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When to strip??

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GOING TO ORDER BUT there are other details on which we must discuss before writing a story:



ARREST:

The centurion will bring a uniform red color, which heralds a possible crucifixion. By going on horseback to the victim's home on the road will stop reading aloud the charges brought by the court to the victim.



THE STRIP:

Being the victim taken at home, will be carried on public roads, and here (if you choose to torture once the nipples), in front of everyone, will be stripped from the waist up and will be pierced nipples of the victim with 2 pins and nipples these two chains attached, together with the rope that ties the hands, should be observed and kept by the centurion on horseback.



THE TURN AFTER THE ARREST. Now: here we must make precise decisions.

1) A sign will be put to the victim's neck, front breast, with the written accusation.

2) The centurion may, at its option, go straight to the courthouse or take a longer route in order to acquaint the people that there is a woman with "opportunity" to be crucified.

3) The centurion will stop twice in set places, and will say out loud TO VICTIM charges written on the sign. Only then will go to the Palace of Justice.



THE CELL

The victim, here, will be stripped completely and will put CONVICTED OF THE DRESS, consisting of a pair of wooden clogs, the CLOTH OF PAY, a skirt and open front and back down to the feet.

There will always be in his cell with his hands tied in front as when she was arrested



The interrogation

.... I go on?
 
So much to think about!
I'd love to work on an 'Arrest, Interrogation, Torture, Trial' scenario,
perhaps it could be another thread.
But for now, let's get on with being crucified!
More of my side of that story tonight (Scottish time) if I've got the energy ...
 
Emiliano Maraldi said:
your feet scrape the ground while the nail will break the bones of the hand.
the old man looks at his feet and becomes even more hysterical. He can not wait to see you nail them.
Click to expand...
My side of the story picks up while my wrists are being nailed -

The cruelty of the nailing bewilders me – I'd braced myself for the brisk thud-thud of hammer on iron, but the teasing pretence and then the slow, sadistic drilling set me into a wild, demented weeping and shaking of my dark-haired head.

When both wrists have been nailed, I cease my cries and gaze up, panting. The gnarled old wizard's standing over me now. Though aged, he's still a tall, lowering figure. I shiver, feeling myself a little girl at school again – a little girl in trouble!

Suddenly he kneels, crouching over my loins. "He's going to rape me!" I gasp to myself and close my eyes. But no, he seizes my black curls then thrusts his face against mine and starts kissing – yes, kissing! No loving kiss, though, it's a bestial invasion of my mouth. I open it to his tongue, feel it exploring to the back of my throat, as he chews with his brown broken teeth at my soft, trembling lips.

Then I sense his tongue slip from between my lips across my cheeks. I know what's coming next, I don't flinch, just turn my head and sigh. Instantly, he begins biting, not just chewing but sinking his fangs right into my neck muscles. I'm squealing. He pauses, watches me squirm, then grabs my head and bites again, the other side, and down my throat to my breasts, till he clamps each of my nipples between his incisors and squeezes it till blood bursts and they're half-bitten off.

At last he stands, grinning his bloodstained teeth at my bruised face and tits. "Now, Sir," the Centurion asks, "How shall we nail her feet?" He replies in a strange, eerie, high-pitched whine, making my flesh creepy-cold. "God created woman to suffer, " he drones, "So that we men can catch a glimpse of the pains that await the infidels in hell! I want this slut to show just how perfectly He designed the female form for that one purpose – suffering. I want to see her screaming and straining as she dies, just like she's giving birth! So I want you to nail her feet to a side-angled block, so her knees are splayed wide apart, her thighs spread well open, so that the world can watch each pang of agony that grips her woman-parts!" The Centurion smiles, "You speak wisely, Sir, we can do exactly as you ask. I promise you she'll have a long and painful labour!"
 
Yeah I thought some pedant would pick up the anachronism!:p
But patriarchal misogyny certainly didn't begin with Islamic fundamentalists -
there was plenty about in pagan Rome
(it's very Scottish, too!:D)
 
Eulalia said:
Yeah I thought some pedant would pick up the anachronism!:p
But patriarchal misogyny certainly didn't begin with Islamic fundamentalists -
there was plenty about in pagan Rome
(it's very Scottish, too!:D)
Click to expand...
soooooooooooooooo scottish indeed ;)
 
It was time that someone did not ask to nail your feet that way. The centurion, still smiling, says the old man: "You are a true connoisseur ... and tell me you would also crown the queen when we finished our work?"

"Oh, I'd be happy. Before you raise it if I could kiss her still in its intimacy ... ptree to other pieces of silver" The centurion, smiling to himself, thought that the day was really lucky.

You, meanwhile, while you're naked with streccetto placed slightly to the side of the condemned which does not cover anything with his hands nailed to the beam, try to keep your legs closed. When you heard what you said you felt the two emptied, at their mercy, we invaded a major discomfort, you realized that you really can not do anything.

The old man, the spectator of many crucifixions, seems to have you read my mind, and, with eyes glistening gaurdandoti, says: "... eheheheh actually do something ... you can still move around naked on the cross when he comes up immediately to avoid the 'suffocation! You can try to leverage on your beautiful feet! Hihihihihihi !!!!"

Start crying, sobbing, your belly moves to the rhythm of the hiccups, your bell'ombelico rises and falls, which excites the crowd, curious, look at you with watchful eyes and bewitched. You see them, and you think that the whole universe goes to the beat of your sobbing.

Think of your bare feet, how they will be inghiodati, you are afraid, and so smears them nervously in the sandy soil without realizing it, dirty. They have not even left for the journey to Golgotha, you had to wear clogs in the cell.

You are reminded that old sage who had SNET during a session Buddhist saying: "Hell is here. On this earth!"

What is this hell? The crucifixion is really a martyrdom that exceeds human cruelty, perhaps demonic, the work of someone who is not human.

Perhaps your soul evolved needed this horrible experience to feel alive.

We find it incredible that your pain is the subject of much excitement, because this one is born that you have suffered the cruelty, suffering and you're suffering. All these thoughts, so articulate, follow one another quickly in your mind in a few seconds, and are abruptly interrupted by the sound of reality.

The sound of metal nails in the hands of soldiers makes its noise almost ice. Two soldiers take strong, each in their hands, your feet.

The old steward says, "Behold! Infernal pain begins How nice! Enjoy!"
 
Hearing the old man's evil words and mocking laughter, I instinctively press my thighs together, conscious that the scrap of rag – that the Torturer's used to wipe his bloodied hands on – is no sort of protection for my decency, more of a flag to draw attention. My torso rises and falls with my rhythmic gasps, as I try to cope with the gouging pain in my wrists.

Now they bring the block of wood for my feet to be nailed on. Soldiers grab my legs and tug them apart, I close my eyes in shame as youths whistle and jeer, led on by the old voyeur. The stipes jolts as they hammer the block in place, making my scourge-scarred spine jerk sharply, painfully.

Then one flexes my right leg and presses my foot against the block. The pain of the nail driven through the muscle and bone of my instep is far, far worse than that in my wrists. My screams are so loud, they echo even from the distant hills, blending in hideous disharmony with the eager cheers of the watchers.

As the second nail drives through my left foot, my mind is racing – this can't be happening to me! How can humans do this to a fellow-creature? Surely those monster's words can't be true? Yet they must be. I must have been created only to suffer, only to provide for men an image of Hell. Death would be lovely now, I wish my drumming heart would seize and stop – but death's a long way off – and, oh God, perhaps these torments will continue even after I'm dead – for ever and ever?

When my feet are nailed, the men stand and admire their handiwork. The old man kneels and fondles my thighs – they're shuddering with pain – then flicks aside the rag and thrusts his face into my groin. Again his tongue explores me, even more foully, again he chews at soft lips till I squeal. As he traps my clitoris between his teeth, my whole body leaps, my head's thrown back – I experience the height of ecstasy in a tidal wave of utmost pain. As he releases me, he licks again, then kneels up, "H'mmm," he proclaims, "Nice woman's cum – see how her juices flow, when she's introduced to Hell – where she belongs!"

I lower my eyes submissively, as the Centurion presses a wreath of knotted thorn-stems on to my temples, another focus of pain for me, my long locks begin to grow lank with blood. Now the soldiers, the old man, and others who've paid for the privilege, gather round and draw their bladders out to piss on me, to drive home to me my utter degradation, utter helplessness. All I can do is close my eyes and turn my head aside, pierced by the thorns, as the warm liquid swamps my face, shoulders, breasts and lower parts.

I'm ready now. Forget any hopes I might be able to resist, to ease the pain, to find release by losing consciousness or early death. I am to be raised up, a model for them to observe, of the worst that happens to a girl in Hell...
 
That was a nice compliment!
And a well deserved one!
 
As the Cross is lifting, I try to brace myself, tensing my legs to support my weight as I feel my sore, sweaty back slither down the splintery wood. Pain shoots up my shanks from my nailed feet, my knees shake, barely able to hold their positon. When I am nearly upright, they pause, manoeuvring the stipes so it'll drop correctly, I'm panting, moaning with pain. Then, aaah!, the wood slips into position with a jolt that erupts through my whole body. My legs fail, flexing outwards for all my efforts, my arms are tugged, racking pain tears through my wrists, my shoulders and my chest.

Minutes I am in shock, struggling frantically, twisting and heaving, as if there was any chance of pulling myself free of the relentlessly torturing nails. Gradually my senses tell me I'm making matters worse, much, much worse for myself. I start using my thighs to try to ease the strain on my arms and torso as long as I can bear the concentration of agony in my feet. When they can take no more, I sink slowly, swinging and twisting cautiously, trying to distribute the pain to different parts of my body, but of course no move I make brings any real relief.

Blinking through blood and sweat I see, and gasp with horror when I see it, a brazier of glowing coals being carried up by two soldiers and placed near the foot of my Cross. I close my eyes and hang my head in horror, unable to bear the thought of what's to come.

"You're dancing well, little whore!" I hear my old tormentor sneer, "We're enjoying her ballet, aren't we?" The crowd whistle and cheer. Still mostly men, though there's a couple of hard-faced, haughty looking ladies in fine dresses and jewellery among the privileged guests around me, and several girl-friends whooping with the lads in the crowd. "You like dancing naked, don't you, slut?" he prods me right in the groin. "You like boys looking at your body – now you're getting what you've always secretly longed for!"

I shake my head slowly, side to side, trying to ignore his taunts. Yet, in my tortured mind, he's probing a tender spot, a secret of my dreams and waking fantasies, something I'd hardly admit even to myself....

"You fancy a boy, don't you?" Again, he grabs at my vulva, again I shake my head, moaning softly, "No, no...." "Lying bitch, you fancy that Alaunus, the horse-groom from across the Euxine Sea!" I jerk in shock – how the hell does he know, how can he know my secret, I've never told anyone? "That's why you let your cloak slip off your shoulders whenever you visited the stables. That's why you hitched your dress up with a tuck under the girdle, so he'd see more of your nice long legs!"

I feel my cheeks burning. Even in crux-pain I'm blushing, a hot tingle spreading over my shoulders and upper chest. This is a new form of torture, mental torture, like all my girly secrets being read out in front of a giggling class!

"What were your dreams when you put sweet herbs under your pillow on the night of Lupercalia?" He thrusts his hand between my legs a third time, and begins invading me with his middle finger. "You dreamed of feeling his long, hard cock pushing up and up inside you, didn't you, slag?" His finger's sliding up and down, up and down, in my vagina. I lift my body, straightening my legs, but I can't escape his fingering. My head thrown back, I'm throbbing with involuntary arousal, hurling loud cries as he brings me, slowly, mercilessly, to the height of cruel orgasm.

With his left hand, he crawls his fingers over the outside of my girl-parts. "You dreamed of your womb swelling with his baby, didn't you?" My body flexes, bending away from the stipes, though the strain on my arms and thighs is hideous, my groans ever more desperate. His fingers move up to my breasts. "You dreamed of your boobs oozing with milk, your baby sucking at you – eh, cow?"

I'm weeping now, sobbing like a six-year-old. A girl in the crowd starts to chant:

"Cry baby cry,​
Poke her in the eye,​
Nail her on the crossbar​
And leave her there to die!"​

Laughing and jeering , they all join in.

After a few minutes of this fun, my tormentor raises his hand to quieten them, and drones on, "Well now your dreams are coming true – but not quite how you hoped, not with Alaunus!"

One of the Guards is holding a whip – not the kind they used on the Via Crucis, a much bigger, longer, heavier cart-whip. The old man takes it from him and waves it before my eyes. "Look, love-girl. This is what's going to wrap your bare body in its tender embrace!" He rubs it down my breasts and flanks, then swings round, giving it an expert flick that makes a sharp "Crack!" I start in terror, even girls in the crowd jump and yelp with fright.

He returns the whip to the Guard, and turns to the brazier, now burning fiercely. He lifts a long-handled pair of iron tongs and holds them under my nose so I smell the acrid stench of smouldering metal. "These are the lips that are going to kiss your pretty tits!" Instictively I swing my breasts away as he passes it very close to their skin, almost touching.

He puts the tongs back on the fire and draws out a poker, glowing red. That too he holds only a finger's length from my eyes, I'm shuddering, jabbering incoherently, maddened with terror. "And this –" he jerks it up sharply to demonstrate, "this is the long, hard prick that's going to fuck you, baby, right up your cunt!"

As I gabble out pointless, pathetic pleas for mercy, he turns to the Centurion, almost singing in gleeful triumph – "Let Eulalia's love-making begin!"
 
PhilX said:
Just a quick reflection that isnÂ’t particularly interesting, but one that I reckon adds some spice to the crucifixion scenario.
As I read most of your comments you all seem to agree on the following; the victim, male or female, is first stripped completely and scourged, then they carry the cross or platibulum naked through the crowded streets to their execution. This is most likely what the procedure was in roman times.
However in my own mind, after the scourging - which can be done to the victim naked, they are then dressed in something, either a ridiculous item of clothing to encourage ribald mockery from the crowd, or flimsy rags; a loin cloth and/ or something thrown over their shoulders to scantily cover them on their way through the crowds.
Only when they arrive at the place of crucifixion are these bits of clothing savagely torn off.
This to me adds to the build-up of tension. The crowd can view the victim for a longish while and speculate amongst themselves as to how they would look naked, enjoying the prospect. The victim, though enduring and struggling against enormous pain and exhaustion, is still anticipating the shame of being stripped naked in front of this baying mass of people.
The moment of arrival at the execution place should be climactic. The eventual and much awaited stripping, the nailing and finally the raising of the cross. Only when itÂ’s up can all those present gloat on the victimÂ’s nakedness.
If they are naked right from the start this tension is missed.
Am I the only one to imagine the scene this way??
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One can see merit to what you say here as the act of stripping in public is part of the humiliation of the punishment to follow. The act of dressing one in some ludicrous garb for mockery was done in the Inquisition Era so it would fit with this I can see. Most of the art depicts the prisoner either naked or in some form of loincloth leading up to the actual event,then it removed once on the cross.
 
Rondetto said:
The ideal is for a series of scenes. I would favour:

1)Arrest - by soldiers preferably, in some sort of historical setting, Roman is best. This would involve the woman being siezed and dragged away to an interrogation centre, dungeon or prison of some sort.She would be flung, fully clothed, into a cell. This would be very basic - bare stone,no amenities. She would not be told the reason and not given any sustainance. Possibly she could be manacled, but not stripped...yet.

2)Rape - she hears soldiers approaching and the cell door is flung open. they enter and command her to strip. They have whips but slap her when she refuses and tries to insisit on her rights.She then submits, terrified, and removes her clothes. She is then raped by the soldiers. Before they leave the cell, they pinion her arms behind her back and stroke her breasts with a whip, describing her ordeal to come. As they leave the cell, they throw her clothes at her and order her to dress.

3)Interrogation - she is left for a further long period in the cell until soldiers come again and drag her, clothed again, into a chamber or auditorium. She is manacled hand and foot as she is questioned. The charges are spurious but eventually one of the interrogators announces the verdict: crucifixion, preceded by mandatory scourging. Events speed up at this point and she is hustled away. At this point I have a dilemma: flogging by soldiers in the dungeon, or in public. Whatever, the flogging should be prior to the walk to the crucifixion spot.

4)Scourging - she is stripped naked by the guards (public or in closed session - you advise me!). The flogging frame is two high vertical posts. She is chained,naked as high as possible so the body is stretched. Her feet should be brushing the ground only. The whip is a single thong (ie not a cat or flagellum - ie a departure from Roman style). Ther are two scourgers (male), one left handed,one right. They work first the rear of the body to create a criss-cross pattern of strkes. The back, buttocks and rear thighs are struck, say ten strokes each man. She is revived with a bucket of cold water if necessary. They than move to the front and administer 20 more strokes to chest, breasts, stomach and front thighs. Each lash should draw blood. The woman is left to hang for a few moments at the end whilst the cross or patibulum is readied. She is then cut down and a ragged loin cloth and shift is thrown over her. The timber is placed on her shoulders and she is made to walk to the execution place, about 1 km.

4)Crucifixion - At the place, she collapses, exhausted , on the ground. She is, however, immediately made to stand and the shift torn roughly from her body. This is intended to reopen the wounds of the scourging, cause further agony and draw more blood. She is then thrown roughly to the ground, and her hands nailed to the wood. Her feet are nailed in such a way as to expose her sex ie sideways on the wood or in a diamond shape through the sides of her feet. The cross is raised and the dance may then begin.

Please feel free to differ from my narrative; I would love to hear your variations.
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I think what you have said pretty much covers the whole gamit, seems pretty accurate to me from this point.
 
dear friend,
nudity in Roman times, it was right away, but we (for Eulalia even more), as you say, we want to hear this "tension" for the stripping, then, will be stripped from 2 Eulalia gaurdie of my only two moments :
1) before whipping
2) before being stretched and nailed

The public will thus benefit from an adequate strip!

I would rather hear from you some tips on whipping

The story is continuing. In a few days will be published
 
It's good to see this old thread of mine reopened. Also enjoyable to read the exciting narrative being created between you all!

All we can do is speculate about what a crucifixion would be like, the actual crucifixion would be pretty horrible & disgusting to watch. To witness people being tortured & humiliated like that would be very alien to our sensibilities now. Yet would it?

It is amazing how rational thinking people can be transformed by mob-influence; an element of anger can be whipped up fast into a riot as was seen in Britain last month. Hatred against those convicted of serious crimes could create a very hostile crowd, keen to see the maximum pain & bloodshed inflicted on those being executed. The lead-up to the actual crucifixion would do a lot in drumming-up the crowd hostility.

Seeing others in extreme pain & trauma can cause two very different reactions, one it would evoke compassion & the will to help, yet it can also cause the exact opposite & make the onlooker feel contempt & loathing for the sufferer. What the general mood of the majority around one might be has a big bearing on this.

People don't like criminals, unless one is a friend or relative of a convicted malefactor the general feeling is that they should get what they deserve. So seeing a poor wretch bearing a patibulum on the way through the streets to be crucified outside the city walls would be a thing of interest & most likely disgust.

One could imagine the scenario;….. the whole place abuzz with anticipation, people jockeying for a good position beside the road to see the victims being driven to their execution. It is easy to gauge how far the procession is by the shouting & laughter. Around one people are discussing the sentences & the crimes that have been committed. Everyone in the city would know about the executions as the trials & sentencing would nearly always have been a day or two beforehand & the results widely publicised. This means there was plenty of time for the prisoners to be abused by the prison guards, they would have suffered terribly during the time after their sentencing & their official scourging. Even before this scourging they would be sleep-deprived, starved, & very weak, whether men or women they would have had to endure gang-rape by the guards. The atrocities they would have suffered would be in a completely different league to the so-called abuse that soldiers have been accused of recently in Iraq - after sentencing to death these victims had no rights, they were dead-meat.

The noise gets louder, soldiers on horse-back ride past clearing the roadway, then come the victims. They are bare-footed & dressed in what remains of their torn, filthy tunics, the backs of which are completely red with the blood from their scourging. Their arms are pulled out along the patibula & roped in position, if they stumbled & fell nothing would stop their faces smashing into the rough cobbles of the roadway. And fall they will as the roadway where they are forced to walk is slippery with horse shit & even worse, night waste emptied out of chamber pots that morning. Us spectators have the luxury of being able to cross the road by the high stepping-stones placed a cartwheels' width apart, these are hazards that the victims have to avoid, stumbling into one of these blocks will rip the skin off the shins. Down in the roadway they are vulnerably below the crowds & guards up on the raised sidewalk, the blows of the canes & whips of the guards are therefore all the more forceful. The victims look pathetic, nobody has any compassion for them!

We have now a choice. Judging by the physical appearance & sex of the victims, do we follow the procession out through the gate to the stinking execution ground to witness the next stage of their torture, or do we hurl some horrible insult at them & then leave to get on with the day's work? If the prisoners are attractive, or strong, or even better female, the temptation to watch what happens next is more than tempting. We all know that once they get to the execution place the victims will be stripped completely naked before they are nailed to the cross. That is something to savour! The anticipation of the women's legs pulled wide apart or the ridiculous sight of a man's penis swinging around as he writhes up there in agony is something to look forward to, even better if the man gets an erection, watching the women in the crowd reacting with shrieks of mock horror to that is very amusing. The sight of the naked women victims makes all the men in the crowd conscious of their tunics becoming out of shape at the front! Yes watching a crucifixion can be enormous fun, & usually makes me lust for my wife once I'm back home!
 
PhilX said:
The sight of the naked women victims makes all the men in the crowd conscious of their tunics becoming out of shape at the front! Yes watching a crucifixion can be enormous fun, & usually makes me lust for my wife once I'm back home!
Click to expand...

there'll be girls waiting along the way for punters who can't wait!​
 
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