Thursday, April 23, 2009

The Novice

He wanted to join The Club. Heaven knows how he found out about our rather kinky activities, but he had, and he wanted in. His qualifications were weak, to say the least. Lots and lots of fantasies, very little reality. He wanted to become initiated and participate as an active member.

I knew the kind. He had experienced some light bondage, usually while getting fucked by a girlfriend. He dreamed of more intense scenes, but had never experienced anything greater than a fuck while spread eagled in ropes. And of course, he dreamed that anything involving nude women would be pleasurable for him.

But, Steve and Sean wanted to let him in. I was against it, I felt he could not be trusted and would not contribute to our group, which was very tight, and very intimate. Without my vote, he was out.

I decided to see how dedicated he was, and how far he would go to fulfill his fantasies.

The deal was - we would both be crucified. That alone made his eyes go a little funny - he was just getting a taste of how extreme our group could be. The one that asked to be brought down first would then act as slave to the other, from that moment on, for a period of 7 days with the usual limits.

He didn't know what the usual limits were, and didn't ask, which showed just how naive he was.

I am 5'6" with long black hair, slim body and nice breasts. My skin is fair and contrasts nicely with the dark hair. Some have called me goth, which is a little unfair as I wear black only about 80% of the time and don't have any tattoos. Guys seem to like me though. Girls too, actually.

It was clear that he liked my looks and the idea of being on a cross with me was giving him a hard-on as we sat there discussing it.

The day was set, the rules explained. We were to present ourselves at the theater for "processing" early in the morning, and would then be taken to an undisclosed location. Crucifixion would take place out of doors, in a location where the entire group would gather and observe.

He was smiling when he left, because down deep he thought he would outlast me and then have me as his toy for 7 days. I smiled when he left because I had been crucified once and knew I could outlast him, and was going to enjoy teaching him a lesson. It had been a while since I had played with a dedicated slave toy.

The day arrived. A Saturday, early morning. The stars were disappearing and giving way to the glow of dawn. It was going to be a fine day, though I knew that the direct sunlight would be hot, very hot. I had Sean drive me to the theater, as I knew that I might not be able to drive myself home. I felt a chill run through my spine when I thought about voluntarily walking into this situation, and the possible consequences. It was a chill of anticipation, eagerness, curiosity, and just a bit of fear that made all the rest of the emotions even more exciting.

He was already there, his car parked in the lot with a number of others. Many of the group had risen early to observe the preprocessing. All the better. I loved an audience, being a confirmed exhibitionist. The more humiliating the ordeal, the more I got off on people watching me.

The stage was bright, there was some noise from the observers in the audience. I walked on stage and presented myself to the executioner, so-called because he was in charge of the entire process. The novice was there as well, standing nervously. I was wearing a light cotton dress that was thin and clung to my body in interesting places, but no makeup (which would just make things more miserable once I was hanging from the tree). I was braless, which was pretty clear through the sheer material. He saw me, and I could almost see his erection pop up.

The executioner went over a few rules, and the ritual began.

We knelt, and each kissed a rope hanging from the theater catwalks above the stage. The rope was then looped over my wrists several times, crossed and knotted. It was tight, and I could feel that wriggling was not going to accomplish anything. I waited as the novice was also tied.

At the executioner's signal, the ropes began lifting up, pulling my arms up in front of me, and then lifting up over my head. The slow rise continued, stretching my arms above me, and I felt the strain on my joints as my weight was slowly lifted up and off the ground. I felt the pressure of my weight pulling on shoulder and elbow joints as my feet lifted off the stage. My arms pressed together and pushed my head forward, my hair hanging down in front of me. A slight cramping set in to my sides from the muscles pulled out of shape as I swung slightly back and forth, my pointed feet a few inches from the floor.

With a quick, expert motion the executioner cut my dress up the center and then across the shoulders. It fell from my body to a heap on the floor. A quick rip and my panties were torn off, and I was hanging naked before the audience. Most had seen me naked before, some many times and up close, but there was still a murmur of appreciation that thrilled me.

I heard the ripping of material and a moan of displeasure and wriggled a little to see the executioner cutting the jeans off of the novice. He had not realized that his clothes were forfeit during the procedure and had worn heavy denim, a big mistake. When the last of his clothes were removed, we were both turned to face each other, and our legs were tied down to a weight on the floor to keep us from swinging around too much.

His erection had once again swelled as soon as he saw me hanging naked. This was a dream fulfilled for him, so far. The discomfort of the suspension was well within his liking, and having me dangling naked before him was a bonus. His cock was large, and rock hard. We hung together, observing each others naked bodies as the audience observed us.

Two assistants arrived on stage, each with a 9-tailed flogger made of leather.

The first stroke hit me without warning, stinging across my ass like the tendrils of a jellyfish. I yelped, and wriggled a little as I hung. At the same time, the novice took a stroke. I was able to recover from the sharp pain long enough to observe his stretched body, concave stomach and protruding chest, just as the strips of leather wrapped around him. He jerked, gritted his teeth and looked at me.

My breasts exploded in pain as the flogger wrapped around my right side and kissed my nipples with a snap.

"Aaghh... agghhhh... oooaaahhhhggg...." I had begun a rhythmic grunting complaint with each stroke of the flogger. I couldn't help it. You may feel brave but your body has different ideas when it starts to feel like the skin is being peeled from you inch by inch.

I could see the novice through my tears, and observed his flogging was thorough, moving up and down his body leaving bright red welts. I could see my breasts, and they were an angry red in stripes. I noticed with the oddest feeling that they jiggled each time the flogger cut in to my skin again.

A scream was issued by the novice after a particularly deep stroke. He no longer had an erection. I was just trying to deal with my own pain now, with no energy to gloat. My flesh was on fire, my breathing was raspy, and I was jerking involuntarily, even when the flogger was not burning lines in to my skin.

Finally, just when I began wondering whether my shoulders would be dislocating before I was even tied to the cross, the flogging was over. I hung motionless, staring at the floor, watching the drool from my partially opened mouth drip and gather just below my feet. When they lowered me, I collapsed in a heap on the floor, just resting and hoping my arms would recover from the suspension quickly.

The assistant came to me and rolled me over to my stomach. My wrists were untied and then forced behind my back. I acutally screamed at that point with the pain from my shoulders which had not completely settled back in place. My wrists were tied behind my back, firmly, and the remaining rope was looped around my neck to pull my tied wrists higher up. I grunted from the pain and strain of the position.

Strong hands lifted me by my shoulders, and dragged me over to where the novice lay on the floor. He was similarly tied, but was laying on his back. To my surprise, the executioner lay me on top of the novice, stomach to stomach, face to face, hip to hip. I started to make sounds of protest, but was slapped hard.

Next thing I knew my ankles were being tied to the novice's ankles. Tightly. Then my knees were tied to his. Our legs were firmly attached.

Lastly, a strap or belt was wrapped around our waists and cinched tight. It pushed the air out of me with a whoosh, and I felt pain from my intestines being pressed out of place.

Being tied to this guy, naked, still stinging from the flogging, was about as humiliating as I could imagine. The audience loved it, and clapped as our legs flailed together and we struggled against each other. It seemed as if there were some sort of poetic dance between the two condemned prisoners.

I was getting wet, this was such a hot scene.

We were lifted on to a cart and rolled off the stage. Down a ramp and to a waiting van. Lifted as one, the novice and I were deposited in the rough bare floor of the van, and the doors were closed heavily behind us. We were on our way to the execution site.

As we bounced in the back of the van, I became aware of how every part of my naked body was pressed against his nakedness. We had been forced together in this way, and his body didn't feel great. My hips were pressing against his, my breasts against his chest. Our faces stared at each other from inches away. And of course... his... erection was pressing between my thighs. Damn.

We rolled to our sides to get more comfortable. When we did, his cock slid against the slit of my pussy. It was electric, the residual pain from the flogging, the tight bondage to his hard male body, and his cock sliding against my wetness. Moments later I felt his cock pressing in to me slightly.

Because our legs were tied together, we could spread them, and did. My legs could not go around his waist, and it was very difficult for him to thrust as we were bound together. But his cock slid in enough to make me groan and spread our legs a little further, urging him to enter me as best he could.

When he was in several inchest, we found a rhythm and technique of rotating our hips in unison that allowed him to penetrate and slide in and out. It felt amazing, fucking amazing, the way we were bound in the back of the van, tied together, fucking one another. Knowing, all the while, that we were to be crucified very soon, and one of us would submit to the other as a result.

I came, and cried out as the muscles in my body strained against him and against the flood of pleasure. With a final heaving thrust, he jerked and spurted his load inside me, grunting as he did.

When it was over, we simply lay there. He kissed me, and I kissed him back. Whatever happened, it had been a good fuck, a lot of fun. He might not be so bad a novice after all.

The van stopped. We were in the country, in a clearing surrounded by trees at the end of a dirt road. As the van doors opened we could hear other cars arriving, parking and the other club members getting out and chatting excitedly. The Club had not had a crucifixion in... well, not since I had first joined. That day was still talked about between the members.

The novice and I were dragged out of the van and separated. I could feel his juice trickling down my inner thigh, and I wondered if anyone could see it. It didn't matter, because once I was hanging on the cross my legs would be spread and it would be clear. I wondered if I cared.

I was left laying on the ground as the novice was dragged a ways away. I head him moaning, and the executioner and others grunting. I was fact down in the dirt, and didn't look over. I just relaxed and breathed, preparing my mind for what was to come.

After some time, I heard a thunk and a sudden scream and cry from the novice. His cross had been sunk in to its hole and he was hanging from it. My turn would be at any moment.

My turn... dragged over the dirt, people on both sides looking and chatting excitedly as the spectacle. The cross laying on the ground. My cross. It looked funny, a little wrong somehow. I couldn't think how.

My hands untied, and then flipped over on to my back. Dragged up and positioned on the cross with my arms outstretched, it felt like I was already hanging and having my joints stretched to their limit. As my back pressed against the upright of the cross and my hands were pressed back and tied to the patibulum, I realized what was different about this cross. The patibulum was attached to the back of the upright. The upright was a good 6 inches deep, at least. This meant my arms were to be bent back behind me, and the upright was to press my body out at an odd angle.

I was moaning already, the pain of being stretched beginning, and I hadn't even been raised up. My chest was stretched out, spread out with my breasts jutting out obscenely. My legs were bent and raised in to the traditional position designed to create the horrible dance for breath of the cross. My ankles were tied together, but not tied to the cross. Strange.

The cross was lifted up. I remembered the sensation from my first crucifixion. It was the most arousingly helpless feeling - the ultimate in humiliation and pain, to be raised up in front of the crowed. My body slid down the cross as the angle went higher and steeper, the strain beginning in my arms as they stretched out. The cross was high, and as I went up in the air like an obscene decoration, I saw I was facing the novice.

With a sudden jerk, the cross slid down three feet or so, jerking and almost ripping my arm joints apart. I screamed from the pain, and tried to find something to help lift me up and relieve the pressure on my arms. I found the platform for my feet - I knew there had to be one. But it was tilted downward at a steep angle.

I cried out in frustration and pain, pressing up on the angled platform that was barely large enough for one foot. I managed to get my weight supported somewhat and remained as motionless as I could.

The novice was in a similar position. Hanging there, his body looked good; he was strong, muscular, and had a nice shape when his body was stretched and distended. His cock was erect again, and in spite of myself, I felt a warmth and wetness in my pussy. I remembered having him inside me just an hour before.

The memory faded as my breathing became labored and I pushed up harder to try and support myself. This was the dance that everyone had come to see. My struggles to breathe, my pain as I sagged down, my nakedness as I was displayed for all to admire. I did manage to rise up, but then...

"Oh, Fuuuuuuuccckkkkk aaaaaghhhhhh.... ohmygod..., " my foot slipped on the angled platform and my arms jerked my falling body to stop. I screamed, the agony of my shoulders suddenly spreading across my chest.

While my legs were tied at the ankles, my knees spread wide, exposing my pussy to all.

The pain in my back was worse than I remember it. The pain in my chest was worse than I remembered it. I thought it must be the extra distention of my wrists being pulled slightly behind me from the positioning of the patibulum. It was humiliating as well, for my chest and breasts were jutting out unnaturally.

As I moaned and grunted with effort to raise myself again, I became aware of club members gathering around the foot of the cross. They were observing me carefully, and commenting on the strain in my muscles, speculating where the greatest pain was.

One of the men looked at my thigh as I sank back down, and said "look - she is horny as fuck. She is wet, so wet she is dripping."

He pointed to my cunt.

"No... that is sweat. Look at how she is sweating, its hot out today and the pain has got to be making it worse."

They discussed my situation in such cold, callous terms. Of course they did, they were enjoying my pain. That was the point.

One man reached over and wiped his finger on my thigh. "This is sperm. Cum. She fucked him. She fucked the other one on the way over and it is leaking out."

Disbelief at first and then laughter. A woman slid her finger on my inner thigh and then across my pussy. She slid her finger in to her mouth and sucked for a moment. "Yep, you are right. That is cum all right."

I lifted myself up again, pushing carefully, trying not to slip. The effort made my legs cramp horribly, and I cried out in tears. Jerking at the ropes around my wrists didn't help at all, but I did anyway.

The sun was beating down hard, it was mid day now, and I knew I was dehydrating from all the sweat.

Without warning, a stream of urine flowed from between my legs. It hadn't been a choice. This was not a good sign, I was losing control of body functions. The pain was getting severe, the agony spread across my entire arms, shoulders, chest and upper back. Breathing was getting really difficult. My legs were getting weaker.

I refocused on the novice. Was he doing any better than I? It was hard to tell. He didn't have an erection any more, thank goodness. But he was still doing the dance, lifting himself up to take great gulps of air and then when his legs tired, sliding back down and hanging by his wrists. I wanted to enjoy seeing him suffer more, but I had my own suffering to worry about. It was all I could think about. Pain, pounding through my body.

I started sobbing, tears ran down my face. The sun had risen in the sky and it was getting really hot; sweat was tricking down my body in the most uncomfortable tracks, tickling and itching as it went. My light skin was sunburning. My breathing was getting more labored. Lifting myself up on the slanted foot platform was necessary, but risky. My feet were wet and slick from the sweat, and I slipped, which caused my body to jerk down on my arms.

What was going on in front of me? One of the girls was in front of the novice... she was doing something... oh my god she had her hand around his cock and was masturbating him! His hips were rocking, thrusting slightly, and he was moaning. The pain of his cross was mixing with the pleasure of his hand job.

It wasn't fucking fair. He was getting some relief, he was getting sexual stimulation, and I was just hanging there. I screamed out in frustration.

A guy from the club approached with a small stepladder. I had sunk down, hanging with my arms raised up over my head and pulled behind me, my head hanging down, long hair sticking to my sweating flesh. The guy positioned the ladder in front of me, and climbed up it until his face was even with mine. I looked at him with agony as he unzipped his pants and pulled out his hard cock. He positioned between my spread legs, and with one quick thrust entered my pussy.

His thrusting motion was a mixture of pain and pleasure. I was getting fucked, really nicely fucked, out in the open with about 25 people looking on. My exhibitionist nature was getting off on it, big time. At the same time his thrusts jerked my body and caused my already stretched muscles to cramp and stretch even more. I was moaning, groaning, and finally screaming with pain and pleasure as he came in side me.

He kissed my lips, caressed my wet breasts, and then climbed down. There would be no more distractions today, it was just me and the pain.

I would win this. I had to win this.

My body was shaking uncontrollably. My legs were weak. Unable to lift myself. My lungs rasped as I gasped for air. The crowd of club members was gathered around me, watching my suffering.

God, I loved this. I loved suffering in the presence of others, who watched me as I suffered.

The sun had traveled across the sky. It was late afternoon. The pain had moved across my body. The original pain points of shoulders and back were now numb, and the cramping was throughout the entire rest of my body.

"Let me down..." I heard someone say. The novice. He had finally broken. I had won.

But the voice wasn't right.

"Please... take me down..."

The voice was a woman's.

It was mine. I was pleading to be cut down.

There was no shame, just acceptance. I was done. My reserves gone, exhausted.

As I was taken down from the cross, limp and unable to move, I caught a glimpse of the novice. He was also being taken down. His body lolled loosely in the strong arms that pulled him off the cross. As they lay us both on the ground, I took long gasping breaths, and then drank some water that was offered.

The novice lay motionless beside me, his find body glistening a sunburned red in the sunset light.

"Obeisance," he rasped.

I knew what was happening. It had been agreed. I would live up to the agreement.

With great effort I crawled over to him, knelt and kissed his naked feet.

"Master," I said. "Command me. I am yours."

Thursday, March 19, 2009

Mammoth Lakes

The Mammoth Lakes Detention and Processing Center (MLDPC).

It is a new facility for prisoners on the west coast, made possible when global warming melted all the snow and increased the temperatures so that the mountain community became more temperate. A special facility designed for special cases, that required special punishment.

The facility looked fairly harmless to the casual observer. No tall block walls or guard towers surrounded the buildings. Razor wire was nowhere to be seen. The traditional trappings of a prison were absent.

Instead, a wide expanse of lawn, covered sparsely with pine trees and a winding lane led up to a lodge constructed of local timber. Large windows looked out on the grounds surrounding the main building.

A group of visitors drove slowly along the tree lined drive, enjoying the cool mountain air. The branches of the pine trees swayed slightly in a light breeze.

The car suddenly stopped in front of an odd sight along the side of the road.

Between positioned on the side of the road in front of and between two trees was a wooden structure. A single heavy beam was buried in the ground and rose straight up about 10 feet. Two cross beams extended across and out from the upright beam, the top cross beam at the top, and the lower one about 5 feet below.

The visitors got out of the car to get a better look, but they weren't looking at the wooden structure as closely as they were the woman who was tied to it. She was about 21, with long dark hair and slim body which was fully exposed to the onlookers.

She was stretched upon the wooden cross rather tightly, her arms spread wide and secured with heavy ropes to the upper cross beam. Her legs were also stretched and pulled widely, secured to the ends of the lower cross beam.

The visitors walked up to the exposed girl slowly, as if they were afraid of her, though she was secured and hanging on a cross. The victim was breathing heavily, moaning and making small attempts at movement. Her breasts heaved up and down with each breath she took and her long hair hung down over her shoulders as her head alternately hung down and was then raised up as she looked at the sky. Her body was in constant motion, struggling, writhing, pulling, slumping down.

As the visitors approached for a closer look at the agonized victim, they saw that she was not simply hung on the cross. No, there was a small piece of wood which protruded from the main upright. A simple 4" by 4" extended about a foot out from the cross, immediately under her body, between her legs.

Most of the time, her body weight was placed on this sedile, a tortuous mockery of a seat. Yet, it served its purpose - it helped support the unfortunate girl as she hung on the cross. Her feet were tied apart and could not provide support and this small wooden seat was the only thing that prevented her body from being suspended entirely from her arms.

Upon closer observation, it was clear this sedile was no real relief for the poor girl. It was placed at an angle, so that its sharp corner pointed up and embedded itself deeply in the folds of her flesh, separating and penetrating her labia. She was constantly struggling to move herself, straining her arms to reposition her flesh and relieve the pressure on her sensitive areas, but the taughtness of her ankle restraints prevented this.

The visitors observed the agony struggles until the girl cried out loudly to them, begging them for mercy, to help her somehow relieve the pain. She screamed to them, pleading that she had been on the cross for two days now and did not believe she could survive another night in the cold.

Her outburst simply made the visitors back away, afraid to face the pain of the girl's predicament. Except for one visitor, who stepped forward and asked what crime the girl had committed that she should be punished so horribly?

In response the girl struggled momentarily and then slumped down, as if all strength had left her. She replied in low tones, speaking clearly. She explained that she had worked as a secretary for a radio station that had been shut down for violations of the free speech act. The station had been notorious for expressing views which were contrary to the accepted and government approved views. All the employees had been convicted of sedition and intollerance, the punishment for which was exile, or death.

The victim's breathing was coming in raspy heaves, and she no longer struggled. Small amounts of blood could be seen on the sedile which supported her weight at that moment. Her streaked flesh vibrated from involuntary muscle shaking.

She begged for water.

One of the visitors that hung back produced a water bottle, but another pushed it away... the more mercy was shown, the longer the victim's ordeal. The sedile would extend her agony long enough. Death would be the only real relief, and the sooner that came, the better.

The visitors returned to the car, and drove on, leaving the girl hanging on the cross, alone, surrounded by green lawns and beautiful trees swaying in the soft breeze.

It was later learned that the girl lasted another three days before she died. As was the practice, her body was left on the cross for another week.

Saturday, February 14, 2009

Wilderness Crucifixion

"We are lost. You know we are lost, just admit it!" Joanna was not really angry, but irritated that his ego was getting in the way of their making any progress at finding a way down the mountain.

"Babe, OK. I am not really lost, but this is a new area, and I can't see any landmarks to know the best way to get us to the fire road. Stop for a second, let's just rest and get an idea of what might be best."

Josh was anything but ready to admit defeat, but it was true. They were in the middle of a heavy forest with trees on all sides, a slight slope but no guarantee that they knew which way to go. They had camped the night before, and had been hiking the entire day without any real progress.

"It's almost 4, we need to either find a place to camp or get a real idea which way to go. I see more light through the trees that way, let's see if we can get our bearings. If not, maybe there will be a clearing where we can camp," Joanna was practical and patient.

J&J, as their friends called them, were avid hikers and backpackers. They had spent the last four days in the Sierra Nevada range, hiking off the main trails. Both were in their mid-twenties, and very fit. Josh was a scruffy blond, muscular and ruggedly handsome. Joanne was slim, but with too much muscle to really be considered skinny. Her breasts were nice but not large, she had slim hips and long legs. Her freckled face was considered cute by almost everyone, and her long brown hair was tied in a pony tail, as it always was when they hiked.

They trudged over a small rise to see the trees spread out a bit and heard the gentle trickling of a creek. They reached the wide rivulet of water, and decided to follow it. It led them gently downhill until they saw a small meadow just ahead.

But as they approached the meadow, Josh halted suddenly. "What the fuck... what is that?"

Joanna looked where his attention had been drawn and at first did not see anything strange. Then, as she stared more carefully, she saw it. A cross, partially concealed in the shadows of the surrounding trees. Obviously man made, it was distinctly out of place in this wilderness.

They approached it slowly, and as they came to it Josh suddenly said "Joanna, stay back a bit. I want to check this."

"Fuck you, Josh. Stop trying to protect me," Joanna's pride drew her to lead the way to the foot of the tall, rough wood structure. It was weathered and appeared old as if it had been there for a number of years. Joanna looked at it more closely as Josh joined her.

Suddenly, Joanna sucked in a gasp of air. Josh looked at what she had seen, and said "Oh, fuck..."

There were nails in the cross, large spikes, and a dried brown substance which both of them new by experience as old, dried blood.

"Let's get out of here," Josh whispered, as if someone might hear them.


They began moving away, around the clearing, instinctively afraid of exposing themselves to watching eyes.

The trees were thinner here, and as they approached the creek once again, Joanna stopped suddenly. Her breathing was changed, coming in short gasps, sounding like she was choking. Josh saw what had stopped her a moment later.

Another cross, standing near the creek. The light filtered through the trees, lighting patches of the ground, the cross, and the naked human form that hung from it.

Moments later Josh had run over to the second cross. The victim was a woman, perhaps in her early 30s, fit and healthy, with short dark hair. She was spiked to the cross with nails through her wrists, and her ankles positioned and nailed on either side of the upright beam. There was very little blood, though her ankles looked crushed and blackened. Her knees were bent and spread apart, exposing her pussy. Her head hung down, eyes were open slightly. She was naked, and Josh was embarrassed to find himself experiencing a slight erection while viewing her stretched form.

"Josh, she is alive!"

She was. Her stomach was moving slightly as she breathed, though her eyes were glazed and unseeing until moments later she began wriggling, pulling and writhing. Joanna stepped back with her hand over her mouth, afraid she might be sick seeing the agony the woman was experiencing.

A strangled scream cut through the mountain air as the woman shoved down on her smashed, nailed ankles and raised herself slowly to a standing position. Muscles in her taught legs were clearly visible straining to lift her weight. Her hands had taken on the shape of claws, but she used the nails in her wrists to help raise her body higher.

Josh joined Joanna a few feet back as they observed the woman take several deep breaths, and then lower herself back down to a position hanging by her nailed arms. She had seen them, and her eyes were fevered as she tried to speak, unsuccessfully.

"Oh my god, Josh, we have to help her! Get her down from there!" Joanna was frantic, bordering on panic.

Josh was already looking through their backpacks for something that might help. The woman was too high off the ground to reach easily, but they might dig the cross out of the ground. They would also need something to pull the spikes.

A small shovel was in one of their back packs, used to dig temporary toilets or help entrench a camp or campfire. It looked useless compared to the size of the cross where its central beam was embedded in the ground, but Josh went over to the base of the cross and began digging. Joanna joined him, watching, afraid to look up at the agonized form of the woman nailed above them.

The woman on the cross kept trying to say something. Her gurgling gasps finally took form enough that Joanna listened and thought she could understand...


Josh heard a sickening thud, and turned to see Joanna laying on the ground behind him, blood pouring from a wound in her head. The last thing he saw was something coming across his field of vision, followed by an explosion of pain, and then blackness.

Joanna came around slowly, her head pounding with pain which slowly took form to a pounding sound. She tried to move, but could not. She was laying on her back, looking up at the trees and glimpses of sky above her. She wondered if she was paralyzed, because she could not move her arms or legs.

Slowly moving her pounding head she looked to where the pounding sound seemed to be coming. Her vision was getting better, blurriness giving way to clarity. When she saw what was making the pounding noise, she wished the blur would come back.

She was tied down to a wooden beam, her arms outstretched, and legs tied together at the ankles. All her clothing had been removed, and she was completely naked. Just to her left, Josh lay unconscious on a similar wooden beam, tied with arms stretched along it, and legs stretched below and tied at the ankles. He was naked as well, and a clump of shredded cloth to his side showed all that remained of his clothes.

A dark form was bent over one arm, and had produced a long spike with a mallet.

Moments later, the mallet descended and drove the spike into Josh's wrist. Josh was suddenly conscious and a scream echoed through the trees. Joanna struggled against her own ropes, trying to get free. The dark figure continued pounding the spike until Josh was secured, nailed to the crossbeam by both wrists.

Josh was putting up a fight, though it was useless. The nails in his wrists were driven in at an angle, and it was impossible to break free. His writhing body had no effect on the dark form who produced two more spikes and approached Josh's ankles.

Joanna turned her head away as Josh screamed again, a paniced, animal scream such as she had heard rabbits produce when they were being eaten by a coyote. A wave of nausea crashed over her and she vomited on her right arm.

The screams subsided after a while and were replaced by whimpering moans.

Joanna felt rough hands turn her left wrist and she looked just in time to see the spike placed at the base of her left palm, angled so that it would drive through the palm and in to her wrist. She screamed before the mallet drove it through her flesh, but when the blow came, her screams morphed into a completely new, gut wrenching, mindless expression of agony. Stroke after stroke, she could feel her wrist and arm bones shattered and torn as the spike drove through her and in to the wood below.

She was not even aware that the figure had moved to the other side and had placed the new spike for her right wrist in place until the mallet drove it home. The sound of the spike sinking in to her flesh was replaced with a crack as her wrist bones parted, breaking as they were forced apart for the spike as it passed through her and in to the wood below.

Her body thrashed involuntarily, trying to get away from the hideous pain that radiated from her wrists. Her naked stomach was convulsing, and more vomit shot from her mouth over her neck, shoulder and face.

Strong hands took her naked legs, and placed her left ankle against the wood beam of the cross. She new what was going to happen, and struggled, but was powerless to stop it. The clear sound of her ankle bone shattering was accompanied by a searing pain that made the world go black for a moment. She was brought quickly back to consciousness by the pain of another spike penetrating her right ankle, shattering bone and tearing flesh, muscle and ligaments.

Four points of pain defined her existence at that point. She was floating, a creature in the sky with stars burning around her; four flames that burned and seared her existence, and she screamed her protest to the sky. But she lay there looking up at the sky, unable to move, exhaustion already setting in. The pain slowly morphed from searing agony to horrible throbs of pain.

Slowly, she became aware of noises to her left. She slowly looked and saw that the dark figure was raising the cross from which Josh hung. Leveraging it up, it lifted skyward until with a low thunk, it sunk in to a hole that had been dug at its base. As the cross hit bottom, Josh's body jerked down and a yell of pain cut through the trees.

Josh looked strong, and perfect in his hanging position. She could see his sex exposed between his bent and spread knees. His stomach and chest heaved with the pain he was trying to cope with. She loved him, and her own pain did not distract from her agony of seeing him hanging from the cross.

Until she felt her own cross being lifted up, that is. Slowly, surely, she was being raised in to the air, her weight shifting down the cross. Her back felt the rough wood, which scraped and gathered splinters that gouged her smooth flesh. The higher she went, the more she slid down and more pressure was placed on her spiked wrists.

With a sickening thud her cross slipped down and landed at the bottom of a deep hole dug at its base. Her whole weight suddenly yanked on her mangled wrists, and she screamed, drawing deep breaths as she felt the spikes dig and hold her broken bones. The muscles of her arms stretched taught and yanked across her back and chest as she came to a rest, hanging from her outstretched arms.

Immediately, in order to relieve the ripping pain that extended from her hands down her arms and in to her upper torso, she attempted to support herself on her feet. But as soon as she began pressing down with her legs, shattered ankle bones shifted and pierced her muscles, causing her to nearly faint from new agony below.

After some time, she became more aware of her surroundings. The sun was setting, with the cold creeping in to take over the forest. Her naked flesh felt the light breeze, and she knew it would be very cold, very soon. Her spread legs exposed her pussy, raised arms exposed her breasts, but there in the forest the only person to see it was Josh, who hung a few feet away on his own cross.

Her mind, which had been lost with the initial shock of what was happening, had returned. She was very clear now, she knew exactly what had happened to them, and what the end would be. She was nailed to a cross in the middle of a deserted forest, with her only companion her dying boyfriend. She was going to die here, in agony, and the only question was how long it might take.

Breathing was difficult, and after several attempts she was able to lift herself to help breathe more easily. It meant stretching and tearing her wrists and ankles as she strained against the nails, but her body forced her to do it. She could not simply hang there and not breath. If she had any chance at not suffocating, her brain forced her to try.

Josh tried talking with her once. It was dark, and there was the sound of wolves in the distance. The talk didn't last, they didn't have anything to say; and the effort was extreme. They simply hung there, raspy breathing from the two alternating in the dark.

There was no opportunity for sleep, the pain was too great. Death would have been welcome, unconsciousness of any sort. But the pulling agony of the cross kept her awake.

The cold was horrible, she shook, and the shaking made the cramps across her back worse. Her arms kept stretching further, and she truly wondered how long it would be before her shoulders dislocated. The vomit had dried on her arms and breasts.

She urinated without thinking, there was too much other pain that was so much worse, corsing through her body. It was no longer confined to her arms, it was shooting through her chest and stomach now. Her entire body was swathed in misery, and she literally prayed for death.

The sun slowly rose. Joanna thought of how she always loved seeing the sunrises when camping on their treks. This one seemed her enemy - another day hung from the cross, waiting to die.

They thought of what had happened; what kind of psychopath had assulted them. Whoever it was, they were not the first. If no one came by soon they would not be the last, either. Josh cried out several times, yelling as loud as he could, but it was useless. They were far away from the usual trails. Their location in the forest would not be visible from the air. They would simply hang there, naked and exposed, to die slowly.

Joanna saw Josh die late that day. It wasn't sudden. His agony had not subsided. His ability to deal with it, to keep going, had slipped away. He hung from his cross, unmoving, leaning forward some with his head hanging down. Saliva had dripped from his mouth, but had stopped some time before. They were both severely dehydrated. And then, Josh simply stopped breathing. She saw the moment when it happened, and she screamed in mental agony when she realized she was alone.

And alone she stayed, hanging from her cross that night. The thirst had become almost as bad as the pain in her shoulders and back. Her wrists no longer hurt, they were numb, as if they had been amputated. Nothing moved, no muscles worked further than her elbows. Her tongue was protruding from her mouth, it was so dry and swollen. There was nothing to do about it, nothing would wet it for her and she didn't have the strength to try and pull it back in.

As the dawn rose on her third day hanging from the cross, she found she was no longer able to raise herself up and breathe.

As death approached, she saw a dark figure move across the clearing, dragging something behind it. She had no idea what or who it was, and didn't really care. Death was coming, and she stopped breathing and embraced the nothingess, head hanging forward, body listless.

Friday, February 6, 2009

The First Crucifixion

"So what are we supposed to do with her?" Lineus complained.

Notus shrugged. "Hell if I know. He just said make an example."

"Well, do we kill her? I mean, we kill her, right? Runaway slaves, we always kill somehow."

Notus gazed over to the girl, who was laying on her side, ankles bound together, wrists bound over her head to the fence post. She had stopped struggling a while ago, realizing the ropes were too tight.

"Well, yeah. Of course. Eventually. Not like we have to do it right away," Notus gave Lineus a knowing look.

Lineus nodded and looked at the stretched and restrained form on the ground. For a slave, she was a good one. She was young, maybe 19 or 20 years old. Old enough to be strong and have some muscle and development, but young enough to still look pretty good. The curves outlined and hinted at by the ragged cloth shift she wore promised some impressive feminine delights. Her long hair was a dark brown, but her face was smooth and light, with a few freckles underneath a layer of dust and dirt.

"Well, if he said to make an example of her, it must mean he wants us to kill her, but not to just slit her throat and dump her in a pit. Example... he must want her to suffer. And maybe be seen by the others. A lesson, you know."

Notus was still looking at the girl. If someone could undress another with their eyes, he was doing it. "Whatever. It is getting dark, and I think I need me some company," he grinned in a most unpleasant manner, and got up and walked over to the girl. "Help me out here."

Lineus joined him as he untied the girl's ankles. They each took one, and spread them apart. The girl protested, moaning and crying out in her own language (which neither of the men understood). Her legs stretched farther and farther apart until she was crying and begging for release. Lineus tied one ankle to a fence post, and Notus tied the other to a fence post on the other side.

Her arms tied above her, and legs forced and held wide apart to either side, Notus reached down and yanked her shift up, exposing her pussy. Yanking further, he tore the material of her clothing until she was uncovered, the tatters of the cloth dangling around her arms and shoulders.

Her revealed body was impressive. Strong from labor, lean from hunger, with soft hair around her pussy, a flat stomach, and shapely good breasts. Pert nipples looked erect.

Notus dropped his pants, and revealed a huge cock, erect and ready for the girl. She stared at it in disbelieve, and began frantically begging in her foreign language.

"Fuck this, I had her first. I do her first. You always stretch them and ruin them, lemme go first!" Lineus pushing Notus out of the way, pulled his pants down and exposed himself to his victim, who was still babbling something. He positioned between her legs, and shoved hard. With a squeel from the girl, his cock sank deep inside her pussy. He grabbed her breasts and began pushing in and out, making the girl grunt with the force of his thrusts.

Lineus watched with interest, observing how Notus' hard cock was wrapped tightly by the flesh of the girl's pussy, how it was pulled inward as he thrust, and grasped his flesh and pulled out with him as he withdrew. She struggled a little, and turned her head to the side, but was tied tightly and had little choice but to endure.

After a few minutes, Notus thrust harder, faster, and grunted loudly as he spurted his fluids deep inside. When he was satisfied, he withdrew and Lineus took his place.

When Lineus plunged in to the girl she cried out in pain, almost a scream, for he was very large and distended her flesh with his cock. His thrusts began and were harder, deeper and more savage than those of Notus. The girl was in misery, tears streaming down her freckled face, leaving tracks in the dirt.

Lineus continued his heaving thrusts, grabbing and holding handfulls of flesh, licking the girl's face, holding her head by the hair. It took longer for him to climax than Notus, and when he did, the girl screamed from the strength and depth of his thrust. When he was done, she lay against the fence sobbing quietly, her naked legs still spread wide, fluid leaking from her pussy lips.

"Damn, she was nice and tight. I might just do her again later," said Notus as he lay next to the fire, preparing for sleep.

Lineus lay on the other side, pulled his pants up and said "We can figure out how to kill her tomorrow. I am tired."

They both fell asleep quickly, exhausted from chasing the runaway slave girl, and their subsequent abuse of her.

The next morning, the two soldiers rose and stretched. Notus climbed over the fence and relieved himself in some bushes. Lineus took out some bread, cut it in to several slices. The girl lay awake, still tied to the fence, following the men with her eyes. She eyed the bread hungrily.

"Don't you look at the bread like you gonna get some, you won't be needing it that long. Be a waste," said Notus. The girl, not understanding, simply stared.

As the two guards munched their breakfast, they discussed what to do to kill the girl in a way that would "set an example."

"How about we hang her from the tree over there?" suggested Notus.

"Nah... well, maybe. But that's too quick. Maybe we should slit her throat and leave her to bleed out," Lineus said thoughtfully.

"Hey. What if we stick her on the tree, like... on display? I mean, to make an example of her?"

"What do you mean, stick her on the tree?"

"Well... I dunno. I mean, tie her there, or something. Leave her. She'll die eventually, and in the meantime people will travel by the road and carry the word around."

"Eh. Maybe. Interesting idea, but it could take like... forever for her to die. And just tying her there? Doesn't seem... wait... what if..." Notus was looking at the fence. He rose, and went down a few posts to where the fence was being held in place with some spikes.

"Hey!" said Notus. "How about we use these? We nail her to the tree?"

Lineus got up and looked at the spikes, then the girl, then the tree. "Yeah... I mean, that would do it, I think. Might be just right. She would bleed out, but slow, and in the meantime people would see her there all nailed up like a hide on a wall."

"All right... let's do it." Notus got a tool and started prying out spikes. He pulled two out, and then headed for the girl, who was looking at them with big eyes, shaking just a bit.

They untied her, and dragged her over to the large tree across the road. As they reached it, they turned the girl around so her back was against the trunk as she stood. One arm was forced above her head, and the spike placed against her right wrist. Notus took a hammer, and swung hard. The nail sunk deep in to the girl's arm, and she screamed and struggled violently. Lineus leaned against her and held her firm as Notus continued pounding the spike through the arm and in to the wood beneath it.

Once her right arm was firmly in place, Lineus took the hammer and held her left arm against a heavy branch extending above her. Notus held her as she continued screaming, struggling against them as best she could, frantic in her pain.

The hammer came down, and the spike split the flesh of her left wrist, sinking in about an inch. The bones of her arm visibly spread as they were pushed aside by the heavy spike penetrating between them. The hammer continued to pound, changing from the soft squishy sound of penetrated flesh, to the heavy thud of wood as it embedded in the tree.

When the second spike was firmly embedded in the wood, the two soldiers stood back to view their handywork. The girl was standing, crying, begging, babbling, screaming. Both arms were extended wide above her head, spread apart and held in place by the spikes. She was pulling on her arms, in spite of the agony she was in. The spikes held her firmly in place.

"That looks... good..." Lineus stared at the stretched body of the pretty young slave girl as she struggled.

"Yeah... this is going to work. But, she is just standing there. It isn't quite right. There is something missing," Notus was thinking.

Lineus went over to the fence, and obtained another two spikes. "OK, let's do it."

As the two approached the agonized girl, she began kicking at them. Notus grabbed her left leg and Lineus her right. Lineus had the hammer. In order to position her ankle where he could get a good swing, he forced her knee to bend and brought the ankle up to his eye level while he knelt on the ground.

There was a sickening sound of wet flesh and crunching bone as the spike penetrated her ankle, and fresh screams pierced the air. In moments her leg was pinned to the side of the tree trunk.

The hammer was passed to Notus, and the process repeated on the other side. When it was complete, the girl's ankles were firmly nailed on either side of the tree trunk, her knees bent and spread, exposing her pussy. She hung, her entire weight bearing down on the nails of her wrists.

Notus and Lineus stood and watched as the slave girl hung on the tree, her naked body stretched and suffering in a most unique way. She was in extreme agony, with searing pain throughout her body, but was also having trouble breathing. The soldiers watched her suffer for a while.

After a few minutes the soldiers were surprised as the girl began pushing with her legs. In spite of the crushed, mangled state of her ankles, she was pressing down, screaming with the pain of doing so. She kept on, until she was almost in a standing position, and she gasped for air, head flung back. A minute of standing on crushed ankles and her legs were shaking, and gave way. She sank back down until her weight hung once again from her wrists.

The soldiers returned to their camp, and sat for a while. Several travelers came by, saw the slave girl suffering on the tree, stared and sat down to watch. Several more came by, saw what was happening and averted their eyes, pressing on in a hurry.

There was remarkably little blood. The soldiers began to wonder if she would actually bleed out as they had thought. But then, by the late afternoon her agonies were actively being observed by almost 100 travelers who were drawn to the gruesome entertainment. Some came close to her, looking at her naked body closely, observing her pussy, breasts, and agonized face.

The girl's extended, public torture was having the desired effect.

As the dark descended, the soldiers sat down at the campfire and told lies about campaigns in which they had fought. The girl has stopped most of her louder screaming and cries hours before. She had continued to do the strange dance, rising up on her ankle nails and then sinking down to hang by the wrists once again. Lineus thought it was because she was trying to masturbate to make things a little easier, but Notus observed that she always breathed better when she was in the standing position. It appeared that her nailing to the tree was making it hard to breathe and she had to move in order to draw deep breaths.

The soldiers went to sleep as the dimming firelight reflected off the shiny skin of the crucified slave girl, still breathing, but obviously weaker.

The next morning, they woke and after eating their bread for breakfast, they went over to check on the victim. She was barely alive, her head hanging down, hair covering her face and breasts. She had urinated during the night and the area around her tree smelled.

She attempted to raise herself one more time that morning, but failed. A few minutes later her labored breathing slowed and finally stopped.

"I thought she would last a few days. I mean, if she wasn't going to bleed out, why did she die so soon?" Lineus was confused.

Notus though for a while, and said "Well, I don't know. But it looks to me like she couldn't breathe right. Eh, who cares. Lets leave her here. She will be as much of an example hanging here now as ever."

The two soldiers packed up their camp as several travelers came by, saw the spectacle of the crucified girl, and went over to observe her naked body more closely. The agony in which she had died was still very obvious.

Her body stayed there for over a week, until animals tore it down and ate what was left.

Sunday, January 18, 2009


He was just a carpenter. It wasn’t easy making a living, in this day in age. Business was down, and that new carpenter on the other side of the creek seemed to be getting all the new business from the Romans.

The Romans had taken over in just the last 10 years. After defeating the central garrison, they moved in and started shaking things up. All in all, a good move. They had imposed order and kept the thievery down. Construction was up, especially on the roads, though the carpenter didn’t see much of the business.

So, when the Roman Centurion came in to his workshop, the capenter was a little surprised. He felt a twinge of fear, accompanied by hope. He was either going to be arrested or questioned about something he would rather not talk about, or get some new business.

It turned out to be new business, though not the kind he expected.

"So, carpenter. I need something. You know that we crucify the worst criminals, runaway slaves and the like?”

The carpenter gulped. He had seen the men and even women hanging from the wooden crosses on a hill outside of town. He had even gone to watch a few times, with mixed feelings. It was clearly a horrible way to die. But it had also kept crime down lower than ever, and there was that one time they had crucified that girl slave… naked…

“Ah! I see you know. How could you not. Well, carpenter, I have a problem. You see, the purpose of crucifixion is a slow, agonizing death. We have had some pretty agonizing deaths recently, but the governor thinks they aren’t slow enough. We have tried some things, but basically we are kind of stuck.”

The carpenter started really worrying. What could he have to do with this?

“What I need from you… well, I need you to think of something. Some change… to the cross, to the way it is constructed, its angle, whatever. I need something that will make the process of dying slower. The problem is, it can’t make it easier. Thats where we run in to a problem. We can’t stop flogging them before hand. We can’t take them down and give them a rest. I need some idea…”

The centurion has risen and was walking, handling the carpentry tools. In some cases he wielded them like weapons, or tested a sharp edge on his own flesh.

“So… think about this. I will be back in two days. We are crucifying a woman, and if you have anything, any ideas at all - let us know. If they are good, we might use it. See how it works. If not… well…” the centurion shrugged his shoulders, smiled a rather unpleasant smile, and then left.

The carpenter sat, looking at his feet. Wondering how fast he could run from the town… and if he could be caught. The idea of getting extra business, that was good. But he didn’t have any ideas, and was terrified what would happen if he failed. He sat on the ledge of his workbench, contemplating the problem, wondering why this problem had been dropped in his lap.

He sat and contemplated so long, worrying, that suddenly he got up because the edge of his ass hurt so badly. It was half numb. He had been sitting on it for about and hour, and…. oh…

He had an idea.

When the Centurion came two days later, the carpenter was ready. It was a simple device, but then the cross was simple. That was the whole idea, to simply use a person’s own weight to slowly kill them with as little effort as possible. On the part of the executioner, that is.

It was a block of wood, designed to be nailed to the upright of the cross. Sticking out about a foot, it would server as a small hard ledge on which the crucified could sit, resting for a bit to recover from the strain of being suspended.

The best part was the long, pointed spike which extended up from the block. In this way, the suffering victim would not only find their agony on the cross prolonged by having a seat on which to rest, it was guaranteed that the resting would be extremely painful. Of course, the victim could choose to thrust their hips forward, extending beyond the reach of the sedile, but in so doing it would increase the pressure on their back, arms and wrists.

The delightful and painful complication this small simple device would present to the victim made the Centurion smile.

The next day, the carpenter went to the hill outside of town. They were just nailing the poor girl down. She started to scream just as he arrived. Three soldiers were holding her down, and the spike was going in to her left wrist. With each blow of the heavy mallet, the spike went deeper, and the woman jerked with pain. When one side was completed, they addressed the other wrist, with the same screaming and writhing on the wooden frame laying on the ground.

The carpenter observed the nearly naked woman, and had to admit she was quite a lovely site, stretched out as she was. He felt the stirrings of arousal in his loins, which he hid with embarrassment.

The cross was lifted by the three soldiers, until it slid in to the hole in the ground with a thunk. The girl’s body slid down, scraping splinters and flesh as it did, until it jerked to a stop, suspended by the nails in her wrists. That brought renewed screaming, though the strain on her chest showed and the screaming quickly degenerated into a gurgle of sorts.

Two soldiers took the girl’s feet and crossed them in front of the upright beam, bending her knees. A third spike was placed against her feet, and the mallet swung. The carpenter watched as the spike split the flesh, and quickly drove through the softness of the top foot and through the foot underneath. When the spike contacted the wood, several more good whacks assure proper penetration, and then the crucifixion was complete.

There was remarkably little blood. Some trickled from the wounds in the wrists, and there was some from lash marks across her ribs and bare breasts. Her flesh was shiny from sweat, and stretched as she was, suspended by her arms, her ribs were clearly visible.

She was having trouble breathing, rasping and grating. Suddenly, she pushed hard with her feet against the nail that held them, but failed to raise herself. She feel back down, crying out in agony as her weight once again pulled hard on her wrist nails.

A few minutes later, she was up again, this time raising up until she stood on the single nail holding her feet tightly to the wood beneath. Her face was raised to the heavens, revealing a beautiful long neck above her heaving breasts. After a while the pain from her feet was too great and she sank back down.

One could see that she would not last long. After a couple of hours, she was having trouble raising herself up, and did not stay up for long. Her head hung motionless, hair descending about her face. She had urinated after about an hour, and involuntary reaction to an internal need. It soaked the loincloth which was her only clothing.

It was time. The centurion came forward with the sedile, and the carpenter took out some nails. The next time the girl raised herself up, the carpenter stepped forward, and positioned the sedile in place. The centurion grabbed her crotch, holding her up while the carpenter nailed the sedile firmly to the cross. The close proximity to the girl, hearing her breathing, seeing her sweat dripping down, seeing her crotch, this all gave the carpenter an amazing sense of the misery the girl was in, the pain that coursed through her body, and just how humiliating it must be.

His hand brushed her thigh. He felt the smooth flesh. Her thighs were shaking with strain, trying to stay up.

He finished quickly, and the centurion let go. She slipped down the cross and was impaled by the straight, pointed cornu. She cried out in surprise, but being too weak to raise herself again she wiggled some and managed to get the thick rod to sink deep within her. Not that it gave her much comfort, for the base of the cornu was wide, so wide it was spreading the lips of her womanhood taught.

But as humiliating and painful as the sedile was, it also was supporting her weight. Most of it at least. Her arms were still stretched taught, but her chest was no longer compressed. She breathed a little more freely, which also meant she was able to cry out more loudly. Which she did, and the carpenter moved back, to watch from a few yards away.

The girl’s misery was not worse, in fact it was probably better. But being in a better way, she was also stronger to express her agony. Instead of hanging her head and letting her long dark hair fall over her breasts, she raised her face and looked out over the people watching her struggle. She looked at her wrists briefly, and wailed loudly when she shifted her weight.

Through it all, she sat on the sedile, impaled deeply by the pointed cornu shaped by the carpenter’s hands. He knew exactly how deep it had gone in to her body, knew how wide it was at the base. He could almost feel the sharp point as it dug in to her cervix.

After an hour or so the centurion came over to the carpenter, slapped him on the back, and said, “You did it, she will last the night I am sure. Who knows how much longer. The governor himself will come to observe at sunset. You should be proud.”

He wasn’t proud, exactly, he wasn’t sure what he felt. To have contributed to the agony of this girl… watching her writhe on his handiwork. He had a mixture of pride, embarrassment, desire, arousal… and a little guilt. He shook his head, clearing his thoughts, and turned away from the seen of pain. Returning to his shop, he packed up some things, ate his dinner and fell asleep.

The rising sun woke him. His thoughts focused on the hill, and the misery that continued there. Dressing quickly, he went to see what was happening there.

The girl was still on the cross, distended out with her back arched slightly and hips thrust forward a little. The sedile still supported her, but the cornu was inserted in to her anus, deep inside. Blood had seeped out and down her legs. She was still breathing but not moving much otherwise. Then as he watched, with a sudden heave she pushed up once again as he had seen her do the day before, and raised herself up off the sedile.

It was all she could do, and a strangled groan came from her throat as she lifted up and off the point, now convered with blood. Her muscles strained, hands forming the characteristic claw shape of the crucified, legs pushing in spite of searing pain. As she reached a full standing position she took a deep breath and lowered herself once again, this time her vagina slowly surrounding and wrapping the cornu as it penetrated deeply. Once her weight was again resting on the sedile, she uttered a cry of pure frustration and agony.

She was pleading, crying out to die.

Apparently the suffering had been sufficient to satisfy the governor. At noon, as the heat drained the suffering girl of her body fluids in the form of sweat, the sedile was removed. She sank down, all her weight stretching against her arms, compressing her chest, distending her stomach.

It took about an hour for her to suffocate to death.

The carpenter got the extra business he craved. The sedile was used again, as needed. His design was modified and used elsewhere.

He dreamed of the girl, hanging from the cross, dying slowly, his cornu penetrating her deeply. His sleep was not always restful.

Monday, January 5, 2009


I am an exhibitionist.

I didn’t quite realize it, until recently.

It is a little unusual for a woman to admit to being an exhibitionist, I suppose. Many women are, but they have ways of expressing it which are approved by society. I just like it a little more than most.

It isn’t that I like exposing myself to others, walking down the street with my boobs or ass hanging out. I don’t think I would ever want to strip for a living. I certainly would not want to expose myself to unsuspecting and unwilling strangers.

On the other hand, I have discovered that exposing myself in a way that makes me vulnerable, both physically and mentally, is incredibly arousing for me. Being forced to reveal myself, not just my body, but to make myself vulnerable to pain, arousal, delight, suffering and to do it all at the whim and in the view of others… it makes me wet just thinking and writing about it now.

I am no newbie - I have played and done bondage modeling for some time. I never quite understood why I enjoyed it so much, but I knew I did. And I always had a fantasy, unspoken, that one day I could be crucified.

I began talking to friends in the bondage scene. One friend finally told me of a special group, a club of sorts, that might be able to stage a crucifixion scene for me. It made me nervous to think about, but it also excited me more than anything else had. I followed through, met with three of the members of the group (two guys and a girl). After some preliminaries, it was agreed.

Two weeks later, I arrived at the club. It was booked for a private party, our private party, and I was to be the central entertainment. I was so nervous I could hardly stand it. Dressed in my best leather skirt and tight black top, I arrived at about 9pm and requested admittance to the club near LAX, alone.

About 25 people were there, all dressed in fetish outfits of some sort; everything from simple leather skirts to latex catsuits, to studded leather slave harnesses. There was an open bar with beer and wine and snacks. Two of the club members met me at the door, put a collar on me with a chain and then led me in, to where the party had started.

There was scattered applause as I entered, led by my slave collar and chain. Positioned in the middle of the room, the chain was latched to a hook above me, and lifted until my neck was tight, and I was standing on my toes. While I was n0t gasping for air, I definitely was straining to relieve the pressure. My hands grabbed the collar to relieve the pressure and life myself slightly to help me keep on my toes.

When the word was given, the members of the group undressed me.

I had never felt that many hands on my body at once. My clothing was being tugged and pulled by dozens of hands, and there was absolutely nothing I could do. Resistance I put up was met with five or six pairs of strong hands holding me in place, forcing me to cooperate. Besides, most of my own efforts were absorbed by keeping on my toes and relieving pressure on my neck.

In moments, I was naked, my clothes long gone someplace unknown.

The hands continued to roam my body for a while, but before long I was unhooked and dragged to the corner of the room. There, for the first time, I saw the cross. I had a moment to examine it, and realize what it was. It was such as simple device, and yet struck fear in my heart. I knew I would be hanging from this thing very soon, and had no idea what it would feel like, other than it would be quite painful.

Several hands pushed me down, and forced me to kiss the base of the cross. In obedience, I did, kissing and fondling the instrument of my torture. It felt surreal, graveling naked before this device, watched by a crowd of at least partially dressed party goers. In the past, my bondage scenes had always involved one, or at most two other people. I felt the most exposed I had ever felt.

I was incredibly aroused.

Rather than raising me up and hanging me immediately, a metal brace designed to hold the wrists out in front of my neck was applied. The neck piece hinged, and closed around my neck and then my wrists. The whole device was fastened with a short chain to a ring on the wall. I was immobilized, kneeling on the floor in front of the cross, as the crowd began to mingle. Beer and wine flowed, and for a short time I was ignored as they party goers occupied themselves with other activities, some of them well worth watching.

After a half hour, a gong sounded loudly, and attention turned my way, once again. Several men approached and released me from my metal bonds. All eyes were on me once again, and I felt like a hog on display at a county fair. It was marvelous.

Ropes were attached to my wrists, separately. Several loops of rope, securely tied on each wrist. My arms were then spread wide by the ropes, and I felt a sudden rush of excitement. I was being spread, my naked body on display, and I was truly helpless as the ropes were flung over the top of the cross and my arms were pulled higher and wider apart.

The strain came when the ropes pulled me off the floor. I was able to stand tip-toe for a moment, but the ropes continued to stretch my arms and body up until my feet swung free, bumping against the upright beam of the cross. An appreciative murmur from the crowd rose and echoed in the large space.

The first pain of my body’s new position hit me.

As my arms were yanked higher, my shoulders felt like they would be torn out of their sockets. I screamed for just a moment with the sharp pain, which settled in to a constant burning that began extending from my shoulders up my arms and down across my back. I recognized the feeling of muscles being stretched and twisted.

Finally, my wrists were against the cross and tied in place, and I was fully dangling from the cross. I was breathing hard, my chest heaving up and down, and my head sagged as I concentrated on dealing with the pain in my shoulders. Were they going to let me hang here?

The answer came as my ankles were forced together, one over the other, and rope roughly wrapped around them. My legs were then forced up, my knees momentarily spread wide before I realized I was exposing myself shamelessly. I pulled my knees together, as they tied my ankles up a way on the cross, with my knees bent.

Strangely, my tied ankles provided almost no relief to my arms. I realized they had been tied high enough to bend my knees, but low enough that all my weight was still suspended on my arms.

I knew what I had to do.

With some effort, I pushed down with my legs on my bound feet and lifted myself up. I had heard of the agony this might cause in an actual crucifixion, but with the secure ropes used it was just painful for me. I lifted myself up and felt blessed relief flood my arms, shoulders and chest.

An appreciative cheer rose from the crowd in the party. I realized in a flash what they were seeing. I had risen for the first part of the crux dance, arched my back, thrusting out my breasts and stomach, stretching myself and then spread my legs as I lifted. The sight of my body straining, twisting and heaving itself up was exactly what they wanted, and I had just given it to them.

I had no choice, really. I had to stand and relieve the pain. The feeling of helplessness descended over me and I flung my head back to look at the ceiling. At just that moment, the lights were turned on.

Well, some were turned on, and some off. A ring of hot stage lights shone directly on my naked form and in my face. I squinted and then closed my eyes in the direct light. Further out, over the party floor, the lights had been turned off, or at least dimmed. I could no longer see any of the party goers, except for those closest to me.

The lights were hot, too. I felt myself beginning to sweat, and my ankles hurt more and more from the ropes digging in to them. I lowered myself slowly in to place, descending carefully.

Another appreciative noise from the crowd. My torso was stretching taught as I hung once again from my arms. My breasts were pulled up and pronounced, my ribs showed, my stomach caved in slightly. The muscles in my shoulders and arms showed clearly. I knew all this, though I did not see it. I could feel it, feel the stretching and twisting that made my exposed body the object of this crowd’s lust.

It was fantastic.

I was humiliated, in pain, struggling and frustrated, but I was also exhilarated and aroused. I couldn’t tell if it was sweat, or if I was wet between my legs. Either way, I felt like I was being fucked by the entire group of 25 people all at once. In a way, I was.

The part really started to get going as I hung there, unable to quite see what was going on. But I could tell by the noise that there were a variety of activities, including a girl that was getting flogged, and a couple having sex, or a pretty good imitation of the sounds. Visions of the party goers flitted in and out of my field of vision, bits of bare skin, leather, cloth or latex… all just out of my reach.

I wanted to get down from that cross and participate, but instead I raised myself up once again, breathed deeply and hung my head. The lights were making me sweat profusely, and my body was shiny wet. My hair was getting stuck to my skin. Damn, I wanted to brush it out of the way and I couldn’t. And the sweat was making me itch in about 10 places… all I could do was wiggle, which accomplished nothing.

OK. It accomplished one thing. A couple came over to me, and touched my body as I lowered myself back down to hang by my wrists. They seemed fascinated by my arms, running fingers down to my armpits and back, tracing muscles as they flexed with the strain. I raised my head and looked at them.

The girl tilted her head up and kissed me.

A shock went through my body, as my pain, the pressure of being bound, the arousal of being naked on display in public, and the pleasure of that kiss all gathered together and my body tried to reach an orgasm without any direct stimulation. I wanted her to touch me so badly, tears started flowing down my cheeks. She kissed them away, and whispered in my ear “I love that you are suffering for us…”

They stroked me, running their hands down my sides, feeling my ribs, breasts and stomach. The couple kissed, and moved off in to the dark. I strained once again and rose myself up.

As the throbbing pain in my feet and ankles slowly spread higher, I though just how amazing I felt. I had never been so aroused as I was at that moment, without being touched or stimulated directly. I really felt as if I might have an orgasm if things were just right.

The sweat was trickling down my naked skin, collecting between my breasts in rivulets and descending down between my legs. It tickled, and itched, and there was nothing I could do about it. My hair was sticking to the sweat on my face, and shaking my head only served to bring more hair in front of my eyes. My head hung down, as much to keep the hair out of my face as because I was tired.

Though I was exhausted.

It was interesting, I thought as the pain in my shoulders started extending down my back and around my chest, how my frustration and agony could be enhanced by minor annoyances. My hair, straggling. Itches and tickles on my skin. My need to have someone satisfy me by bringing me to climax. The heat and lights shining in my eyes, making me blind. All were multiplying the pain of hanging there.

All increased my sense of helplessness and arousal.

As I hung with my head down, I saw that my legs were spread, knees wide apart. I no longer cared, it was just another part of my humiliation and agony.

Looking down at my shaking legs, someone’s hand appeared. It slipped fingers up my inner thigh, slowly rising higher. It was slippery wet, but as it reached the top became wet with my inner juices. A gentle stroking and I felt the climax quickly rising in my groin, flooding across my entire body in a moment. My head rose up, and turned to my arm, perhaps in an attempt to conceal my face from public view during orgasm, or perhaps to simply have something to touch as my cheek pressed against my arm.

My hips moved with the hand, quickly. In moments, the climax rose and had taken me. I came explosively, crying out, begging for something though I had no idea what. My entire body shuddered and struggled against the ropes, my hips thrust out, I flushed and nipples were rock hard. It was the most intense orgasm I had ever felt.

When it was over, the hand gone, I raised my head and looked out over the blackness. I could see some movement out there, some activity going on. Many were just watching me, though they were grouped in pairs, or threesomes, or even a foursome. They had seen me, and my pain and pleasure had inspired them.

I hung from my cross, and watched them pleasure each other as I writhed under the hot lights.

I had another orgasm on the cross, a little later, thanks to a young girl that looked a lot like me. She kissed and honored me as I had kissed and honored my cross before being hung on it.

When it was over, they took me down, and massaged me, bringing my muscles and flesh back to life. Then they made love to me. Every one of those 25 or 30 people. Some simply suckled my nipples, others gave me deep soul kisses, some taking me fully and completely. I lost track of the orgasms.

The experience was the most incredible, erotic, intense experience of my life. Afterward I realized that much of what made it so amazing was my desire to be exposed, vulnerable, manipulated, and punished in public. I am an exhibitionist. Hanging on the cross proved that, and proved to be the perfect way for me to achieve my ultimate fetish.