, snarling, roaring like a lion right in her face. Both of them were in utter agony, hers was physical, his was emotional. Two more strikes followed: the first nail was secured.

Quickly, he grabbed another nail, crawled over to the other arm, and got in position. Even though she was straining like mad against the ropes while screeching at the top of her lungs, he still found the spot to drive the nail through the right wrist and into the wood.

He was a different person now, completely without emotion, absolutely numb, indifferent to her struggles, and lacking the least bit of empathy in any sense. The Cross was breaking him just as it was breaking her.

Without hesitation, he held the second nail in position, this time with a steady hand. Her pleas and begging were like a distant voice far off in the background of his consciousness. He lifted the hammer high, then brought it down with a force even greater than the first, roaring like a man in hand-to-hand combat. Once again, the nail completely pierced her wrist, finding its way deep into the wood. She howled a deathly howl, lifting her torso in an arch, completely off the wood, holding it there, quivering, trembling for untold seconds before crashing back down on the wood.

Two more strikes and it was done. In less than two minutes he went from confessing his eternal love for her to brutally driving two nails through her wrists into a cross beam, with about the same remorse as he would hang a picture frame in his home.

He stood up and looked at her: he had made her one with the cross, permanently attached until her death. The agony etched on her face and embedded in her mournful cries was awful to the guards, but not to him anymore... he had crossed a personal line of behavior. He was a different man, awash in uncharted emotional territory. He looked at her bound feet with a look of hunger, wild desire in his eyes.
 
She has wounded him, ignoring his pleas and love. And so he uses his anger to punish her, nailing her to her final master for eternity.

My heart breaks for him but she is wedded to her deep guilt, need for penance, and her final betrothal to master crux!

Riveting, I feel BOTH their pain! :clap:
 
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