Zephirantes
Governor
I've checked: I'be been a user of this forum since like... 15 years? That's somethin'!
I remember a couple of great stories from the 'old days', including Jeddak's monumental "Serpent's Eyes" saga.
And yet, somehow my snuff fetishes drifted away from crucifixions and long sagas.
What really brought me back here, with a vengeance so-to-speak, where @DjEtla's delicious short, self contained crucifixion stories. That was like the end of 2021 (when I casually noticed his great works here).
One of these stories by DjEtla is about a girl named Melita ("Melita on the cross", you can find it also on pixiv in a slightly expanded version), sentenced to be crucified due to her father's stern resolution, and she's very, very afraid of crows feasting on her body as she hangs crucified (she's very good reason to be so scared by that, indeed).
DjEtla is a rather delicate, refined author, capable of perfectly depicting certain scenes with minimal details: I envy him for that, in fact. I heartily recommend all his snuff/bondage stories.
Alas, I'm not delicate, on the contrary I enjoy mixing dark humor with graphic rawness: I find this contrast 'thrillingly unsettling', in a way more scary than utter horror (what scares you most, a brutal murderer with an hockey mask that calls you names, or some polite and cheerful executioners very determined to inflict you agony and death no matter what?).
So, in my story I wanted to maintain the theme of birds feasting on crucified girls, but scaling the sex and the graphicness up a couple of notches: for that I decided that a single crucifee was not enough, so I opted for two pretty gals, their wrists nailed to the same patibulum.
Hope you like it.
It's a short story born out of a rather simple fantasy.
- - -
The cart creaks as it trundles through the dense, sun-dappled Whispering Woods. The towering trees form a canopy that shrouds the forest path in shadows, the dappled light dancing over the two slave girls seated on the rough wooden planks of the cart. Zenovia and Camilla, bound but otherwise free to move their hands, giggle nervously, their cheeks flushed with a mixture of fear and a strange, illicit thrill. The two Roman soldiers sitting at the front exchange knowing glances, amused by their prisoners’ peculiar behavior.
Zenovia’s slender fingers brush against Camilla’s bare thigh. “This is insane,” she whispers, her voice trembling as much from terror as excitement. “We’re going to be crucified, naked, in the middle of nowhere.”
Camilla smirks, her dark curls bouncing as the cart jolts over a stone. “Together, though!” she chirps, squeezing Zenovia’s hand. “At least we’ll have company. Better than snuffing it alone, don’t you think?”
Behind them, one of the soldiers, Marcus, chuckles and leans back on the cart rail. “Oh, you two are something else,” he says. “Most slaves we take to the cross are weeping or begging. Not you two—you’re giggling like you’re headed to a festival!”
“We’re terrified, thank you very much!” Camilla snaps, though her grin betrays her. “But you have to admit, there’s something…” She hesitates, looking to Zenovia for backup.
Zenovia blushes furiously but nods. “…Something exciting about it,” she admits. “The thought of being seen, naked, exposed, and helpless… it’s awful but…”
Camilla finishes the thought, her voice dropping to a teasing whisper. “…but also kind of hot.”
The other soldier, Gaius, nearly drops the reins laughing. “By the gods, Marcus, did you hear that? They’re excited to die on the cross!”
Marcus grins, his broad face ruddy from the midday heat. “Excited might be a stretch, but they’re clearly enjoying the attention. You girls should’ve been performers in the arena.”
Camilla rolls her eyes dramatically. “Oh sure, Gaius, Marcus, rub it in. We’re slaves! Not much career choice. And now? We’ll be nailed up for all the forest vultures to see. My ‘career’ ends with them pecking my…” She pauses, biting her lip and gesturing vaguely downward. “…you know… my most precious parts.”
The soldiers burst into laughter. “Your precious parts, eh?” Gaius mocks, wiping a tear from his eye. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. Those vultures’ll appreciate the delicacy.”
Zenovia shudders, the imagery vivid in her mind. She clutches at Camilla’s arm. “Do you think they’ll… really go for our…?”
“Pussies?” Camilla supplies cheerfully, then immediately wrinkles her nose. “Ugh, Zenovia, don’t make me picture that! But yeah, I suppose. They’re vultures, aren’t they? They don’t care about modesty.”
Zenovia groans, her hands covering her face. “Oh gods, I can’t stop thinking about it now. Them tearing into me while I’m still alive…” Her voice quivers, but her thighs press together instinctively.
Gaius, clearly enjoying the girls’ morbid fascination, leans over the back of the cart. “You’ll be too busy screaming from the nails to worry about the birds right away. Trust me, I’ve seen it. The cross does a fine job of tormenting you before they even show up.”
“Thank you for that comforting thought,” Camilla snaps sarcastically, though there’s a twinkle of humor in her eye. She nudges Zenovia. “See? We’ll be in agony long before they start nibbling on us.”
Zenovia shoots her a glare but can’t help a nervous laugh. “Oh great. That’s supposed to make me feel better?”
Marcus nudges Gaius with his elbow. “They’re funny, these two. Almost makes me feel bad we have to nail them up.”
“Almost,” Gaius replies, smirking. “Don’t get soft on me, Marcus. Orders are orders. Besides, they wanted to share a crossbeam. Makes our job easier.”
Camilla grins at Zenovia, ignoring the soldiers. “See? We’re helping! They should be grateful.”
Zenovia giggles despite herself, her fear momentarily forgotten. “Oh yes, let’s make sure our executioners have an easy time killing us. We’re such considerate little sluts.”
The cart jolts to a stop. The clearing ahead is bathed in golden light, the trees around it forming a natural amphitheater. A single, prepared upright stands in the center, its shadow long and ominous. The soldiers hop down, stretching and cracking their knuckles.
Gaius turns to the girls, grinning wickedly. “End of the line, ladies. Time to bare it all—for real this time.”
Camilla takes a deep breath, her fingers intertwining with Zenovia’s. “Well,” she whispers, her voice trembling. “I guess this is it.”
Zenovia squeezes her hand tightly, her other hand nervously brushing over her exposed thighs. “Together,” she says softly. “We’ll do this together.”
Gaius laughs, gesturing to the crossbeam laid on the ground beside the upright. “Hope you two are ready to snuggle. You’ll be nice and close when we nail you.”
Marcus smirks as he pulls a bag of nails from the cart. “Close enough to feel each other squirm.”
Camilla raises an eyebrow, a wry smile playing on her lips. “Oh, don’t worry, soldier boy. We’ve squirmed together plenty before.”
Zenovia gasps, swatting at her friend’s shoulder. “Camilla!”
Camilla giggles, leaning her head against Zenovia’s. “Hey, if we’re going out, I’m going out with a smile.”
As the cart comes to a gentle stop, Marcus and Gaius busy themselves with the unenviable task of preparing the cross, the patibulum laid out on the grassy earth, nails glistening in the sun beside a heavy mallet. The air, thick with the musk of the forest, carries the whispers of leaves and the distant calls of unseen birds. Yet, the atmosphere around the cart thrums with a different energy, palpable and charged, as Zenovia and Camilla begin to undress each other with shaky but determined hands.
"Well, if this is our last dance, let's make it a show," Camilla murmurs as she slips Zenovia’s tunic over her head, her fingers lingering on the soft skin beneath. Zenovia, in turn, tugs at Camilla’s clothes, her movements hesitant but driven by a wild, despairing courage.
Bare and unabashed, they press their bodies close, skin slick with sweat from the heat and their fear. With a fragile bravery, they begin to mirror each other’s movements, thighs sliding against each other, their wetness mingling. The scent of their arousal mingles with the earthy air, a raw, primal perfume.
"Look at them, the little death-sluts," Gaius chuckles, not unkindly, as he watches them from the corner of his eye while he measures the patibulum. "They’re putting on a hell of a pre-death show."
"Makes you wish we were just spectators, huh?" Marcus replies, his voice a mix of amusement and a pang of unexpected regret. "It’s a damn shame to nail such spirited girls."
The girls, lost in their own world of desperate pleasure, cling to each other. Zenovia’s lips find Camilla’s neck, her breath hot against her skin. Camilla responds by grinding harder, their clits brushing with each pass, sending jolts of pleasure through their writhing bodies.
"Do you think the gods watch this kind of show?" Zenovia gasps out, half-laughing, half-crying.
"If they do, they're damn lucky," Camilla answers, her voice breaking with a mix of climax and sobbing. "Oh gods, Zenovia, I can feel you everywhere..."
Marcus and Gaius exchange a look, a mix of professional detachment and human empathy coloring their features.
"They’re braver than most men I've nailed to the cross," Marcus remarks quietly, his hands idly playing with a nail.
"Brave or just mad with fear. Either way, they're magnificent," Gaius admits, his eyes not leaving the intertwined pair. "To die as they live, I suppose, in each other's arms."
As their bodies move in a rhythmic dance of desperation and fleeting ecstasy, Camilla whispers fiercely into Zenovia's ear. "Let’s cum together, one last time. Before the pain... before the end."
Zenovia nods, tears streaming down her face as she buries them in the crook of Camilla’s neck. "Yes, together, always together," she breathes out as their movements become more frantic, chasing the shattering release they both know will be their last shared pleasure.
Their cries fill the clearing, raw and uninhibited, as they climax together, their bodies shuddering in unison. The soldiers, solemn now, turn their backs respectfully, giving the girls a moment of privacy in their shared vulnerability.
"That was... that was something," Gaius says softly, almost reverently.
"Yeah," Marcus agrees, his voice thick. "Time to do our duty, though. Help them up, Gaius. Let's do this as gently as we can."
The girls, spent and momentarily sated, allow themselves to be helped to their feet, their legs weak but their spirits strangely fortified by their final act of defiance—of love.
"Thank you," Camilla says quietly as they are led to the cross, her voice steady despite the tremors that run through her body.
"For what?" Gaius asks, genuinely puzzled as he positions them beneath the patibulum.
"For letting us have that last moment. For being kind, in your way," Zenovia adds, her eyes meeting the soldiers' with a haunting clarity.
"It's the least we could do," Marcus says, his usual brashness subdued. "You deserve that much, at least."
And with that, the soldiers begin the grim task of positioning and nailing their charges to the cross, the forest echoing with the thud of the mallet and the cries of the girls. But even as they scream, their hands search for each other, fingers locking one last time in a final, defiant embrace.
As Marcus and Gaius lift the crossbeam to align it with the upright, Zenovia and Camilla's bodies hang limply for a moment, their limbs bound tightly to the wood. Marcus aligns the first nail, positioning it at Zenovia's wrist. The sharp point glints ominously in the filtered sunlight.
"Ready, sweetheart?" Marcus teases, his tone light but his eyes soft with pity.
Zenovia nods, her eyes squeezing shut. "Just do it," she whispers.
With a swift motion, Marcus drives the nail through her wrist. The sound of the hammer striking metal echoes through the clearing, followed by Zenovia's sharp cry. Beside her, Camilla winces, tears streaming down her face as she watches her friend's agony.
"Oh, Zenovia, your face..." Camilla gasps, trying to inject some levity. "You look like you're enjoying it too much, you death-slut."
Zenovia manages a pained chuckle, her breathing heavy. "Look who's talking. Wait until it's your turn, Cammie."
Gaius moves to Camilla, his hand steady as he places the nail. He winks at her, trying to ease the tension. "Let's see if you can match that scream, eh?"
As the nail pierces Camilla's flesh, her scream melds with the birds' startled cries overhead. Zenovia turns her head, watching through teary eyes, her own pain momentarily forgotten in the face of Camilla's torment.
"Your turn now... Ahh, Camilla! Watching you... it's... it's strangely erotic," Zenovia gasps, her voice shaking.
"And you, watching me suffer... does it turn you on, Zenovia?" Camilla asks, half-moaning, half-laughing through her tears.
Gaius chuckles, shaking his head. "You two are the most bizarrely cheerful pair we've ever crucified."
Marcus, finishing with Zenovia's other wrist, steps back to admire his handiwork. "They're fighters, these two. Even now, they're more alive than most we nail up."
"Alive and kicking... Well, not much kicking soon," Gaius adds grimly as he moves to nail their feet.
As he positions the nail at Zenovia's feet, she tries to distract herself by focusing on Camilla. "Look at us, tied up in such a compromising position. We really are a pair of kinky death-sluts, aren't we?"
"The kinkiest," Camilla agrees, her voice laced with pain and a dark amusement. "I bet those vultures will get more than they bargained for with us."
The soldiers, now working in unison to raise the cross, occasionally reach out to tweak a nipple or stroke a clit, eliciting gasps and shudders from the crucified girls. Their touches are rough but strangely comforting, a distraction from the overwhelming agony.
"You like that, huh?" Marcus teases as he pinches Camilla’s nipple, a wicked grin on his face.
"It's better than feeling just the pain... Ahh, keep doing that!" Camilla responds, her body twitching against the rough wood.
Zenovia groans as Gaius does the same, his fingers cruelly gentle. "Don't stop... it helps, somehow."
The cross is finally raised, the thud as it sets into the ground sending a jarring shock through their bodies. They hang there, their breathing heavy, each strike of the hammer still echoing in their bones.
"Your slutty nipples... so erect, even now," Camilla notes, a wry smile flickering across her lips despite the agony.
"Yours too. It’s like they’re trying to... ahh... reach out to me," Zenovia replies, her voice a mixture of pain and playful teasing.
"They are. They're saying, ‘Save me, Zenovia, save me from this cruel wood!’" Camilla laughs weakly, the absurdity of the situation pushing them into a dark, gallows humor.
"I’d save you if I could... even if it’s just to feel you one more time, before we snuff it!" Zenovia confesses, her face contorted as Gaius drives the final nail through her feet.
The soldiers step back, their job done, watching the two women writhe against their wooden bonds, their bodies a testament to both their suffering and their darkly erotic bond.
"Look at them, still joking, still teasing each other," Marcus says, wiping sweat from his brow.
"Yeah, to the very end," Gaius agrees, a note of respect in his voice. "Never seen anything like it."
As the sun casts longer and longer shadows over the forest, Zenovia and Camilla continue to exchange looks and words, their bond unbroken even as their bodies begin to fail. Their whispered words, filled with pain and love, are the last sounds they share in the fading light.
The afternoon sun begins to wane, casting long, haunting shadows across the clearing as Zenovia and Camilla, already hours into their crucifixion, engage in a torturous dance. Their bodies writhe against the rough wood, each movement a testament to their agonizing plight. Lucius, the soldier assigned to guard them until nightfall, watches with a mix of fascination and reluctant admiration.
"Quite the show you two are putting on," Lucius comments, leaning against his spear casually, his eyes never straying far from the naked, struggling forms before him.
"Glad you're enjoying the view," Camilla gasps, her voice laced with pain and sarcasm. "It’s not like we have much choice in our choreography."
"Ah, but such passion in your performance," Lucius jests, stepping closer. He uses the wooden pole of his lance, gently probing at Camilla's exposed pussy, drawing a shudder and a pained moan from her.
"You call this gentle?" Camilla chokes out, her body tensing around the wooden invader. "Feels like you're spear-fishing."
"Only trying to give you a little distraction from the nails," Lucius replies, a smirk playing on his lips as he switches his attention to Zenovia, who watches with a mix of dread and relief.
"And what about me? Don't leave me hanging too long," Zenovia quips, grimacing as the lance finds her. The sensation is as much a torment as it is a temporary reprieve from the pain in her wrists and feet.
"Never, my dear. I aim to please," Lucius assures her, his movements deliberate, calculated to elicit both comfort and discomfort.
The afternoon drags on, and the guard shifts. Titus takes over from Lucius, his demeanor less jovial but equally intrigued by the task of overseeing the crucified slaves.
"Heard you were keeping our guests entertained," Titus remarks dryly as Lucius briefs him.
"They're spirited ones. Even now, they find the strength to banter," Lucius responds, patting Titus on the back before departing.
Titus approaches the cross, his gaze sweeping over the women's exhausted yet defiant faces. "So, the entertainers. Let's see if we can keep your spirits up."
"What's your idea of entertainment, then? More poking and prodding?" Camilla asks, her tone both weary and wary.
"Something like that," Titus replies, adjusting the grip on his spear. He gently presses the tip against Zenovia’s clit, causing her to gasp sharply.
"Titus, the torturer," Zenovia manages to joke, her laughter tinged with agony. "Got a nice ring to it, don't you think?"
"I prefer 'Titus the Merciful,' actually," he quips back, shifting the pole to allow Camilla the same bitter mercy.
"Merciful? Ha! Let’s not mince words. We’re your playthings until we’re not amusing anymore," Camilla retorts, her voice growing fainter with each passing hour.
"True enough," Titus acknowledges, his eyes softening slightly. "But at least I can make your last hours... interesting."
As the sun sets, casting a golden glow that belies the gruesome scene, the girls cannot but continue their painful 'dance'.
Their bodies are marked by the brutality of their execution—the nails, the wood, the unyielding posture of death. Yet, their interaction with the guards, fraught with dark humor and fleeting touches of forced pleasure, offers a stark contrast to the grim reality of their sentence.
I remember a couple of great stories from the 'old days', including Jeddak's monumental "Serpent's Eyes" saga.
And yet, somehow my snuff fetishes drifted away from crucifixions and long sagas.
What really brought me back here, with a vengeance so-to-speak, where @DjEtla's delicious short, self contained crucifixion stories. That was like the end of 2021 (when I casually noticed his great works here).
One of these stories by DjEtla is about a girl named Melita ("Melita on the cross", you can find it also on pixiv in a slightly expanded version), sentenced to be crucified due to her father's stern resolution, and she's very, very afraid of crows feasting on her body as she hangs crucified (she's very good reason to be so scared by that, indeed).
DjEtla is a rather delicate, refined author, capable of perfectly depicting certain scenes with minimal details: I envy him for that, in fact. I heartily recommend all his snuff/bondage stories.
Alas, I'm not delicate, on the contrary I enjoy mixing dark humor with graphic rawness: I find this contrast 'thrillingly unsettling', in a way more scary than utter horror (what scares you most, a brutal murderer with an hockey mask that calls you names, or some polite and cheerful executioners very determined to inflict you agony and death no matter what?).
So, in my story I wanted to maintain the theme of birds feasting on crucified girls, but scaling the sex and the graphicness up a couple of notches: for that I decided that a single crucifee was not enough, so I opted for two pretty gals, their wrists nailed to the same patibulum.
Hope you like it.
It's a short story born out of a rather simple fantasy.
- - -
VULTURING VIGNETTE
The cart creaks as it trundles through the dense, sun-dappled Whispering Woods. The towering trees form a canopy that shrouds the forest path in shadows, the dappled light dancing over the two slave girls seated on the rough wooden planks of the cart. Zenovia and Camilla, bound but otherwise free to move their hands, giggle nervously, their cheeks flushed with a mixture of fear and a strange, illicit thrill. The two Roman soldiers sitting at the front exchange knowing glances, amused by their prisoners’ peculiar behavior.
Zenovia’s slender fingers brush against Camilla’s bare thigh. “This is insane,” she whispers, her voice trembling as much from terror as excitement. “We’re going to be crucified, naked, in the middle of nowhere.”
Camilla smirks, her dark curls bouncing as the cart jolts over a stone. “Together, though!” she chirps, squeezing Zenovia’s hand. “At least we’ll have company. Better than snuffing it alone, don’t you think?”
Behind them, one of the soldiers, Marcus, chuckles and leans back on the cart rail. “Oh, you two are something else,” he says. “Most slaves we take to the cross are weeping or begging. Not you two—you’re giggling like you’re headed to a festival!”
“We’re terrified, thank you very much!” Camilla snaps, though her grin betrays her. “But you have to admit, there’s something…” She hesitates, looking to Zenovia for backup.
Zenovia blushes furiously but nods. “…Something exciting about it,” she admits. “The thought of being seen, naked, exposed, and helpless… it’s awful but…”
Camilla finishes the thought, her voice dropping to a teasing whisper. “…but also kind of hot.”
The other soldier, Gaius, nearly drops the reins laughing. “By the gods, Marcus, did you hear that? They’re excited to die on the cross!”
Marcus grins, his broad face ruddy from the midday heat. “Excited might be a stretch, but they’re clearly enjoying the attention. You girls should’ve been performers in the arena.”
Camilla rolls her eyes dramatically. “Oh sure, Gaius, Marcus, rub it in. We’re slaves! Not much career choice. And now? We’ll be nailed up for all the forest vultures to see. My ‘career’ ends with them pecking my…” She pauses, biting her lip and gesturing vaguely downward. “…you know… my most precious parts.”
The soldiers burst into laughter. “Your precious parts, eh?” Gaius mocks, wiping a tear from his eye. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. Those vultures’ll appreciate the delicacy.”
Zenovia shudders, the imagery vivid in her mind. She clutches at Camilla’s arm. “Do you think they’ll… really go for our…?”
“Pussies?” Camilla supplies cheerfully, then immediately wrinkles her nose. “Ugh, Zenovia, don’t make me picture that! But yeah, I suppose. They’re vultures, aren’t they? They don’t care about modesty.”
Zenovia groans, her hands covering her face. “Oh gods, I can’t stop thinking about it now. Them tearing into me while I’m still alive…” Her voice quivers, but her thighs press together instinctively.
Gaius, clearly enjoying the girls’ morbid fascination, leans over the back of the cart. “You’ll be too busy screaming from the nails to worry about the birds right away. Trust me, I’ve seen it. The cross does a fine job of tormenting you before they even show up.”
“Thank you for that comforting thought,” Camilla snaps sarcastically, though there’s a twinkle of humor in her eye. She nudges Zenovia. “See? We’ll be in agony long before they start nibbling on us.”
Zenovia shoots her a glare but can’t help a nervous laugh. “Oh great. That’s supposed to make me feel better?”
Marcus nudges Gaius with his elbow. “They’re funny, these two. Almost makes me feel bad we have to nail them up.”
“Almost,” Gaius replies, smirking. “Don’t get soft on me, Marcus. Orders are orders. Besides, they wanted to share a crossbeam. Makes our job easier.”
Camilla grins at Zenovia, ignoring the soldiers. “See? We’re helping! They should be grateful.”
Zenovia giggles despite herself, her fear momentarily forgotten. “Oh yes, let’s make sure our executioners have an easy time killing us. We’re such considerate little sluts.”
The cart jolts to a stop. The clearing ahead is bathed in golden light, the trees around it forming a natural amphitheater. A single, prepared upright stands in the center, its shadow long and ominous. The soldiers hop down, stretching and cracking their knuckles.
Gaius turns to the girls, grinning wickedly. “End of the line, ladies. Time to bare it all—for real this time.”
Camilla takes a deep breath, her fingers intertwining with Zenovia’s. “Well,” she whispers, her voice trembling. “I guess this is it.”
Zenovia squeezes her hand tightly, her other hand nervously brushing over her exposed thighs. “Together,” she says softly. “We’ll do this together.”
Gaius laughs, gesturing to the crossbeam laid on the ground beside the upright. “Hope you two are ready to snuggle. You’ll be nice and close when we nail you.”
Marcus smirks as he pulls a bag of nails from the cart. “Close enough to feel each other squirm.”
Camilla raises an eyebrow, a wry smile playing on her lips. “Oh, don’t worry, soldier boy. We’ve squirmed together plenty before.”
Zenovia gasps, swatting at her friend’s shoulder. “Camilla!”
Camilla giggles, leaning her head against Zenovia’s. “Hey, if we’re going out, I’m going out with a smile.”
As the cart comes to a gentle stop, Marcus and Gaius busy themselves with the unenviable task of preparing the cross, the patibulum laid out on the grassy earth, nails glistening in the sun beside a heavy mallet. The air, thick with the musk of the forest, carries the whispers of leaves and the distant calls of unseen birds. Yet, the atmosphere around the cart thrums with a different energy, palpable and charged, as Zenovia and Camilla begin to undress each other with shaky but determined hands.
"Well, if this is our last dance, let's make it a show," Camilla murmurs as she slips Zenovia’s tunic over her head, her fingers lingering on the soft skin beneath. Zenovia, in turn, tugs at Camilla’s clothes, her movements hesitant but driven by a wild, despairing courage.
Bare and unabashed, they press their bodies close, skin slick with sweat from the heat and their fear. With a fragile bravery, they begin to mirror each other’s movements, thighs sliding against each other, their wetness mingling. The scent of their arousal mingles with the earthy air, a raw, primal perfume.
"Look at them, the little death-sluts," Gaius chuckles, not unkindly, as he watches them from the corner of his eye while he measures the patibulum. "They’re putting on a hell of a pre-death show."
"Makes you wish we were just spectators, huh?" Marcus replies, his voice a mix of amusement and a pang of unexpected regret. "It’s a damn shame to nail such spirited girls."
The girls, lost in their own world of desperate pleasure, cling to each other. Zenovia’s lips find Camilla’s neck, her breath hot against her skin. Camilla responds by grinding harder, their clits brushing with each pass, sending jolts of pleasure through their writhing bodies.
"Do you think the gods watch this kind of show?" Zenovia gasps out, half-laughing, half-crying.
"If they do, they're damn lucky," Camilla answers, her voice breaking with a mix of climax and sobbing. "Oh gods, Zenovia, I can feel you everywhere..."
Marcus and Gaius exchange a look, a mix of professional detachment and human empathy coloring their features.
"They’re braver than most men I've nailed to the cross," Marcus remarks quietly, his hands idly playing with a nail.
"Brave or just mad with fear. Either way, they're magnificent," Gaius admits, his eyes not leaving the intertwined pair. "To die as they live, I suppose, in each other's arms."
As their bodies move in a rhythmic dance of desperation and fleeting ecstasy, Camilla whispers fiercely into Zenovia's ear. "Let’s cum together, one last time. Before the pain... before the end."
Zenovia nods, tears streaming down her face as she buries them in the crook of Camilla’s neck. "Yes, together, always together," she breathes out as their movements become more frantic, chasing the shattering release they both know will be their last shared pleasure.
Their cries fill the clearing, raw and uninhibited, as they climax together, their bodies shuddering in unison. The soldiers, solemn now, turn their backs respectfully, giving the girls a moment of privacy in their shared vulnerability.
"That was... that was something," Gaius says softly, almost reverently.
"Yeah," Marcus agrees, his voice thick. "Time to do our duty, though. Help them up, Gaius. Let's do this as gently as we can."
The girls, spent and momentarily sated, allow themselves to be helped to their feet, their legs weak but their spirits strangely fortified by their final act of defiance—of love.
"Thank you," Camilla says quietly as they are led to the cross, her voice steady despite the tremors that run through her body.
"For what?" Gaius asks, genuinely puzzled as he positions them beneath the patibulum.
"For letting us have that last moment. For being kind, in your way," Zenovia adds, her eyes meeting the soldiers' with a haunting clarity.
"It's the least we could do," Marcus says, his usual brashness subdued. "You deserve that much, at least."
And with that, the soldiers begin the grim task of positioning and nailing their charges to the cross, the forest echoing with the thud of the mallet and the cries of the girls. But even as they scream, their hands search for each other, fingers locking one last time in a final, defiant embrace.
As Marcus and Gaius lift the crossbeam to align it with the upright, Zenovia and Camilla's bodies hang limply for a moment, their limbs bound tightly to the wood. Marcus aligns the first nail, positioning it at Zenovia's wrist. The sharp point glints ominously in the filtered sunlight.
"Ready, sweetheart?" Marcus teases, his tone light but his eyes soft with pity.
Zenovia nods, her eyes squeezing shut. "Just do it," she whispers.
With a swift motion, Marcus drives the nail through her wrist. The sound of the hammer striking metal echoes through the clearing, followed by Zenovia's sharp cry. Beside her, Camilla winces, tears streaming down her face as she watches her friend's agony.
"Oh, Zenovia, your face..." Camilla gasps, trying to inject some levity. "You look like you're enjoying it too much, you death-slut."
Zenovia manages a pained chuckle, her breathing heavy. "Look who's talking. Wait until it's your turn, Cammie."
Gaius moves to Camilla, his hand steady as he places the nail. He winks at her, trying to ease the tension. "Let's see if you can match that scream, eh?"
As the nail pierces Camilla's flesh, her scream melds with the birds' startled cries overhead. Zenovia turns her head, watching through teary eyes, her own pain momentarily forgotten in the face of Camilla's torment.
"Your turn now... Ahh, Camilla! Watching you... it's... it's strangely erotic," Zenovia gasps, her voice shaking.
"And you, watching me suffer... does it turn you on, Zenovia?" Camilla asks, half-moaning, half-laughing through her tears.
Gaius chuckles, shaking his head. "You two are the most bizarrely cheerful pair we've ever crucified."
Marcus, finishing with Zenovia's other wrist, steps back to admire his handiwork. "They're fighters, these two. Even now, they're more alive than most we nail up."
"Alive and kicking... Well, not much kicking soon," Gaius adds grimly as he moves to nail their feet.
As he positions the nail at Zenovia's feet, she tries to distract herself by focusing on Camilla. "Look at us, tied up in such a compromising position. We really are a pair of kinky death-sluts, aren't we?"
"The kinkiest," Camilla agrees, her voice laced with pain and a dark amusement. "I bet those vultures will get more than they bargained for with us."
The soldiers, now working in unison to raise the cross, occasionally reach out to tweak a nipple or stroke a clit, eliciting gasps and shudders from the crucified girls. Their touches are rough but strangely comforting, a distraction from the overwhelming agony.
"You like that, huh?" Marcus teases as he pinches Camilla’s nipple, a wicked grin on his face.
"It's better than feeling just the pain... Ahh, keep doing that!" Camilla responds, her body twitching against the rough wood.
Zenovia groans as Gaius does the same, his fingers cruelly gentle. "Don't stop... it helps, somehow."
The cross is finally raised, the thud as it sets into the ground sending a jarring shock through their bodies. They hang there, their breathing heavy, each strike of the hammer still echoing in their bones.
"Your slutty nipples... so erect, even now," Camilla notes, a wry smile flickering across her lips despite the agony.
"Yours too. It’s like they’re trying to... ahh... reach out to me," Zenovia replies, her voice a mixture of pain and playful teasing.
"They are. They're saying, ‘Save me, Zenovia, save me from this cruel wood!’" Camilla laughs weakly, the absurdity of the situation pushing them into a dark, gallows humor.
"I’d save you if I could... even if it’s just to feel you one more time, before we snuff it!" Zenovia confesses, her face contorted as Gaius drives the final nail through her feet.
The soldiers step back, their job done, watching the two women writhe against their wooden bonds, their bodies a testament to both their suffering and their darkly erotic bond.
"Look at them, still joking, still teasing each other," Marcus says, wiping sweat from his brow.
"Yeah, to the very end," Gaius agrees, a note of respect in his voice. "Never seen anything like it."
As the sun casts longer and longer shadows over the forest, Zenovia and Camilla continue to exchange looks and words, their bond unbroken even as their bodies begin to fail. Their whispered words, filled with pain and love, are the last sounds they share in the fading light.
The afternoon sun begins to wane, casting long, haunting shadows across the clearing as Zenovia and Camilla, already hours into their crucifixion, engage in a torturous dance. Their bodies writhe against the rough wood, each movement a testament to their agonizing plight. Lucius, the soldier assigned to guard them until nightfall, watches with a mix of fascination and reluctant admiration.
"Quite the show you two are putting on," Lucius comments, leaning against his spear casually, his eyes never straying far from the naked, struggling forms before him.
"Glad you're enjoying the view," Camilla gasps, her voice laced with pain and sarcasm. "It’s not like we have much choice in our choreography."
"Ah, but such passion in your performance," Lucius jests, stepping closer. He uses the wooden pole of his lance, gently probing at Camilla's exposed pussy, drawing a shudder and a pained moan from her.
"You call this gentle?" Camilla chokes out, her body tensing around the wooden invader. "Feels like you're spear-fishing."
"Only trying to give you a little distraction from the nails," Lucius replies, a smirk playing on his lips as he switches his attention to Zenovia, who watches with a mix of dread and relief.
"And what about me? Don't leave me hanging too long," Zenovia quips, grimacing as the lance finds her. The sensation is as much a torment as it is a temporary reprieve from the pain in her wrists and feet.
"Never, my dear. I aim to please," Lucius assures her, his movements deliberate, calculated to elicit both comfort and discomfort.
The afternoon drags on, and the guard shifts. Titus takes over from Lucius, his demeanor less jovial but equally intrigued by the task of overseeing the crucified slaves.
"Heard you were keeping our guests entertained," Titus remarks dryly as Lucius briefs him.
"They're spirited ones. Even now, they find the strength to banter," Lucius responds, patting Titus on the back before departing.
Titus approaches the cross, his gaze sweeping over the women's exhausted yet defiant faces. "So, the entertainers. Let's see if we can keep your spirits up."
"What's your idea of entertainment, then? More poking and prodding?" Camilla asks, her tone both weary and wary.
"Something like that," Titus replies, adjusting the grip on his spear. He gently presses the tip against Zenovia’s clit, causing her to gasp sharply.
"Titus, the torturer," Zenovia manages to joke, her laughter tinged with agony. "Got a nice ring to it, don't you think?"
"I prefer 'Titus the Merciful,' actually," he quips back, shifting the pole to allow Camilla the same bitter mercy.
"Merciful? Ha! Let’s not mince words. We’re your playthings until we’re not amusing anymore," Camilla retorts, her voice growing fainter with each passing hour.
"True enough," Titus acknowledges, his eyes softening slightly. "But at least I can make your last hours... interesting."
As the sun sets, casting a golden glow that belies the gruesome scene, the girls cannot but continue their painful 'dance'.
Their bodies are marked by the brutality of their execution—the nails, the wood, the unyielding posture of death. Yet, their interaction with the guards, fraught with dark humor and fleeting touches of forced pleasure, offers a stark contrast to the grim reality of their sentence.
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