Monday, October 4, 2010

The Power of Money

She was gorgeous, cute and with a body that reminded me of a cat. Lithe. The way she looked around the studio and the equipment without flinching, I knew she was going to be a good pain slut for us.

"It's a specialty operation," the sadist explained with a kind of bored voice. I supposed he did this every day, interviewing and eliminating girls from consideration. Or perhaps they eliminated themselves. He probably thought I was a lightweight, and would bail as soon as I saw the kink operation.

"Well, I can see that. You seem to have all custom... uh... equipment here." The dungeon we were standing in was a basement, concrete floor and brick walls, completely cleared. There were wooden stocks, metal cages, chains, leather harnesses, medical equipment, hoses, and a tank of some sort in the corner, large enough to hold a horse. The place smelled and looked clean, in spite of the dark atmosphere. I thought about it a bit, and realized this meant they probably had to clean up after sessions. In other words, sessions made a mess... body fluids and what not.

He continued to show me around, telling me about some of the various activities. My attention wandered for a moment, and I lost track of what he was saying. There, in the corner, stood a cross of some sort. It didn't look like a typical cross I was familiar with, and who knows how it was used. But... an upright beam with a cross beam, and notches for ropes and appliances of some sort or another. It was a cross. My heart beat faster. Since I was a teen, I had been fascinated with crucifixion, and had developed a sort of obsession over it.

My attention was brought back to the guy who was saying, "let's head upstairs and discuss your interest."

We headed back up the stairs to his office, which was a complete mess. I sat on the ratty couch and crossed my legs while he sat behind his desk. "OK, so you know what we do, and what we pay. You want to give it a go?"

"Sure," I said nonchalantly. I needed the money, and had done bondage gigs before. In fact, I kind of liked them, in some really strange way. "Did you need me to do any kind of audition, or like, take my clothes off or something?"

He chuckled and looked a little happy for the first time. "No, auditioning is kind of moot. Its not like the girls act here, their reactions are real, the bondage and pain is real. It is really up to me to make you squirm. And yes, you will squirm."

He said this last with a smile that gave me chills. I began to realize he really was a sadist and enjoyed his work.

"Um, one thing. I need a little more money than you mentioned. I am willing to go 24 hours, but I want double the money. I am worth it. I doubt you get many girls in here that have my looks." I knew I was right on that point. I have a pixie, kind of natural girl-next-door cuteness that guys swoon over.

He laughed. "So, you want to start at the farm, do you? Well, its not like you are a newbie. OK, I will give you 50% more for 24 hours, but at the farm. Its a place I run out in the woods, about 50 miles from here. And... you have to finish the scene or no money. You game?"

I didn't like the idea of being out in the middle of nowhere, alone with this guy and the camera crew. But... I needed the money. "75% raise and its done."

"Done," he said, and his grin looked hungry.

She showed up looking fantastic in the rag of a dress we had given her. It clung to her hard body, clearly showing the curves and muscles underneath. Her long wavey brunette hair looked perfect, and she looked healthy and ready for us. I could hardly wait to break her mind and body, seeing her struggle and writhe as I humiliated and tortured her.

Two weeks later I was hog tied with duct tape and shoved in the back of a van laying on my stomach. I was fully clothed, but gagged with dirty underwear and with a hood over my head. Breathing was difficult. My twisted position was painful, with cramps in my back and legs. The gag made me drool.

We bumped along in traffic for almost two hours, and then bumped along a rough road. The ropes dug into my wrists and ankles, and my back cramped. I made noises through my gag, grunting and keening my displeasure, but received no response.

The van stopped and the back door was opened. The cool air hit my body but didn't penetrate the hood over my head. I felt faint from the lack of air, my breathing was heavy and labored. Rough hands dragged me out of the back, and the hood was untied and removed.

The fresh air was wonderful, and for a bit I lay on the ground just breathing. The rope that tied my ankles back to my wrists was removed and I was able to stretch out, though my wrists and ankles were still bound painfully.

As I began to get some oxygen back in my system I started paying attention to my surroundings. I was laying on the ground, clothed in the dress I was told to wear for the shoot. The van was next to me, and there was a barn off to the side. Trees surrounded the clearing, and there was a light cool breeze.

I tried to speak through the gag, but all that came out was "Mpphmmml lskpppmmmp." I had to pee. Badly. The video guy that was there with the sadist was filming me mumble through the gag while the sadist was off doing something else for a bit. The dress was hiked up high from being dragged out of the van and the video guy moved around to take some shots of my ass and legs.

The sadist showed up, dragging something from the barn. I looked at it with fear in my face. I knew this because I had begun to become really afraid of what these guys were going to do. It was the best paying job I had ever had, but there was going to be a reason for it.

A wood beam, and another wood beam; a cross. The guy was dragging a huge, heavy cross made of 6x6 timber. My eyes must have turned into saucers when I saw it and I started grunting and wriggling frantically. The video guy just kept filming as the sadist heaved the cross and dropped it next to me with a loud thump that I could feel through the ground.

The duct tape was removed from my mouth, and the 1000 miles of dirty underwear reeled out. I spat and moved my tongue to get the taste out of my mouth. It didn't work. "What the fuck... are you going to crucify me? You didn't say you were going to crucify me, fuck!"

The look in her eyes was priceless when she saw the cross and finally figured out what was happening to her. I could feel the arousal deep inside me as I cut her dress off of her, revealing the fantastic body that I knew she had. Firm breasts with hard nipples, slim waist and rounded hips. Her thighs were muscular and smooth, and a shaved pussy greeted me as she moved her legs apart without thinking. Feeling her struggle underneath me was amazing.

The sadist didn't say anything. Instead he produced some incredibly huge scissors and started cutting my dress off. I rolled around in the dirt a bit, but that just seemed to help him get the fabric off. He snipped my bra and panties, and moments later I was rolling around in the dirt, stark naked. The video guy moved in for a couple of closeups of my pussy and scared face.

I started reminding myself I was being paid for this. Paid well, too. It was just a scene, and I just needed to get through the next 22 hours or so, and I would be set for at least 2 months of rent, food, clothing, books, school, everything. I kept reminding myself of this as my naked flesh was dragged across the packed earth to the cross, lifted and then laid down on the central upright beam.

The ropes tying my hands were undone, and my right arm dragged out from under me to the crossbeam which was under my head and shoulders. I struggled a bit, though I wasn't really trying to get loose. I wanted the money, and this was a job. Still, there was a feeling inside that was hard to overcome; I struggled against the sadist as he straddled me to hold me down and quickly wrapped multiple strands of rope around one wrist and then the other.

The speed with which he secured me to that crossbeam was awesome. It took seconds, and instead of struggling against him, I was yanking and pulling against the ropes. My arms were stretched out wide, and were going nowhere. Rather than damage myself from struggling prematurely, I relaxed and lay there. The cross upright dug into my back, making my position uncomfortable in a number of ways. The video guy shifted from taking shots of my face to running down my body and showing my legs spread on either side of the wood.

I lay looking up at the sky, wondering what I was getting myself into. Where was the sadist? What was going on? How long were they going to hang me from this accursed cross? Was I actually getting aroused at the thought?

Yep. My old fetish was upon me. The idea that I was finally attached to the cross and would soon be hanging from it was an amazing turn on. Unexpected, really, since I knew that it was going to hurt in ways I wasn't used to. Laid out on the cross, arms wide, I was getting off on the video guy as well. My exhibitionist tendencies were surfacing.

The sadist reappeared, untied my ankles and then tied a rope around my waist. The other end of the rope went to the back end of an SUV parked on the side of the clearing. The video guy stopped taping for a bit and helped the sadist as they turned the cross over onto its side. It was hard, since I was attached to it, but they got it positioned and slowly got me to my feet. The cross weighed heavily on my back.

This was weird. What was I doing with the cross on my back? Weren't they going to hang me up someplace? But as the video guy started taping again and the sadist went over and started the SUV, I realized I had another ordeal in front of me. "NO! Oh, fuck no! Please, don't make me carry this... "

The SUV began rolling slowly up a dirt road which ran through the trees and up a nearby hill. Seconds later the rope had become taught and I was jerked behind it. I had to walk, and quickly too, in order to keep from falling and being dragged. The damn cross was heavy. It must have weighed 50 pounds at least... and I was naked. Walking in bare feet on the dirt road was painful; rocks and sticks were digging into my flesh and the jerking of the cross on my back was leaving some nasty abrasions, I could tell.

"Fuck... oh, damn, this fucking hurts... ow! Fuck... please... " I rambled, sometimes just swearing, sometimes moaning, sometimes yelping from pain when I stepped on something sharp or the cross caught on something and I had to jerk it to get it loose. No matter what, the SUV just moved forward, insisting patiently that I keep up.

It wasn't easy for her to keep up with the car, but she did a good job. She was strong, this one, in mind and body. That cross was heavy and you could see her struggle to keep it up as we moved up the dirt track to the execution spot. Her hair hung down, covering her breasts which swayed from side to side as she walked behind the car.

The only break I got was when the sadist stopped the SUV to allow the video guy to catch up and climb in. He started taping me from the rear, focusing on my poor feet as I tried to pick my way over the sharpest rocks, and then focusing on my face, which I am sure looked like I was in quite a bit of pain. Because I was.

The cross got heavier and the road climbed higher. I was exhausted, my breath coming in pants and moans. I had long since stopped complaining, because talking just kept me from breathing. My nudity no longer got me off, my exhibitionism didn't matter. My legs were what mattered, tired and cramping as I climbed, dragging the 75 pounds of solid wood behind me.

After what seemed like hours, but was probably only about 30 minutes, the SUV pulled into a sort of meadow on the hillside. The grass was tall there, and scratched my bare legs as I came to a halt behind the parked SUV. I collapsed and panted, falling to my knees, my arms aching from the stress of having them tied apart for so long as I pulled the heavy cross. I was miserable, my legs hurt, my arms and shoulders hurt, my feet hurt, and the cross hadn't even been stuck in the ground yet.

The video guy took some nice footage of me with my arms out wide, bent over the earth trying to keep from puking.

"Please... please don't do this. I don't want to be crucified. I don't want you to hang me up here. It hurts, it fucking hurts..." I had gained my voice and had started to beg.

The sadist came over, having untied the rope from the SUV and stood over me.

"Only another few yards to go, bitch, and then you get to rest. Come on, stand and lets get going. Almost there!"

I pushed hard, lifting my body weight along with the weight of the cross, reaching a standing position. I can't remember when I had wanted to be untied more. Following the sadist up to the middle of the meadow, I dragged the cross over bumpy ground that jerked and jarred my arms and shoulders. My back felt like it was on fire from the abrasions and my stomach was still considering throwing up.

I fell on the ground when we reached the spot the sadist had in mind. As I lay there, I saw there was already a mound of earth next to a hole. They had prepared this place, ready for the cross and me. I started to cry and beg again. "Look, just give me a rest for a bit. Please don't do this... please don't hurt me any more."

The video guy was taping me all this time, getting footage of me begging. It was real, was the thing. Being dragged naked up that hill while dragging a heavy cross behind me had beaten me. I had no more will left in me. I was just begging.

"OK, bitch," the sadist said with his face right next to mine on the ground. "We can untie you and let you go right now. But if we do, you get no money. You want the money, its up on the cross you go. So, how about it? Think about the money. You decide."

I turned my head into the ground and cried out in frustration for a moment, and then faced him. With a grimace of pain and defiance, I said "Fine! I can do this, asshole. Do it."

She was beautiful, laying there waiting to be raised up and hang for me. Her fear was showing, and she had started begging. I challenged her, dangling the money carrot. She was a slut, a whore, and it was so easy.

The sadist smiled, and then left my field of vision. Moments later the video guy and the sadist had the cross and were slowly raising it up. At first, I went to my knees, and then stood, as the cross slid into the hole at an angle. Then, with a jerk and a yank, I swung up into the air as the cross upright beam levered up and the base slid down into the ground.

With a *thump* the cross descended two or three feet into the hole and my body jerked downward on my arms, wrists, and shoulders. A shock of pain rattled me and I screamed for a moment as I hung from my arms. The beam wavered back and forth, insecure in the wide hole below me. I felt I was going to fall at any moment, and I was a good 5 feet off the ground, up in the air, looking down at the sadist and the video guy filling in the hole with dirt and wedges of wood.

It took maybe 5 minutes until the cross was stable and I was hanging there without its wobbling and jerking me back and forth. The video was rolling again, and I was crying from the pain that had started on the way up the hill but was now 10 times worse as the weight of my body was placed entirely on my arms and shoulders. Cramps in my back set in, and my hands were numb.

The sadist was enjoying this, you could tell. All my weight had come to a jerking halt on my arms, and it felt like my left shoulder was dislocated. I was crying, sobbing, and could see the video camera zoom in on my face for a nice close shot of my agony.

My legs dangled free, and instinctively tried to find something to support my weight. There was nothing. I simply hung there. I finally forced them to stop kicking around because it was just making the rest of my body hurt more.

She screamed when the cross slipped into the hole. A sweet sound. I stood back and looked at her hanging before me. There is something about a beautiful woman stretched, whether on the rack or hanging from a cross or winch; their bodies elongate and show hips protruding below, breasts pert above, and ribs pronounced above their concave stomachs which move as they try to breathe. I simply enjoyed the sight for a bit.

Once I stopped kicked and was simply hanging there, the sadist produced some sort of triangular block of wood which he slid into a hole in the cross about where my feet were. It was a support for me to stand on. Problem was, the block of wood sloped down and away. It was almost impossible to get any weight on, because my feet slipped off. Struggling and straining, trying different approaches, I got one foot on and the other behind the cross beam to keep me from slipping off. That helped a lot. I was able to partly stand on one leg and support myself, taking the weight off my shoulders and wrists, and allowing blood flow back into my hands.

The video guy had taped me getting situated on the wooden stand, while the sadist had returned to the SUV to watch and enjoy my torment. After a while I realized he had his cock out of his pants and was slowly stroking himself as he watched my struggles. I don't know why, but I can't remember ever being more humiliated than I was at that moment. I knew thousands of guys had probably wanked over images of me in fetish gear before... but actually seeing someone getting off, right in front of me, as I suffered... it took something out of me. I felt like nothing but a piece of meat. Which was pretty accurate at that point, to tell the truth.

My foot kept slipping and I shifted my weight as best I could. Switching feet helped some, but no matter what, there was weight on my arms and my legs were constantly straining to hold me up. The air was cool, but the sun, which was now setting, was warm and I sweated. The sweat trickled down my face and started to itch. I couldn't get free to scratch, and it began driving me insane.

How strange that something as small as a trickle of sweat, an itch, a tiny need to scratch or wipe, would bring me almost to the breaking point. I struggled, jerking and yanking at the ropes that held my arms spread out above me. The cross rocked a little, and I slipped off the foot support, jerking my arms once again and eliciting a cry of pain. My whole body hurt. My hands were aching (though numb), my arms were stretched ragged, my shoulders and upper back cramped, and my legs strained and cramped to stay on top of that slanted foot rest.

"Ahhhhhhggggg... oh, please. God please don't torture me any more!" My head was raised and I faced the sky, screaming from rage and pain and frustration. The sadist walked over, zipping his cock back up in his pants, and observed me for a moment. He touched my body, sliding fingers over my skin, feeling me as I writhed.

"Are you sure you want that? You only have about 14 hours to go, you know and then you can get paid." His fingers were sliding over my pussy as he said this.

I pressed my lips together, refusing to say a word, but felt the trickle of tears as they descended my cheeks.

Seeing her suffer up there was amazing. Her body writhed, trying to find a position that would hurt a little less. Her breasts were perfect, drawn up pertly by her raised arms. When she became too exhausted she leaned forward, letting her hair and breasts hang forward, her head down. The constant cries of frustration, pain and grunts of effort as she struggled to remain upright, were glorious.

It was really quite a nice location they had selected for my mock execution. The meadow was on a hill that overlooked a beautiful valley. Trees covered the area, and the rolling hills in the distance took on a purplish look as the sun descended below the horizon. I looked at the beauty surrounding me, and it contrasted with the misery that was screaming around inside my body.

The engine on the SUV started up. The sadist and video guy were climbing in. They were leaving me alone. It pulled back and then turned and slowly headed down the dirt track up which I had dragged the cross. I screamed at them once as the car disappeared, and then I was alone.

My legs gave out, and I hung from my outstretched arms for a while, my head sagging, eyes closed. It felt almost peaceful, and the pain in most of my body left as I relaxed. It was only the tendons, bones and muscles of my arms and hands that were screaming out in agony. After a while, I could not ignore them any more and pressed back down with one foot on the narrow foothold. Lifting up, I could feel the relief in my arms, but sweat had trickled down my legs and made my feet slippery. As my foot slid off the support, I jerked back down and yanked my arms once again. I screamed, and the empty air in the meadow seemed to absorb the scream and cast it aside as if it had no meaning.

It was dark; the moon had not risen. There were some lights scattered in the valley in front of me. I imagined homes where people were sitting down to watch TV, children being put to bed, and eventually the adults making love and then falling asleep in each others arms. All this while I hung on a wooden cross above them, dangling and struggling, in horrible pain that slowly increased as my body lost strength and my mind lost tolerance.

I smelled urine. It was a strong smell, and I realized it came from me. The inside of my legs must be covered in it. In fact, I felt the rumblings of a bowel movement inside my intestines. I yelled out for help, asking that anyone that could hear me would come and help. It was no use. I was in a beautiful and isolated area. I began to believe that I might die here.

Diarrhea struck me all at once. The pressure built and then pushed out as my bowels let loose in a massive mix of feces, liquid and gas. The smell was sickening, and the feces covered the back of my legs and trickled down slowly. I had lost both bladder and bowel control now, I knew my body was really suffering up here.

Once again, I let my feet slip off the tilted support and simply hung by my arms. The pain had increased, but there was little I could do. I could no longer support myself.

A wolf came by sometime late that night. It sniffed around, and even tried to nip a bit. I was too high up for it, though it came close. Later, I heard howling.

The SUV came bumping back up the hill sometime later. It's headlights shown in the darkness from quite some ways. When it arrived the headlights covered the whole clearing, including me up on the wooden horror that held me.

I would have screamed at the sadist as he climbed out of the vehicle, but my voice had cracked and basically I could only manage a hoarse whisper. There was something wrong with me, I could tell. It wasn't just the strain from hanging from the cross, it was something worse. The sadist headed over to me with a ladder which he propped against the cross. The video guy was taping of course, the whole exchange.

The sadist got up to my head and took out a bottle. Water. Oh, I suddenly realized what I needed, what was wrong with me. I was dehydrated from no water and the diarrhea. He held the bottle to my mouth and I began gulping, the water flooding my mouth and splashing over my neck, breasts and stomach. I drank the whole bottle, and began to feel a little better. Better enough to begin concentrating on the pain in my back and the lack of feeling in my hands. I couldn't move my fingers.

Giving her water to rehydrate her allowed me to get close to her suffering. Seeing her face close up as she struggled with her situation, the pain, the desire, the fear, the hopelessness that had set in-- it gave me an erection immediately. She was so lovely in her agony.

"Six more hours dear," the sadist said quietly. He actually nuzzled my neck, kissing me slightly, as he spoke. "You can quit now, but all that pain, all that agony, will be for nothing. Keep going, six more hours... that's all..."

I didn't say anything, just hung for a while before struggling up and then falling back down. I let out a loud moan as the weight ripped my shoulders once again.

"Let's give you a little more support, shall we?" The sadist said, and I looked at him with a mixture of hope and fear. I had no idea what he was going to do to me. He wasn't in the business of making girls more comfortable.

The video kept going as he trudged to the SUV and got out some sort of wooden board. He came back to the cross, climbed one rung of the ladder and then said "lift yourself up a bit. I am going to give you a seat to carry some of your weight."

I pushed, raising myself up a bit. The sadist took the short board and slipped it between my legs, pushing it up snugly against my pussy. It fit in another notch of the cross, and he pounded in an additional nail to help keep it in place. He climbed down and removed the ladder. The video guy zoomed in as I lowered my weight onto the 2x4 that stuck out from the cross about a foot.

Thing was, the 2x4 was positioned vertically, the thin side pushing up into my pussy. It hurt. Not as bad as my arms and wrists and back (I don't think anything could have hurt more at that point), but the edges were sharp and dug into my soft flesh. Nevertheless I sat down on it, and breathed a huge sigh.

It didn't take long for me to realize the sedile he had provided was basically adding a wooden pony ride to my crucifixion. After that long on the cross, I was happy for it. It hurt, and after a while, it ached and hurt a lot. But it was at least a choice. It relieved the weight on my shoulders and back, and the cramping subsided some. I could alternate the pain, moving it back and forth, choosing which part of my body would bear the agony at any given time.

The sunrise was beautiful. It flooded from behind me, lighting up the whole meadow and valley below. The hills were green, and a slight breeze pushed past my sweaty flesh and helped dry it.

"How.. much... longer..." I croaked.

"2 hours, dear," the sadist had his cock out again, and the video guy was going to town examining every aspect of my stretched and agonized body. He zoomed in on my ass cheeks where they split on each side of the cross upright beam, on my pussy where it pressed and split on the wood board, on my breasts that wobbled and heaved as I breathed with difficulty, on my face and the stains of hours of tears, on my straggled hair, on my purple hands that appeared to be in a permanently curled, claw like shape.

The beauty of the morning meant little to me, hanging from the cross. It had been something like 21 hours since I had been tied to it. Memory of what my life was like before had slipped away. It seemed like I was there simply waiting to die, and that in a couple of hours my death would come and relieve me of the pain. My entire body shook, none of the muscles worked. I simply waited, waited for something to happen.

It finally did. The two of them carefully climbed up and untied me. When the ropes gave way, I screamed once again. My arms had been in a raised position for so long that all the muscles cramped as they moved down. Returning blood flow created pain in places that had long since gone numb. Laying stretched out on the ground, I vomited, getting it over me, though all I had to vomit was the water I had received a few hours earlier.

I would have loved to leave her there for another day, two days, three... whatever it took until her body gave out and she succumbed. But then, she really was beautiful and there was money to be made. She would be back, I could tell. Anyone that suffered this much for the money... she would be back.

I lay sobbing on the ground as several buckets of water were thrown over me, washing off the vomit, the feces and urine that covered my body. I was then picked up off the ground, unable to walk, and thrown into the back of the SUV. The trip down the hillside was bumpy, but I hardly noticed. My whole body was wracked in pain from blood which was now flowing back into numb spots, and muscles learning to settle back into place.

They helped me walk into the barn, where they sat me on a wooden chair and gave me a bottle of water and a granola bar. When I was ready for the ride back, the video guy got his camera again, and started taping as the sadist hogtied me.

"What are you doing?" I croaked.

"You have an hour left, babe. We are driving back, but you get to ride in the back, bound and gagged like the pain slut you are," he was pulling my legs back and tying them to my wrists so I was bent backward. "An hour left. When we get back to the studio, you get paid for the whore you are."

I opened my mouth to protest, but instead of sound, my mouth was filled with dirty rags. Duct tape quickly secured them inside and all I could do was moan as they picked me up and threw me in the back of the van.

When I was finally released and paid, they counted cash out for me. Hundreds. 80 of them. My day hanging in agony in the middle of the forest was still with me, but I could feel it fading. The stack of 80 bills in my hand felt thick, and I knew I was set for the next two or three months. It felt good.

As I slowly walked to my car, the sadist came with me, and as I slid gingerly into the driver's seat, he leaned down and said, "So babe... you did good. You want to come back for another scene sometime, when you get low on money? We can think of something unique and fun for you."

I looked at him with a steel face, about ready to curse and damn him to hell. Instead, I surprised myself and said, "Yeah. Maybe. But I want more money."

The sadist laughed, straightened up and said, "You'll be back. We will arrange something."

Thursday, January 21, 2010

Crucifixion of a Citizen


Livia was tired, so tired after the long night of running and hiding; the bumpy road was taking the last bit of energy from her. She was the daughter of a prelate, governor and magistrate of the area just north of Pompeii, and had the best transportation in the area. But the carriage was still very uncomfortable. This road had not yet been paved and the bouncing was punishing on her.

A tall, dark haired beauty of 20, Livia was renowned throughout the territory as being the most eligible, prettiest, richest girl in the Pompeii social scene. Well proportioned but with a cute, almost childlike face, she had a reputation for taking risks for the sake of pleasure and excitement. Even on the outskirts of Pompeii this was quite a reputation to have, for Pompeii was a place where people came for all pleasures of the flesh.

The carriage turned down the track that lead to her family's villa, and she jumped out of the carriage and ran into the house. It was cooler inside, protected from the hot sun. Her handmaid greeted her at the door to her apartment eagerly, and spoke.

"Livia, Miss Livia, have you heard the news?"

"What news is this, Freya?"

"Why... a slave from Clavius' household is missing! There is a search out for him. He is that tall, handsome one that... well, you remember him? He seemed rather attentive to you the other day when we were at their villa."

Livia feigned surprise, not willing to reveal that she had just returned from assisting in that very slave's escape. Andronicus and Livia had been having an affair for some time now, along with a couple of other lovers she had taken.

"Hmmph. Well, what is one more slave? I suppose they can buy a new one in no time."

Freya, a slave that had been captured as a child and raised in Pompeii, was agitated. "Oh.. but, Mistress Livia... a missing slave... if he is a runaway... well... you know..."

Livia frowned. "No, what is the big deal? A single slave won't be missed much. they must have 20."

"But Mistress Livia! You know that Roman law states that if a slave from a household escapes... runs away... that he and the entire household of slaves is executed!"

The realization of what this meant sunk in to Livia as she turned white. "All of them? I had... forgotten..."

Freya was becoming more upset by the minute. "Yes! And... by crucifixion! All of them! That means..." Freya had a boyfriend in Clavius' household. It meant that her boyfriend was about to be executed with the most horrible torture devised by the Roman empire.

Livia walked slowly toward the large bath in the center of the house. Freya prepared her for the cooling water, and as she swam and relaxed, thought more and more about what she had done. In helping Andronicus to escape, she had condemned 20 other slaves to a hideous death, including Andronicus if he were ever caught.


"Father, I have something to speak to you about."

Livia's father looked up at her with a questioning face. Livia looked upset.

"Father... the slave from Clavius' household, the one that escaped yesterday? If I knew where he might be, what would happen?"

Her father looked thoughtful. "Well, you would need to tell us, my dear. An escaped slave is serious business. Very serious. It undermines our entire economy and must be dealt with."

"But... what if he hadn't escaped. What if he had just been hiding for a bit? For someone... else."

"My dearest. Tell me where he is. He must be returned. This is serious business."

"He is... well... he is in the old ruined house in the western canyon. He won't be there long. Please Father... don't let anything happen to him. Return him to Clavius, but don't let anything happen to the rest of the slaves!"

Livia's father rose. "Don't you worry. He will be returned." He quickly swept out of the room to take care of the matter.


In an expensively decorated room in the government palace sat a kindly looking man with gray hair.

Clavius rose from his seat in the magistrate's office and addressed the tall, good looking man standing in chains before him. "Andronicus, you have been a good and faithful servant. A slave, yes, but I have always treated you well. What has led you to this action? Why did you try to escape?"

Andronicus looked at the floor, and mumbled just loud enough to hear. "Livia said I would be able to get away, to the north. She and I could be together."

"Ah yes... Livia... the pretty young rich girl. And so she persuaded you to run away? And to hide in the abandoned house in the canyon?"

"Yes. She said I could live there, and she could see me when she could. I love her. She loves me. She was going to help me. She took me there."

Clavius frowned, deeply. "I see. So... Livia helped you escape, and is your lover?"


Clavius turned to the guard standing next to the door. "Bring Livia in."

The guard returned with Livia. Clavius was impressed by her loveliness, the grace of her lines, and the youth and vibrancy of her attitude.

"Clavius, please. Will you grant my request not to execute the slaves? Not all of them, please? Andonicus is back, and all can be as it was, right? No harm has happened?"

"Livia, I have decided to grant your request. The slaves of the household will not be executed. They shall be spared. Andronicus, of course, shall be executed - there is no choice in this. He attempted escape and this can not stand."

Livia looked at Andronicus, and then Clavius. "All right. If that is the way it must be."

Clavius sighed and looked at the floor, and then back to Livia. "But in return for not executing the household of slaves, there must be an equivalent price paid. In this case, justice is served by also executing the person who assisted the slave in his escape."

Livia looked confused for a moment. "But... who? I was the only one who helped him."

Clavius looked at her and nodded. "Yes, my dear. You. You helped him. I have already explained the situation to your father, and it is decided."

Standing there in the expansive office of the magistrate, Clavius looking kind and fatherly at her, Livia felt the world had suddenly because a dream... and then a nightmare. She was Livia, the most beautiful, richest girl in Pompeii! She could not be executed! How... how could this be?

Clavius motioned to the guard. "Take them both and crucify them. Immediately. Do it on the public road so all will see."

Three other guards came in one led Andronicus away by his chains... Livia stood with her face white, eyes wide, hardly breathing. "No... you can't..."

"Yes, Livia. I can."

She began to kick and scream as the three guards took hold of her and dragged her struggling form out of the office. Her screams echoed down the hall as she was placed in chains the then dragged out of the government building.

Clavius looked out of his window and down at a cart that already held Andronicus, chained down securely. Moments later a kicking and writhing Livia was hauled into the back of the cart, dumped in, and then chained down by both arms and legs. She continued to scream hysterically as the cart began moving toward the main road, where it entered the city.


The suddenness of the action had taken Livia completely by surprise. She didn't understand what was happening. One moment she was a rich Roman Citizen, playing politics to save a lover and some other people including her own servant's boyfriend. The next moment she was in chains, being dragged down the marble hall of the government building toward almost immediate torture and death.

The sun beat down on her as she bounced along in the back of the cart. Several soldiers were walking next to the cart, talking between themselves, ignoring her and Andronicus, her former lover that had gotten her into this mess. She bit him, and he jerked back and away from her. She yanked on the chains, hard, but they only bit into the sensitive flesh of her wrists. The were attached securely to the side of the cart, both wrists and ankles.

"Don't you understand who I am?!? I am a Roman Citizen, Livia, my father is rich and powerful! You will suffer for this, you will be punished when he finds out. You will be scourged, let me go! Let me go now!!!"

The guards laughed a bit but otherwise ignored her.

She noticed a gathering of people behind the cart as it bumped its way through town. Citizens were gathering for the spectacle of a crucifixion. For some, watching the torture and death agonies of another was a treat, something always to be enjoyed when available. Livia had even come to watch the nails pounded through flesh, and listen to the screams of the condemned. It wasn't like the huge spectacles at the coliseum in Rome, where men battled each other to the death and lions were turned loose on unfortunate victims, but watching the suffering of others was still a national past time throughout the Roman empire.

Dignity, she reminded herself. She needed to show dignity. These were common people, not of her rank. There were even slaves mixed in with the crowd. She would not be lowered to their level, she was the daughter of a magistrate, soon to be governor. This nightmare would end with the guards whipped soundly while she watched, and with Clavius being turned out of his house, she would see to it. He would be banished. They all would be made to pay for this horror!

She began to cry, sobbing to herself.


The cart stopped, just outside the city walls. The guards reached in and pulled Andronicus out and led him to a tall post that was planted in the ground in a clearing outside the gate. Livia recognized it as the whipping post used for scourging. Andronicus had his chains pulled up and placed on a hook high up the post, stretching his body out so that he stood on his toes. With a single hard pull, a Centurion tore Andronicus' robe from his back, baring his muscular body for all to see. The crowd gathered and made appreciative noises as they observed the muscles in his shoulders working, trying to relieve the discomfort of the suspension.

With a sudden whistling noise, a whip sliced through the air and impacted with the slave's back with a thumping crack. Livia jumped at the unexpected sound and subsequent cry from Andronicus. Seeing the blood seeping from a straight cut across his shoulders, Livia had a pang of guilt. She was angry that this slave could have caused all this trouble, but he was also her former lover. He had been a good lover, one of the best, and she had enjoyed spending time with him.

The whip hissed through the air again, and the snapping noise of leather across flesh made her wince. As stroke after stroke landed on Andronicus' back, his screams slowly changed into cries and moans. Livia failed to count the strokes, not even thinking what they meant. There were 39 in total, after which Andronicus' back was a solid red from blood, flowing in rivulets over the flesh that had been flayed open. He was unhooked, and fell to the ground, unable to support himself after the vicious whipping. Two guard dragged him away.

Livia thought for a moment that it might be over... that they would whip Andronicus and that would be enough. When she was grabbed roughly by two of the guards and dragged toward the post, she realized that she was next. Her blood ran cold, raw panic gripped her and she began struggling as hard as she could, kicking, biting and clawing. While she managed to draw some blood from the centurion that had her right arm, it was to no avail. In moments her wrist chains were hooked high above her head and she hung from the post, toes unable to reach the ground. Her shoulders began to hurt from the strain immediately and her legs kicked and flailed below her.

A rough hand grasped the back of her dress and pulled, tearing it roughly and baring her back. A further yank and the cloth cut into her shoulders, resisting against the pull and then finally giving way so that the dress fell down to the ground, exposing her naked body except for a small undergarment she wore around her waist. Livia became aware of her public nudity in addition to the stretching horror of her suspension from the post, but seconds later forgot her embarrassment.

Signaled by a short whoooshing noise, the whip stroked across her lower back, exploding in pain and drawing a scream from her as she raised her face to the sky. She had no idea that a whip could hurt that much... in fact she had no idea anything could hurt that much. Her entire back was on fire and it felt as if her flesh had been torn away from her bones.

There was no time to recover before the second stroke hit her, slicing through the flesh of her shoulder blades, a white hot streak of pain bringing fresh screams from her once again. A third stroke cut into her, tearing her apart, and the pain began to deepen, extending into her bones, her ribs and lungs. Her screams were continuous now.

The crowd watched, growing to see how this beautiful young girl writhed under the strokes of a lash. Journeymen, housewives, businessmen, soldiers, all standing a respectful distance from the whip, but watching Livia's nude torso wriggling as the whip lashed around her, cutting into her breasts.

The sound of the whip striking her back took on a different flavor as more strokes were added, wounds piled upon wound. A distinct slapping, cracking sound was added as Livia's back covered with blood. There was also a deeper thumping quality to the impacts, as her flesh began to flay off, hanging in rags.

By the time the whipping had ended, Livia hung from the post without moving, no longer screaming. She was semi-conscious, head lolling about, long hair matted with the blood of her back. As with Andronicus, when she was taken down from the whipping post, she collapsed on the ground and dragged a short way up a nearby hill.


Andronicus was already stretched on top of wooden beams as the soldiers gathered the spikes that would fasten him to the cross. Livia saw what was happening, but did not completely understand it. Her back was on fire, and the pain spread throughout her body. She felt that she had been stabbed repeatedly, and was weak, unable to struggle.

Thrown to the ground, she landed on her stomach with a grunt. Rough hands picked her arms up and rolled her over on top of a large wooden post that lay on the ground next to her. The wood was roughly hewn, and tore into the shreds of flesh on her back, causing her to regain consciousness and cry out. She drew her legs up, feeling the dirt below her bare feet, but was unable to rise. She was held down by two guards.

The centurion stood over her and looked. He considered her damaged but still remarkable body. Deciding for a bit of play to help break up the tedium of crucifixion duty, he grabbed the remnants of Livia's clothing hanging about her waist, and yanked them off. Her legs flopped open, revealing the beautiful and undamaged reward that he sought...

The crowd gathering on the road heard the initial screams of Andronicus, as the first spike was pounded through his right wrist. A few feet from the nailing the crowds observed the centurion pull out a remarkably large member, kneel before the creamy flesh of Livia, and insert himself. She did not cry out as he pushed his way deeper, and shoved in and out with increasing urgency.

Screams were renewed as a second spike entered Andronicus' left wrist, and at the same time the centurion was grunting with orgasmic pleasure. He grabbed Livia's hips, pulling her up from the cross slightly so that he could thrust harder and deeper -- and finally deposit his ejaculate inside of her as his head turned to the sky and he cried out in sexual release.

Livia struggled slightly, but her arms were held securely stretched out on either side. Besides, the centurion was large, and if there was one thing Livia had enjoyed in life, it was a large man. Laying on the cross, she fooled herself into thinking this was to be her punishment, that it would all be over soon. She had been whipped, and raped... and would now be set free. She would make sure the centurion was killed, one way or another, when she got out of this.

As the Centurion removed himself from inside Livia she felt the pang that always marked a man's withdrawal from her. She lived for sexual pleasure, this was why she had found Andronicus, who was remarkably large. She might even find herself with this same Centurion again, sometime.


The crowds saw Livia's naked body clearly for the first time when the Centurion rose and went to where Andronicus was having his legs raised and spike set for his ankles. The Centurion was and expert, experienced in the proper methods of execution, and took pride in doing it properly. When it came to crucifixion, doing it properly meant quick and easy for the soldiers, with a maximum amount of pain and humiliation for the victim. Proper placement of nails in the joints, combined with a good body position, provided all these things.

Livia felt the first taste of the remarkable horror of crucifixion as the spike was positioned over her right wrist, its rough point pressing against the edge of the palm just next to the wrist. The soldier pressed down to assure its position, cutting her flesh. Livia whimpered at this initial bit of pain, when suddenly the hammer came down and impacted with the end of the spike. The metal drove through the flesh, crushing bone and tearing tendons for a good inch with that first strike.

All Livia was aware of was a crushing, tearing, searing pain in her wrist. Whines instantly turned to screams and she began struggling for real, thrashing against the hands that held her firm. The spike was angled, so that while it entered her body at the base of her palm, it descended through her wrist joint, destroying the hand and wrist bones as it went. The pain was excruciating, and she screamed and kicked as three more solid blows drove the nail through her wrist and into the wood beneath. A last blow and the nail was secured in the wood firmly.

The agony that accompanied the destruction of her wrist had Livia writhing on the ground, and her scream attracted the crowd. The circled about, watching the her naked body jerking around, kicking and gasping. Some looked on with horror, others with secret fascination and even delight. It was truly a spectacle.

The second nail was placed against her left wrist, and Livia new what was coming. She struggled hard, jerking her hand, trying to get away, but it was useless. Her arm was held firmly in position, and with four solid blows, the spike drove through her left wrist and pinned her, arms spread wide, to the wooden cross beam below her.

The guards rose, as Livia was now secured to the cross, and would never be able to free herself. They no longer needed to hold her motionless. Instead, they rested for a moment before nailing her feet.

There was debate amongst the men as to how her feet should be nailed. Some said the traditional manner of placing one foot over the other and nailing them both in place with a single spike was outmoded, a hold over from days when metal was scares and spikes needed to be used efficiently. It was better, they argued, to nail her ankles to the sides of the cross, one spike in each ankle.

The Centurion prevailed, stating that while separate spikes was acceptable, that proper placement of the feet forced the victim's legs apart, exposing their sex for all to see. This was part of the humiliation of crucifixion, as well as (in Livia's case especially) an interesting and pleasing display.

Forcing her legs up so that her knees bent at about a 45 degree angle, her feet were placed in position. Two men held her struggling but weakened body as a nail was pressed into the top part of the foot, just at the ankle.

The searing pain that came with the spike shattering the delicate bones of her feet and ankles drove Livia into a frenzy of screams. Her hips, the only part of her that was still free to move without restriction, thrust frantically up and down as if she were engaged in sexual intercourse, exposing herself to the crowd. Her knees spread, unable to reposition together due to the way her feet rested. Her grotesque struggles were remarkable to see, spread on the cross but still laying on the ground.

She was left on the ground for a few minute, facing the sun and sky, feeling the horrible pain in her hands and feet. She panted, alternately crying out for mercy, demanding justice, threatening, and simply crying. Her breasts rose and fell, her stomach contracted and concave from her laying position. Sweat from the hot sun and excruciating pain was covering her body with a moist sheen that made her look at once alluring, desirable, arousing, and repulsive.


Livia's screams had drawn a crowd, but there were now enough people that it was difficult for everyone to see what had produced them. The soldiers began digging the hole for the cross, and in about 10 minutes had a nice one, perhaps three feet deep. While this went on, Livia lay on the rough wood beams, feeling the horrible cramping nerve pain from the spikes in her wrists and feet. She lay staring at the blue sky, and watched birds wheel above in the air, and became aware of the crowd that surrounded her, observing her.

Even so, she did not have the strength to do anything but try and deal with the pain in her arms and legs. She was aware of her nudity, and also of her complete helplessness. She was simply there, waiting in pain for whatever came next.

What came next was two soldiers gripping the top of her cross, and lifting her up, rotating it to the side. She lay at a slight angle, as the head of the cross was only lifted 3 feet or so from the ground. Once in place, the rotation stopped and a soldier at the bottom guided the cross down and into the hole. He then joined the other two, lifting the wooden structure slowly higher into the air.

As the cross rose, Livia's weight shifted down. Her naked buttocks slid and scraped on the rough wood, and an increasing strain was placed on the nails in her wrists. When the cross slipped the last foot into the hole, the jerk yanked on her wounds and she screamed in agony, her body undulating and pulling unwillingly, trying to deal with the impossible situation it was experiencing. The muscles and tendons on her arms stood out with strain, her ribs pressed out against the flesh that covered them as she gasped and screamed, her stomach receded and became concave -- as her body stretched and strained from its suspension.

The cross stopped in its upright position and Livia's body, now hanging completely from the spikes in her wrists, swung slightly back and forth. Each small movement created a visible ripple of pain in her naked flesh until she stopped and remained motionless. Her long dark hair straggled down in front of her, over the shoulders to the tops of her breasts.

The crowd gathered to observe, now that Livia was up and on display for all too see. Sobbing, struggling, hanging by her wrists, the beautiful girl was an amazing sight. Her entire weight was pulling on her arms, which were spread out in a wide V. Her hands, extending just beyond the metal heads of the spikes which pierced her flesh, were curved in a stiff claw-like position. This was common, as the nerves to her hands were destroyed, and the muscles damaged. There was some blood, but remarkably little. It trickled slightly from her wounds, and down onto the cross where it was soaked into the porous wood. The muscles of her arms and torso were clearly outlined, and her breasts stood out clearly against the flesh enveloping her ribs. Her thin waist was stretched as well, emphasized in this unnatural position.

Because her feet had been nailed together at an angle, Livia's knees were bent and legs spread at a wide angle. The sweat which was gathering on her shiny stomach slid down to her crotch, and into the lips of her soft womanhood, finally dripping down to the blood which slowly oozed from her wounded feet. She was truly on display, a display which was appreciated by a wide variety of travelers and residents of the city.

Livia screamed and swore once again at the soldiers, and then began pleading with the citizens of Rome that gathered around her. She begged to be let down. She promised anything, to anyone. Her words became more incoherent, strained, and her voice hoarse from the screaming and yelling. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, straining to breath... and in spite of the agony wracking her body she realized just how hard it was to breath, hanging from the cross.

She remembered. She remembered the dance that others had done on the cross, when she had come to observe and entertain herself. The agony of lifting up, gasping for air, and then as strength waned and pain was too great, lowering back down. She knew what she must do, though at first she refused. She would rather die that dance for these people on a cross. Hanging there, shuddering, crying, just... hanging... for there was nothing else she could do.

When her breathing slowed to where she had no more air, and her body screamed out for life, she did it. Pressing up on her damaged feet, and pulling on the nails that spread her broken wrist bones apart, she screamed and screamed in a suppressed gurgling as she lifted up... and almost passed out from the pain, dropping back down. The onlookers saw this struggle, and her failure, and cheered her on.

"Go ahead, lift yourself! Breathe! You must, you must!" Cried the crowd to the young girl as she hung before them.

And lift herself she did. With a great burst of energy and a cry of agony, Livia pulled herself up to a standing position, straightening her knees. As she reached this position, air was taken in and exhaled in great gasps, oxygen ran through her body and she stood there, as motionless as possible, until her strength was simply no longer enough. With a slow, painful motion, she slid back down until her weight was on her wrists once again.


Beautiful young women were not crucified every day and the crowd observing the execution was swelling as the afternoon sun went down. Livia's lean body hung from the cross in a way that outlined and defined every muscle and tendon, flesh stretched over her skeleton in ways that undulated and rippled in curves.

When collapsed down and hanging from her nailed wrists, Livia's breasts were stretched up slightly and took on a pert, rounded look that was not usually found in naked women. The tortuous position of her body ironically emphasized her youth, health and firm shape.

The spike through her feet kept her legs spread at a wide angle, showing her female genitalia very clearly. The inside of her thighs swooped up in a clean, straight line to this spot in a delightful way. A hint of her buttocks could be seen behind, slightly rounded.

There was very little blood; the executioner had done a good job. Trickles of blood ran down from her wrists, and ran in a small rivulet over her top foot from where the spike entered her foot. Otherwise, Livia was not bleeding. This was important, as loss of blood would hurry her time on the cross, which was to be extended as much as possible to prolong her agony and humiliation.

As Livia pulled on her arms and pushed with her feet to stand on the spike below and gain a few moments of unfettered breathing, she looked down and saw the crowd below her. At that moment the agony of her humiliation flooded over her and was almost as bad as the pain in her wrists, shoulders and back. She saw her mother, staring at her with strange eyes. Behind her were two of her friends, young girls that she counted as close companions. The girls were giggling and talking to each other, looking at Livia sobbing as she stood on a nail pounded through her feet.

A farmer that used some of her father's land moved forward, quite close, until one of the guards stopped him. He stood there and ran his eyes up and down Livia's body. She knew he was cataloging her nakedness in his mind, remembering the look of her sex as well as the look of her suffering. She gasped from the pain in her crushed feet and lowered herself back down, and as she did so her legs spread wider and wider in front of the farmer.

It was at this point that Livia realized she wanted to die. The pain, the humiliation was too much, and she wanted to be put out of her agony. She cried out to the soldiers below her.

"Please... have mercy! Kill me now, let me die. I am punished, my mind is gone, just... stop this pain! Please!" her last word stretched out into a low scream and then a low gurgling as she struggled to draw another breath and exhale once again.

With an unexpected suddenness, Livia's bladder let loose and she urinated onto the ground below her.


The sun set with no mercy given to either of the crucified pair. Andronicus, the larger and stronger of the two was holding up well. The soldiers speculated that he might survive several days on the cross. Livia on the other hand, while healthy, seemed to have less stamina and might go more quickly. The soldiers that guarded the pair sat around a fire and watched the victims struggling in the firelight.

The next morning the centurion arrived and walked up to Livia.

"You have not had a good night, I see. Not looking good at all." He observed her body, resting his gaze at the telltale signs of his dried semen on one inner thigh. In response, Livia struggled up, took a deep breath and pleaded with the centurion.

"Please... let me die... kill me now." Her voice was hoarse and gasping. He could tell she was well on the way to dying without his help.

He turned to the other soldiers and barked some commands which were carried out quickly.

Livia looked across the road to see her former lover, suspended on his cross and facing her. His fine body reminded her briefly of why she had taken him, and his large male member hanging down reminded her of how it felt to have him inside. She hung her head, and wished for death.

Soldier approached Andronicus with a long, thin rope. One of the men grasped his scrotum and pulled hard, stretching it down. Andronicus moaned at this painful indignity. Another soldier approached with the rope and looped it around the distended testicles, tying it off quickly and firmly. The rope was tight, very tight around this scrotal flesh, and cut off blood flow to his testicles.

Releasing his grip on the man, the first soldier bent over and picked up a large rock that lay nearby. The way he strained as he held the rock, it weighed quite a bit. The other soldier wrapped the thin rope around it several times, making sure it was well secured. When the rock had been wrapped and tied off, the soldier released it. The rock fell, pulling Andronicus' scrotum to its full distended length and then jerked to a stop. A scream announced the new kind of agony which had suddenly shot through the crucified slave's body. His cries went on for some time, then slowly quieted into the moans and cries of the crucified dying.

The centurion approached Livia, and she looked at him with a mixture of fear and hope. "Please... help me... let me die, kill me, please..." Her voice was hoarse, and getting hard to understand. She was dehydrating, the fluids in her body escaping through urination, drooling, sweating and bleeding.

"I will help you," the centurion said, and produced a pole with a sponge. The sponge dripped with liquid as he held it up to Livia's parched mouth. She turned her head, and sucked eagerly, water drooling down her chin and neck, and over her exposed breasts. When it was sucked dry, the centurion backed away, and a few minutes later returned with something in his hands.

He fondled it, his fingers stroking the curved wooden horn. It was a cornu, a type of sedile that was designed to both torture and extend the life of those hanging from the cross. It was one he had made some years ago, and was stained brown from the blood of numerous victims. He smiled up at Livia kindly, and said in a fatherly voice, "I have a seat that will help support you and relieve the pain in your arms."

With another soldier helping him, the centurion pushed Livia up, forcing her body higher. The cornu slipped into place in a slot made for it and once he observed it will secure, they released Livia, allowing her to sink back down on the cross.

As she sunk down, the cornu point dug into the flesh between her legs. She raised up again, trying to find how this new device was to help her, and slid down in front of it. The wooden horn pushed her body out in a curve, stretching it severely and increasing the pain in her arms, shoulders, and back. She cried out in desperation, tears streaming from her eyes, body writhing in its attempt to maintain minimal agony.

Livia lifted up once again, over the sedile, and then back down slowly. She felt what she must do, and knew she had no choice. She guided her pain wracked body over the point of the cornu, and slowly descended, feeling the expanding point entering her body, spreading her privates apart, inserting itself into her vagina in a horrible parody of the sex she had enjoyed with Andronicus.

When her full weight rested on the cornu, the agony of the foot long cornu pressing into her and spreading her painfully replaced the pain of her stretched muscles in arms and back. It replaced the pain, not relieved it. Though she was able to breathe... this was better, she thought. The impailing horn below her provided some support and she could actually exhale...

After an hour of sitting on the cornu, Livia realized that this new painful humiliation was also designed to prolong her agony. Water given to her, a support to her body, all kept her alive a little longer, to suffer and exist with legs spread on display for all to see. She screamed with her last reserve of energy and then slumped down onto the cornu which drove painfully well into her cervix, blood trickling down onto the wood below her spread legs. Livia hung panting from the cross, head forward, long hair covering her face and part of her breasts.


Night fell once again, and Livia hung from the cross, slightly forward with her arms pulled behind her. The cornu had created a whole new level of pain for her, as her strength had failed and her body hung limply from the spikes in her wrists. She could breath, but the second night was colder than the first and her entire body hurt with the cold, her muscles seized and writhed under her flesh, and blood continued to slowly trickle from her wounds. There had been no more water from a sponge, and there was no heat felt from the fire that warmed the soldiers that guarded her a few yards away. She was alone, a bundle of pain that screamed in her body in the darkness.

The sunrise showed a crowd gathering below, and birds circling above. It was nearing the end, though Livia was only partially conscious to see what was happening. The crowd had come to see her die, the birds were waiting to pick her body apart. In fact, several birds had already landed on the cross and were picking at her flesh, tearing small bits from her. She was aware of this indignity, that her body was actually being torn apart and consumed before she was dead, but it meant little to her.

The centurion approached, and looked at her. Her eyes opened halfway, and looked at him in return. Her dry mouth opened and a croaking sound came from it, but nothing she said could be understood. Nevertheless, the centurion answered as his experience led him to know exactly what she had said.

"Yes, Livia, you will die very soon, and I will help you."

They removed the cornu, tearing her female parts open in the process. It brought a croaking cry from her but no screams. She no longer had the strength to scream. When it was gone, she sagged down all her weight once again on her tortured wrists, arms, and back.

She was no longer sweating, as her body was mostly depleted of fluids. Her sunken stomach showed a slight pulsation from where her heart still beat. Twitches in muscles throughout her body were the primary evidence of her ongoing agony.

The centurion approached with a large wooden shaft. With one swift stroke, he swung the wood against Livia's right leg, a loud cracking noise announcing the shin bone breaking in two. Livia let out a croaking scream and shifted slightly on the cross. A second stroke broke her left leg as well.

With both legs broken and no sedile, Livia hung from the cross. Her weak, dehydrated, frozen and overheated body was unable to lift itself and breathing became almost impossible.

A black bird picked at her left eye socket, tearing bits of soft flesh. The crowd waited, unsure if she had died. Moments later, a last heaving gasp from Livia announced that she was still breathing... and then it was gone. Her body hung from the cross, no longer moving. More birds landed on her and began tearing at her flesh. With no heartbeat to pump blood, it settled in her legs, which took on a mottled purple color, matching the black color of her mangled feet.

Livia's body would remain on the cross, for all to see, for three days. Andronicus had died the night before, though few had noticed.

Even in death, it was observed that Livia presented a kind of beauty seldom seen in Pompeii.