Monday, January 10, 2011

Humiliation of Crucifixion



Arana was a tall, thin girl of mixed Roman and Greek descent known as being the most beautiful woman in the city. Her legs were lean and muscular, breasts perfectly formed, with a thin waist that emphasized her hips. Men in the city had all looked and dreamt of her for several years, and she knew it. Her dark brunette hair was always washed, smooth, and the envy of all the women.

The brief trial was attended heavily. Word was spread that Arana was on trial for sedition against the empire, and her fame drew every man that could afford the time to attend. They hoped for a glimpse of the beauty, perhaps stripped to the waist for a whipping or some other punishment. Such a spectacle would provide masturbation fodder for weeks to come.

Arana had been shaking with fear as the charges were read; her legal representation, a former lover, failed to counter most of the charges and the judge deliberated only a moment before announcing the death sentence.
Crucifixion. Immediately.

Arana felt the room wobble and then go black as she fainted and fell on the floor. When she awoke, her wrists were bound tightly and she was hanging from the city whipping post in the center square. She was desperately thirsty, for the sun beat down and she was sweating profusely. The ropes bit deeply into her wrists, and a smear of blood stained the rough fiber as she wriggled.

She quickly forgot about her gradually numbing hands as she surveyed the huge crowd that had gathered for the traditional pre-crucifixion scourging. It seemed the entire town had come to see her pain. Their eyes stared at her, filled with lust, hate, fear, love, desire... so many emotions. All eyes focused intently on her, waiting for her pain to fulfill or shock them. Tears sprang to her eyes as she sobbed. Her cries caused a stir in the crowd. Many sighed, some laughed or ridiculed her, a few seemed upset. By far, the most common reaction was cheering, as if her tears fed some desire or lust.

A rough hand grabbed her toga from behind and yanked, jerking her back, yanking her suspended wrists tightly, tearing the cloth of her clothes downward. The cloth ripped and fell away from her back, exposing the smooth flesh in preparation for the lash.

"The front," "More, more!" "Tear the cloth away," "Expose her!" the crowd cried. Arana sobbed in humiliation as the executioner tore the front of her shift away, exposing her dangling breasts. The crowd cheered at the site of the perfectly sized lobes projected on either side of the whipping post, nipples pointed straight out, curves sloping down and around in a half oval that met her chest beneath with perfect smoothness. Arana closed her eyes tightly, feeling the open air brushing against her bare flesh, trying to shut out the cheering and drooling crowd.

Without warning, the lash slashed out and pain exploded across the flesh of her back and shoulders. Arana screamed and arched her back. The crowd made a uniform noise, as if they all had taken in a breath at the same time. As the lash struck her again, Arana felt her body involuntarily wriggling, trying to get away but unable to move more than a few inches. She looked out across the sea of faces. So many of them were men, men she knew, and most were looking on with lust, desire, enjoyment.

The scourge continued to strike her, again and again, and Arana looked at the pleasure that her pain and screams were providing for so many in the crowds. She became aware of how they reacted when she moved as the whip made her struggle, and when she did the crowd seemed to follow and enjoy her movements. Her body had been used as a tool in the past, enticing and teasing men. Now its agony was providing pleasure to men and women alike.

For the women were also looking on with delight. The knotted leather of the scourge sliced across her flesh once again, licking the side of her right breast. As she jumped and sagged to the left, Arana saw that a number of the women in the crowd were talking excitedly amongst themselves, smiling and even laughing at her uncontrollable jerking. Arana lowered her eyes and bit her lip, unable to look at the whole town viewing her naked breasts, and her body reacting to the pain of the lash.

When the whipping was over, they unhooked her arms from the whipping post, allowing her to collapse at its base. She curled slightly, crying softly. Her back was wet and the blood was already caking as it mixed with the dirt on the ground.

She wasn't allowed to rest. Moments after falling to the ground, she was heaved up and made to stand, bare from the waist up, in the middle of the city square. She tried to hide her naked breasts by bringing her arms up, holding the shreds of cloth from her torn shift. Those in the front of the crowd saw her attempt at modesty and laughed. A few of the women jeered, making ugly remarks about how she wasn't going to be so pretty soon.

A heavy beam of wood had been dragged to her side. The 6"x6" beam was about 5 feet long and rough cut. She was forced by the guards to pick the beam up to her shoulders, and several loops of rope secured the beam to her outstretched arms. She realized that this beam was part of the cross that would kill her, and that she was being forced to carry it to the execution hill, just outside of the city gates. It was heavy, and her loss of blood made her weak. As she sank down to her knees, another lash of the whip cut across her lower back, and she struggled back to her feet and began walking.

The cross beam held her arms up and out, and she was unable to cover her naked breasts. The crowd made way for her as she walked, and with each effort-filled step her breasts bobbed slightly. She could see everyone observing, seeing her nakedness, and she hung her head. Her long hair covered her face and prevented anyone from seeing her mental anguish as she trudged on.

Before long they crowd had followed Arana all the way to the bottom of the hill. The lash encouraged her up the low slope to the top, which rose only about 10 feet or so above the road below. The hill was a gentle one, with a large open area at the top. The guards kept the crowd from surging to the top of the hill, but they were still only a few feet away when Arana collapsed on her back, looking up at the blue, hot sky with her arms still stretched out, tied to the beam that would be with her until her death. She lay panting, trying to ignore the crowds as they pushed forward to look at her pain.

She lay recovering from the exhausting trek out of the city. The sky remained blue above her as she rested on the ground and stared up. Until, that is, the vision of the centurion, the leader of the guards, appeared above her. What remained of her clothing was yanked and pulled, tearing and sliding down. She struggled, trying to keep them from removing her last protection from exposing herself completely, but it was no use. The cloth tore away and she felt the breeze slide across her bare skin. The exposure of her breasts had been nothing. Her sex was now exposed for all the city to see as she lay on the ground.

Rough hands forced her legs apart and she felt something pushing between them. Moments later she was penetrated and she looked up to see the face of the centurion above her as he shoved himself deep within her. She cried out in humiliation and fear as he thrust repeatedly. Unable to get away or to really fight back because she was tied to the heavy beam, Arana simply wriggled beneath the heavy soldier as he raped her. This excited the watching crowd. Several of the guards had positioned themselves so that they could see the penetration clearly.

When the centurion finally grunted and thrust to a climax, a small cheer went up. It had been a good show, one that most of the guards and men in the crowd wished they could duplicate. Arana was shapely and beautiful, very enticing as she lay tied and on the ground, legs slightly spread exposing her sex for all to see. She realized in a moment that the rape was over, and brought her legs together, trying to regain some tiny bit of privacy. She turned her head and sobbed quietly.

The time had come, and several of the soldiers approached Arana where she lay on the ground. One held her from moving by holding her chest (and feeling her breasts as he did). Another turned her arm wrist up, ready for nailing. The third took a long spike and positioned the point against the palm of her hand. The spike was pressed against the heel of her palm, just before the wrist, and angled in slightly.

Arana looked in disbelief as the heavy mallet was raised high and then came down with a force that drove the spike into her flesh and into the bones at the meeting of the hand and wrist. The sound of the thunk was echoed by the squishing sound of flesh and cracking of bones as the spike shattered her hand. Pain worse than anything she had felt before suddenly shot from her wrist up her arm and into her back as nerves were smashed and pushed aside. Her screams cut the air once again as she began to kick and jerk, trying to get free.

The crowd gathered closer to watch the involuntary writhing of the condemned from the intense pain. Screams filled the air, drowning out the satisfied murmering of the citizens gathered to watch Arana's humiliating execution. Two more thunks from the huge mallet and the spike was through her hand and embedded deep in the wood beneath. The soldiers let go and Arana instinctively tried to free her arm, but the shattering of nerves kept her from controlling or manipulating her hand. Pulling just ground the spike against bone and nerves, making her scream again, and she quickly stopped.

The other arm was turned and exposed. The crowd shifted their focus to Arana's other side as they watched the careful placement of the spike, the pitiful cries from the condemned girl as her bare chest heaved in sobs, and the hammer rising up. A few of the men in the audience pushed for position as they discretely touched themselves. Seeing Arana's naked body was enough to arouse any man, but seeing her writhe was simply too much for some.

The second spike sliced through and crushed Arana's hand as the first had, separating bone and mangling nerves in a way designed to cause agony. The crowd observed the torture of the condemned as she jerked and convulsed, both hands now firmly affixed to the patibulum. There was no longer any need to hold her in place.

The long wooden post of the cross stood already embedded in place. Crucifixions were frequent enough that the soldiers didn't want to be constantly digging holes and raising the crosses. Instead, ladders were placed against the stipes and Arana was slowly dragged upright by two soldiers lifting the patibulum higher up the post. As she was dragged back and up, her legs kicked and struggled, flopping about uselessly. The crowd sighed in approval at her fight, which made the sight of her crucifixion and ordeal more exciting. Her slim thighs stretched and flexed, the muscles trying to gain a vantage to relieve the pull from the ever rising beam which dragged her nailed wrists higher and higher, until her feet were pulled off the ground and she merely kicked in the air.

The cross beam was set in place and the soldiers that had lifted the poor girl into place descended. Arana now hung from her nailed wrists, her whole body weight born by the spikes which secured her to the wood. While she struggled, the pain was almost too much for her, and her struggles subsided as they simply jerked the spikes against the torn nerves of her wrists and caused even more agony. She began to go limp, as the pain overcame her.

To help her a little, two soldiers grabbed her ankles and lifted her legs. She hardly struggled now and it was easy for them to bend her legs to spread apart at the knees and cross her feet, one over the other. A third spike was brought and placed at the top of the foot, just below the ankle. The heavy hammer was raised again and slammed down on the spike, driving it through her top foot and through until it penetrated the bottom one. Arana screamed yet again, this new agony filling the bottom half of her body, and as the hammer struck again and again, driving the nail through her delicate bones and mangling equally delicate nerves, she lost consciousness.

A bucket of water was brought and dumped over Arana's head. The water revived her, as well as making her naked flesh glisten in the bright afternoon sun. She cried out as if waking from a bad dream and began a weak sort of writhing on the cross.

The nailing of the victim complete, the crowd came closer. Guards prevented them from touching the exposed victim, but for those lucky enough to push their way to the front, the woman's exposed body could be seen in great detail. Her naked breasts bounced slightly from her struggles, and small nipples stood out clearly. Her feet were nailed in such a way that her knees spread to expose her female parts for all to see. Both men and women crowded around now, observing both her body and her movements as she writhed.

The crowd milled, some shocked and unable to come close, but most pushing for their turn to observe the torture of the young woman up close. Those that observed for too long were pushed aside by those that grew tired of waiting.

Arana became agonizingly aware of this process. She was nailed out on display, like an object of curiosity. Her agony and paroxysms of pain were now the public entertainment of the day. Unable to even brush her long hair out of her eyes, she had no choice but to endure every indignity.

A soldier reached up and spread the lips between her legs. A small bit of white fluid trickled out and down her inner thigh. This raised a murmur of appreciation from those closest who surged forward. Arana began to cry as much from the horror of her situation as from the pain.

She was meat. A piece of meat on display, without even the dignity of an animal held in a cage for all to observe. It wasn't just her naked body on display, it was her pain. Her writhing brought appreciative cheers from the crowd.

Arana tried to lift herself on her nailed feet. The pain shot through her ankles and legs as sharply broken bones moved and cut into fresh nerves. She sagged back down quickly, but the weight of her body jerking on her wrists made her scream in agony, to the delight of the crowd. She tried again, stealing herself for the pain and moving higher this time until she was able to lock her knees. In this way she was able to close her legs and obtain a tiny bit of privacy; but it didn't last long. Her strength gave out and she sank back down, once again writhing and crying out in agony as her weight pulled on her wrists.

Flies were gathering around her face, crawling across her lips and eyes. She wanted desperately to brush them away, but could not. They itched, they tickled, they irritated on her face and later between her legs.... but she could do nothing. She endured because she had no choice.

She cried out for mercy. She cried out to be killed. The crowd approved of her cries, but did not want her gone so quickly.

Without realizing it, Arana lost bladder control and a gushing stream of urine descended, catching one of the soldiers off guard. This caused the crowd to roar in amusement. The soldier, angry at being pissed on took a whip and sliced the leather across Arana's breasts leaving a trickling red line.

The amusement proceeded for some time until the sun began to go down. The crowds began to dissipate, the people returning home to tell neighbors of the show and settle in for their evening meal. Arana, of course, would have no meal, for she was to slowly die of starvation, dehydration and exposure, while nailed to a wooden cross, arms wide, legs bent and exposed, suffering for all who wished to see.

Her neighbor wished to see. The girl she had spent many happy days with, a dear friend and confidant, arrived to see the spectacle. She stood at the foot of the cross, inches from where the nail penetrated Arana's feet, observing the hole and trickling blood. Arana looked down and felt a sense of hopelessness and humiliation flood across her as she saw her friend examining her body. She cried out for the mercy of death, but her friend simply observed her more closely, taking the opportunity to walk around the cross and observe Arana's naked buttocks, back, arms, and her ribs as they stood out from under the stretched flesh of her elongated body.

The soldiers had become lax as the day went on, and the friend reached out and touched Arana's leg, and then slid her hand up the inside of her thighs. Reaching her female softness, her friend fondled Arana for a while, and then with a sigh turned her back on the victim and left.

Arana's parents came late in the evening. Still completely conscious, Arana was able to discern her mother's form as it climbed the low hill to where she hung. Her parents simply stood and observed for a while, not showing pity or concern, but simply looking at the naked form of their daughter stretched taught and hanging by nails, suffering.

As her parents left, pain erupted in Arana's lower abdomen and she cried out as she lost bowel control. Her parents turned just in time to see Arana release a huge and continual stream of diarrhea which splashed the wooden cross and her legs before splattering on the ground below her. The stench rose and filled Arana's nose, and she screamed in frustration at her complete inability to control even her most basic dignity.

The night was a long one. The condemned looked skyward frequently, watching the stars move across the sky more slowly than could be imagined. She knew death would come, and she prayed for it, quietly, loudly, screaming it out. Yet when the sunrise finally arrived she was frustratingly, horribly alive.

"Please..." she begged in a hoarse voice to a soldier that leaned on the cross below her. He looked up and sighed... left for a while and returned with a spear. Her heart leaped for a moment, thinking that he was going to kill her. Then she saw the sponge on the end as he lifted it to her face. It smelled of wine.

It was a taunt, she knew. The wine would be mixed with vinegar, and was designed to increase her sense of thirst. And yet... it was liquid... she needed it so badly, her body would not let her turn away. She let the sponge be placed immediately next to her lips and slowly she opened her mouth and sucked. The foul taste of the vinegar immediately shriveled her tongue and lips and she turned her head away, more desperately thirsty than ever before.

There was activity below her. Her sense of dignity was almost completely gone, she mostly was just wishing for death as quickly as possible. The activity below turned out to be a wooden spike being shoved through a hole in the stipes, a sedile designed to extend her life in a painful manner. The spike slid through the wood and then up toward her body... and pressed up between her legs. It penetrated. It dug in. It lifted her up. She could feel her weight slowly easing off her wrists but she also found the wooden spike was tearing her insides as it penetrated deep. She tried once again to lift herself on her feet, failed, and fell down on the spike.

She was now impaled by a monster, sharp, wooden phallus. This further humiliation was not only painful, but would prolong her agony and postpone her death. As the day went on, it provided much amusement for the crowd that once again gathered below her. A new torture, livening and making the whole even more fun for everyone but Arana. Once again, her suffering was taking new shapes and providing interesting new experiences for those who observed her so closely.

Consciousness began to leave the crucified girl. She found her awareness of time was slipping and that the faces of those that mocked her in the crowd changed without her seeing people come and go. The pain never left, in fact, parts of her were hurting that hadn't hurt at first. From her feet, the pain extended up her legs to her groin, throughout her abdomen, her chest and back cramps, arms on fire from nerv
e damage and finally her head throbbed with pressure as if it would explode.

As she slipped into a final unconsciousness, she saw one of the soldiers looking up at her naked body and masturbating. As he moaned and jerked, and finally spurted over her feet and lower legs, she slipped into darkness and did not return.

She was dead within an hour. She did not feel and was unaware of her last humiliation as her body hung and slowly rotted on the cross for two weeks after that.