Friday, November 2, 2012

The Power Of Money: The Mantra of the Money

He had called me a pain slut. I hated that name but at the same time, he had made me feel more alive than I had ever felt before.

The Sadist had waited six months to contact me again and in that time I had spent all my cash. I wasn't broke, but my expenses were exceeding my income and I was going to need to do something soon. I could move back in with my parents in Nebraska and milk cows at 5am, work triple shifts someplace, or maybe... if he paid enough...

My memories of that day and night on the cross had begun to fade. The aches and pains, pulled muscles and rope burns, had healed within a week or two. I hated the bastard who had hung me on that beastly instrument of torture. Not for hanging me there. No, there had been full disclosure. It was because of absolute glee he had expressed at my every moment of agony. The way he twisted my mind and made me lose hope; the way he egged me on, humiliating me and bringing me to the edge of despair. It was the way he had left me there thinking I was all alone, suffering and perhaps even going to die spread naked and hanging up on a wood cross on a hill.

Most of all what I hated was myself and how I was willing to degrade myself just for the money he dangled before me. And how much I had actually enjoyed it.


The video of her crucifixion had brought in more than $200,000 so far, and was still selling well. I wasn't sure whether she was going to come back, but something inside told me that she had a kinky bent to her more powerful than even she imagined. She had really enjoyed the pain and panic. Maybe it was the adrenalin rush. Maybe she really was a pain junky. Whatever. She sat before me now, long silky dark hair framing the light skin of her perfect oval face. She was absent mindedly biting her perfect lower lip as she considered the offer.

"How much?"

He named the amount.

"How long?"

He repeated the terms.

He knew he had me hooked. There was no way I could pass up a payday like that, not for one day's work. I took the pen and signed. The date was set, I had agreed to the terms, and while I knew he would make a bundle from this little event of his in which I was to play the feature attraction, I would take home enough money to keep myself in drugs and the rent paid for the next year, at least.

"You are my best pain slut. You are going to love it," he called after me as I left his office. I flipped him off.


Saturday morning, 6 AM. I was dressed in tight jeans, a nice knit top that showed my figure, with a bra and panties underneath. It was the kind of simple causal outfit  that drives men wild. The outfit was carefully chosen, as had been my diet over the last two days, water intake, antibiotics, and a variety of other measures designed to make the experience relatively safe and yet as sensually provocative as possible to those who paid Big Bucks for today.  Under my bra my nipples had a brush of lipstick, and my pussy was freshly shaved. My hair was washed, clean and conditioned and as naturally beautiful as I could make it. My skin was moisturized and lightly oiled to give it a sheen.

I was looking hot, and I knew it. I was worth every dime he would pay me for today.

Outside the farmhouse a number of men milled about. Some were drinking hot coffee. I counted 17 men all together. Unexpectedly, there were women as well. Six of them. Two were from the Sadist's stable of pain sluts, girls who worked for him and maybe even fucked him on the side. The others had come with guests, come to watch, curious or just as sadistic as the men. They scared me. Sadistic women are scary.

The door opened. It was time. The Sadist and his assistant rigger came in. "You ready?"

I nodded. The two men took my arms and dragged me out of the farmhouse into the dusty yard in back. I struggled a little, putting up a fight, but the two walked quickly enough they basically dragged me to the center of the crowd and threw me down in a place where the dust had turned to mud.


She looked beautiful. As enticing as any girl of 21 could look, perfectly fit, a slightly innocent look with an underlying sensuality that made her seem all the more deserving of being crucified. I had a hard on just looking at her, knowing what she would be experiencing, wanting to see her struggle and writhe in pain, and to be the person who did this to her.

"Fuck you, what is this?" I cried out. All part of the act, but I was good.

"Gentlemen. This is Jennifer," the Sadist introduced me, "she is the main course today. Carefully chosen, snatched from a discreet street corner last night, no close relatives or friends, just a girl, a slut if you will."

I stood and tried to run. Two of the men caught me and dragged me back, throwing me back down in the mud. Two of the Sadists riggers came over and began to rip my clothes off. I struggled, pushing and writhing beneath them. It slowed things down but eventually they removed my bra and panties and I was wallowing around in the dirt and mud, stark naked before the men and few women.

I started to cry; it wasn't hard to do. I knew it wasn't real but it felt real. In spite of the few porn video shorts I had done, I had never really been naked in front of a large number of people before. I tried to cover up, one hand between my legs, the other forming a hand bra across my breasts, which squeezed over and under my arm.

My hands were grabbed roughly and pulled in front of me. "Please, please... don't do this," I cried. My wrists were roped together tightly, too tightly, the circulation was cut off and it hurt.

"Hey..." I began to protest but the rope which held my wrists was suddenly jerked in front of me and I was dragged forward, almost losing my footing. I was led up a small hill to a post which had an iron ring high overhead. The rope slid through the ring and was pulled tight, lifting my body up until my shoulders stretched and toes extended and pushed to relieve the tension. I dangled helplessly.

"Dammit, be careful," I protested, angry. My tears were real, I was intimidated and scared.

"Now gentlemen, as promised, the scourging. I say scourging and not flogging because of the whip we will use. This three strand whip is used instead of the traditional 12 strand flogger because the force of impact is more concentrated against the flesh, thus cutting deeper and more painfully. Further, the strands are each knotted in three places to bite into this poor girl's flesh, tearing it.... for your pleasure."

I tried to look around. The Sadist hadn't said anything about a special flogger that would tear flesh. I mean, I had been whipped before, but this sounded bad. It was impossible to get a look in the stretched position I was in. I faced the post.

"Who would like to go first? Those who paid the extra fee are all entitled to six strokes! Who will take the lead and be the first to draw blood?" The Sadist sounded like he was hawking something on a boardwalk.

"ME! I will go first!" A man's husky voice sounded behind me. There was the sound of feet crunching, positioning, a first experimental crack of the whip. I tensed involuntarily, and the crowd of onlookers made a subdued aaaahhhh sound. I guess my reactions were being observed closely.

I was thinking about how badly my hands were hurting from the overly tight bindings when my back exploded in pain and I screamed. It was a real scream. The asshole had really laid a nasty stroke on my back and I staggered from that first lash. There was scattered applause.

Breathing heavily and feeling the individual stripes that had just been laid down on my back, I waited for the next stroke. The bastard was playing with me.


The oil company executive from Texas had paid an extra $15,000 for the privilege of personally flogging the victim, and he was determined to get every bit of his money's worth. Resting after his first stroke, which left three red stripes of blood on her beautiful muscular back, he studied his handiwork. The poor girl hung on the post, waiting, not knowing when the next stroke would come. Such a beautiful scene.

I hung waiting, wondering what was happening. This time the guy telegraphed the coming stroke by grunting slightly as he lashed out. The warning didn't help. The sudden slash of the leather forced another scream out of me. It felt like someone had taken a knife and cut me, slicing it across my bare back. The splinters from the post sticking into my rather large breasts were completely forgotten in favor of the fire what was spreading across my bare back.

When the first man had finished his six strokes I had a short rest to catch my breath while the next guest took his place to continue my flogging. I was crying hard now, beginning to have my first thoughts of regret. In the break between floggings, I reminded myself about the money. This was going to set me up. I would be OK after this. The money was worth it. I recounted the amount in my head, thought about---

SNAP the whip hissed through the air and flayed my back, the tips of the leather whipping around and taking tiny chinks of flesh out of the sides of my breasts. The person whipping me was a woman. I was growing angry, wondering how on earth a fellow woman could be doing this to me when SNAP the next stroke broke that train of thought and left me sobbing, just wishing it would stop.


She no longer attempted to hold herself up on her toes. Her knees buckled and she hung by her wrists, letting her body jerk and then swing slightly with each stroke of the whip. She had almost no body fat, but I could still see the ripples in her flesh as each stroke took its toll. Each bit of mounting pain made her more beautiful, more desirable, in my eyes.

The flogging went on for a long, long time. Later I was told it lasted about 15 minutes, but it seemed like an hour to me. When it was done my back was wet with blood and on fire with pain. The money had been temporarily whipped out of my mind, I was just sobbing and hoping for it to be over.

They let me down and when I fell on the ground they untied my hands. The crowd of men gathered around me, closely observing my body, my face, my every reaction. They had signed up for real pain, real agony, and that's what they were getting.

"Spread her legs. I want to get a look at this cunt." One of the men said. Two others grabbed my knees, which were pulled up in a fetal position as I huddled on the ground. They yanked them apart and I lay on my back, legs forced apart, exposed to the crowd.

"Gentlemen. Look but don't touch. As you recall, the agreement is no penetration, no insertions by the guests. Besides, it is time for the next part. Shall we?" The Sadist and one of the riggers took my arms and lifted me up into a standing position. They led me over to where the cross had been constructed. It was a heavy wood thing with notches and holes measured in precise places for my specific height.

"Pick it up," The Sadist growled. He then leaned closer to me and whispered the dollar amount for today's show in my ear. I remembered then why I was there. Regaining my will and endurance I fell to my knees and grabbed the cross, and with much difficulty placed it on my shoulder. It was damn heavy.


When she picked up the cross her breasts briefly dangled down. They were natural. Large, but not huge. For a girl as thin as she, her breasts were a wonder. Every muscle in her body was visible as she strained to lift the heavy cross onto her shoulder, her sex was clearly exposed, the folds of flesh peaking out as she bent over. The paying crowd was talking excitedly, observing the show, enjoying every minute of it. Participating in an authentic Roman crucifixion, the live execution of a girl in agony was what they had paid dearly for and they were not being disappointed.

When I reached the open clearing on top of the low hill I collapsed. The cross was sturdy and heavy and the whipping had taken a lot out of me. My entire body was hurting and I wasn't even hung up on the cross yet. I lay on the ground next to the wooden frame, just breathing and recovering.

It felt weird to be naked in the open like this, especially with a crowd of strangers around me. I couldn't decide whether it was exciting and sensual, or just scary. Maybe both. Maybe it was exciting because it was scary. Feeling vulnerable was a definite turn-on for me, I discovered.

The rest didn't last long. The Sadist and his two riggers grabbed my limbs and lifted me up onto the wooden beams. They were hard and rough, the corners of the wood digging into my flesh. My back and ass lit on fire again where I had been flogged and I cried out in pain. This brought a reaction from the crowd that was gathering around to watch as I was attached to the cross.

My wrists were tied and the rope wrapped around the cross patibulum in a specific location marked by a notch. The notch was premeasured as the location to give the right amount of sag to my body, creating the angled tension that would not only strain my arms and shoulders, but cause cramping and stress on my chest and back. Crucifixion is an evil art, and I was about to experience all of its aspects.

With my wrists in place, the riggers grabbed my ankles and brought them together. I struggled, trying to stop them but it was no use. My ankles were crossed to keep my legs at an angle that would spread my knees and expose my cunt to everyone, then rope was wrapped around them a number of times. When sufficient rope was tightened so that escape would be completely impossible, the bundle of my ankles and feet were tied to the upright beam at the appropriate, premeasured notch.

While all this was happening I lay looking up at the blue morning sky. Soft white clouds scudded by, and I couldn't help wondering at the glorious morning in which my crucifixion agony would soon begin. When the last knot was tied and I was helpless on the ground, the paying audience gathered around to see me and taunt me.

Men reached down and felt my breasts, pinching my nipples. My hair was fondled. One of the women stuck her hand between my legs and pressed my thighs apart. I was prodded and probed.

One of the men then spit on my face. It was sudden, and I gasped and turned my head, feeling the viscous fluid slowly trickle an inch down my cheek and then stop. This action filled me with a complete and total humiliation, a debasement beyond anything I had ever thought I would experience. I strained against the ropes wanting to escape this public taunting, to no avail. I was secured.

A second man spat on my face. Before long, each of the men produced and dropped gobs of their saliva on my face. Even two of the women spit on me. I cried there, my tears mingling with these stranger's body fluids, facing a humiliation that I had not realized could be so profound.

It came as a momentary relief when the Sadist and his riggers pushed the audience away and began lifting the cross. Up into the air I went, my head rising up and then passing that of the crowd that had been jeering and abusing me. As I climbed into the air I knew what to expect and tensed for the moment when the base of the cross would sink into the deep hole below. Even so, the two foot sudden drop jerked me so hard and suddenly that my body sank and bounced, my shoulders screamed in pain and the scream formed on my own lips, echoing out loud across the field.

The cross was momentarily stabilized in place as I hung, my head hanging down, hair covering my face. My knees were bent and spread apart and I could see my breasts heaving, my stomach moving as I gasped for breath. The pain wasn't too awful, just strain and burning from where my ragged, whipped back had slid down the wooden frame when I jerked into place.

The feeling of being suspended in the open like this, exposed, with a gorgeous view of trees and rolling hills in the distance, but tied and unable to move, was oddly familiar. It had been months before, but I knew this. I understood the process, the contradiction of beauty and ugliness that was playing out in my body and experience right now.

The one difference was the audience. A group of slightly more than 30 people were now up close and watching me during my time of suffering. Each had paid for the privilege. Each was a sadist of his or own style, delighting and reveling in my naked exposure, eagerly awaiting my first expression of pain.

I must have hung there, unmoving, resting, for a half hour or more. Finally the cramping in my shoulders and the strain to breathe became overwhelming and I pushed my legs and pulled my arms to begin the crux dance. Struggling against my own weight and weakness I pulled sideways and then straightened myself until I was upright, standing on my tied ankles, supporting my body weight by the ropes that held my legs to the upright of the cross. It hurt, but not terribly. The ropes dug in and cut the blood flow, but I could take it for a while and so remained in my upright position, arms spread wide, head up, staring defiantly at the crowd below.

A massive bucket of ice cold water was splashed on me from below without warning. I gasped from shock and shivered. The day wasn't warm yet and hanging without moving had made me cold. The cold water made it worse and I shivered, wanting to put some clothes on. But I couldn't. I was stuck, hanging by my wrists and unable to do anything but continue hanging. The frustration and mental anguish began to take hold.


Her nude body was gorgeous, shining slightly in the morning light as she raised and held the raised position. She was in pain, though it wasn't agonizing. Yet. Even so, seeing her body stretched out, ribs clearly visible, breasts pertly hanging from her chest, stomach moving with each breath, the sharpness of her hips clearly visible, made my heart ache with longing. She was gorgeous. She was exposed in every aspect. She was defiant, still, and her face showed the fierce pride and determination that made me so excited, so desirous of breaking her.  Time was on my side. Time would do it, slowly exhausting her until she had no pride, no determination left.

It was when I lost the strength to remain upright that the audience began to truly become excited. I quickly sagged down and grunted when my weight was once again placed on my arms and shoulders. The men before me began talking and telling jokes, enjoying the spectacle of my increasing pain. I knew they were looking at my naked body as an object, that I was nothing but an animal, a girl condemned to die in the most horrible manner. They were also looking at my body for signs of its pain and that those signs would thrill them.

The sun was rising high in the sky. It was becoming warmer and some of the men were removing their jackets. I felt my flesh heating up and realized my pale skin would be burning soon. This was part of the torture, the exposure to the elements, the heat, the sun burning, the sweat trickling down, water oozing from my body and dehydrating me.

I began observing every little aspect of my torture in great detail.

First, the ropes around my wrists cut into the flesh. I looked and could tell that they bled slightly. My hands had a little blood flow but were slowly turning purple. They ached from the lack of oxygen. There was nothing I could do to relieve the pain of the ropes except raise myself up so my weight no longer pulling on my wrists; this helped compensate, however briefly.

The weight of my body (I am slender and muscular, but still have plenty of weight when hanging from a cross), pulled on my arms. Starting with my forearms, the tension increased until it reached a pinnacle at my shoulders, which constantly felt like they might dislocate. This agony was perhaps the worst for some time; the strain of my weight constantly, unrelentingly pulling on my shoulders and back.

The strain eventually gave way to cramps. My shoulder and back muscles protested against the abuse and knotted up. This is when the actually agony began. I cried out, knowing that if I could just move my arms, free them and move them forward, the cramps would be relieved. But I could not. I was tied in place, stretched out and hung so that the cramps increased and spread across my entire upper back. I panted, knowing that it caused my body to shudder and breasts to heave, enticing the audience in their sadistic pleasure. Still there was nothing I could do.

There was nothing I could do except continue to experience pain which was designed to provide pleasure to those surrounding me, observing my every movement closely.

Another aspect of my torture was when I moved to relieve the agony of my wrists and shoulders; pressing down on my ankles caused equivalent pain to build in my legs and feet. It relieved the pain in my upper body, yes, and replaced it with pain below. The ropes dug in as I struggled to remain upright. As time went on raising myself became more and more difficult.

All this I accepted for money. A lot of money. I repeated the amount in my mind.


She danced the crux dance delightfully. Each time she raised herself up I could see the agony of strain shudder through her naked body. The crowd surged forward and watched her legs tighten and push, her body twist to get leverage that never quite worked. She endured additional pain as she rose with the promise of some relief to come when she finally reached the upright position. Her legs never quite completely came together, always spread slightly, revealing her cunt to all. As she remained aloft her thighs shook, vibrating with effort until she finally collapsed down once again with a soft cry of frustration and pain.

There were all the other little humiliations, indignities, degredations of being hung publicly naked on a cross for hours. My bladder filled. I knew better than to try and maintain any dignity, and simply released the urine. The crowd cheered. I stared down at the remnants of urine dripping, amazed that I was reduced to simply peeing in public like an animal.

My throat became raspy from lack of moisture and from crying out and screaming so many times. I wanted water so badly, for a while thirst was more painful than anything happening to my muscles and tendons. I cried out for water.

My hands took on the permanent shape of claws. I could no longer move the fingers.

The flies came around noon, buzzing around my face and body. I couldn't get rid of them and they drove me insane. I tried to blow them away from my face, but felt them crawling all over my body, into the crevices, over my most sensitive parts. They tickled and itched, but I could not scratch, yet another horror of agony to me. Eventually, I gave up trying to blow them away from my face and they crawled to my mouth, into my nose, and to my eyes.

And through it all I felt less and less human and more like a toy that suffered only for the pleasure of others.


Mid afternoon we gave her some water on a sponge. The old Roman custom of providing something in this manner was never a kindness. If it was water, it prolonged death. Too often it was wine or vinegar which merely intensified the sensations of thirst and dehydration. For her, the water would help her, keep her alive and healthy for the remainder of the show. I was falling in love with her by now. She was the most gorgeous object I had ever seen. But I could not tell whether it was her, or her suffering in with which I was in love.

The money became a mantra in my brain. I repeated the sum over and over to myself. I thought about how I would spend it. I wondered whether I could get it in $100 bills and roll around in it. Would it fill a bathtub? Could I literally bathe in the cash?

It was mid afternoon when I finally surrendered my mind. I begged to be let down. They had given me water but my lips were still parched. They had spread the water over my angry red sunburned skin to cool it. My entire body was in agony, and the money slipped away, no longer existed. All that existed was my pain and it needed to stop.

The Sadist approached and climbed to my ear, speaking softly.

"Remember, the money," he said softly, reminding me of the amount. "But I can help. This cross is fitted for a sedile. Do you want it?"

I raised my head. "How long?" I rasped.

"You have but a few hours. 9 PM. The sedile will be humiliating, perhaps painful, but it will be a different kind of pain and you can make it. I know you can. Remember..." he state the amount, once again.

"Give me the sedile, you sadist bastard." I croaked. "And fuck you, to the bottom of your black soul."


I kissed her on the cheek, feeling the soft, wet skin of her face against my lips. She didn't react. I cupped her breast in my hand, felt the nipple, slid my hand over her heaving stomach and finally down between her legs. She swore at me in her agonized voice and I smiled to myself. I had already ejaculated twice that day to her pain, and it was likely that I would orgasm at least once more before the night was out.

The most humiliating and disgusting part of the experience was when the men began to masturbate. I hung in the late afternoon and as it darkened the men slid down or opened their pants one by one, removed their cocks and stroked them until they spurt semen out onto the grass or dirt.  One man caught his semen and walked over to me. Raising his hand he smeared it over my stomach. Following his lead, others caught their own fluid and brought it to me, smearing it over my exposed and helpless flesh.

I repeated the mantra of the money. The amount I would be paid, extracted from these vermin.

Two of the men that had come with women took them aside and fucked them within sight. Legs in the air, one woman panted and groaned and heaved to orgasm, all the while looking at me. The other couple did it against a tree, the man pushing the woman up against it until she raised her legs around his waist. They fucked noisily.

Knowing that the agony I was experiencing was causing the sexual climaxes of these people was the most obscene thing I had ever done or experienced.

The sedile came and was placed just below my hips. When I let myself down on it, I realized just how hideous it was. A thick, pointed object, I now had two choices for its position as I sank down, unable to hold myself up. It could penetrate my anus, or spread my cunt and plunge deep into my vagina. I had seconds to decide before my strength gave out and it chose for itself. I chose to have it rape me, plunging into my pussy and impale my cunt.

As my body sank down onto the vile protrusion I grunted and then cried out in unexpected pain. The sedile gave some relief from the weight pulling on my arms but replaced it with the pain of intense pressure on my cunt and deep inside my gut. This was no seat. It was another form of torture. I looked at the Sadist with hatred, and tried to rock back and forth on the sedile to spread the smashing pressure out. I couldn't. The long protrusion sticking deep up inside me prevented me from moving. I was truly impaled and no longer able to move the little bit I had moved before.

The Sadist brought another sponge of water to me. I didn't want to drink but I had to, I was so thirsty I literally thought I would faint soon. I sucked the sour tasting water down as quickly as I could. When it was dry I hung my head and remained motionless on the cross, no longer able to struggle, raise myself or move side to side.

I felt weak. The world had an unreal quality to it.


I don't think she understood just how much the crucifixion increased her beauty. Her body stretched out, flesh pulled tight against the rise and fall of her ribs and point of her hips; her legs showed their shape and the muscles of her body stood out as she writhed. Her hair hung in the most delightful manner, and her skin glistened with sweat. Most of all, her face showed the pain she experienced. There is nothing, nothing more beautiful than a woman in pain, enduring agony helplessly.

It was dark. I knew it would be over soon but it no longer seemed to matter. In my mind I was going to die and was already in the process. I no longer cried, no longer struggled. The thought of the money was the only thing that reminded me that there was a future, a world beyond this one.

I was rocking back and forth on the sedile, just a gentle, easy motion. It kept the muscles in my body from seizing up. Besides, it felt good.

The rocking motion continued, slow and easy, until a warm glow began to accumulate between my legs. If felt good so I rocked a little faster. The rocking motion began to hurt my lower back and shoulders, but I kept going. The audience took interest in my steady rhythm, gathering and looking at my body and its reactions. I didn't care, I was in my own world and if there was a tiny bit of pleasure in the midst of the pain and humiliation, so what?

The end of the sedile protruded up deeply inside me, pressing hard against my cervix. Rocking dragged the pointed end against the sensitive flesh, causing more pain but I kept going. There was nothing else in my life to live for. I rocked and as I rocked I breathed faster, heavier.

When the orgasm came it was unexpected and intense. I shook, shuddered and heaved, wildly jerking and fucking the sedile. For a short moment, perhaps 60 seconds, the pain in my body disappeared and a flood of pleasure encircled me. I gasped and moaned, tipping my head back and thrusting my body out and then back in, trying to get the maximum stimulation.

As the climax subsided the torment of my body, stretched out and hung from the cross, slowly reached back into my consciousness and I sank down. I became aware of the audience once again. I had just masturbated myself to an earth shaking orgasm in front of 30 people who were standing just a few feet away, observing my every movement.  My humiliation was complete. I had no pride, no self respect left. I was broken.


An hour later the Sadist and his riggers took me down, an unexpected agony in itself. I screamed as each arm was released, and again as they moved me down to lay me on the ground. Later, I lay on a stretcher sipping water from a bottle. A blanket was over me, though I no longer cared about being naked. There were congratulations and thanks from the audience, which I ignored for the most part. There was no strength left for social niceties.

The only reason a future existed was the money.

That night I spent in the farmhouse. I had liquid nutrition, and mild food such as rice. The next day I rested and in the afternoon the Sadist came to me and sat next to me on my bed.

"You were wonderful. Perfect. The most beautiful bundle of agony I have ever tortured," he said admiringly as he handed me the check. I looked at it and a little thrill ran through me. I had never had that much money all at once before.

"You actually enjoyed it, just a little, didn't you?" The Sadist said after a moment of silence.

I thought hard and then answered. "Yes, I guess I did. I mean, how many people can say they have been publicly crucified? The adrenalin was amazing, and the pain... I hated it. Really, really hated it. Agony. But there was something... exciting about it. At times I felt alive, the most alive I had ever felt. I couldn't have actually cum if I wasn't getting off on the pain and exhibitionist side of it."

The Sadist reached down and kissed me on the lips, gently at first and then more deeply. He was a balding man of 50 and rather ugly, and it disgusted me. I kissed him back, hard, and then he fucked me, hard. It was disgusting and hurt, which was what I liked.

Monday, August 6, 2012

Inverted Crucifixion

Avra never believed it would come to this.

The Romans had invaded the town just a few days earlier. Macedonian soldiers had run from the Romans as they marched down the road, perhaps meeting to regroup in another town further away, perhaps simply to escape what appeared to be sure defeat. Either way, it didn't matter.

When they arrived, about 100 Romans secured the town and and then lined up every person they could find. The centurion walked along the line, pointing to every 25th person. "Him.... Her.... Him..." As they were called out, each person was taken from the line, placed in chains and hauled away across the road.

Avra watched carefully, counting ahead. Early on she saw that the centurion's pattern would select the young man named Fellatio who stood next to her. She began to relax as the tall soldier with a purple cape came closer. There were five victims chained and huddled across the road when the Centurion passed in front of her.

"Her." The centurion pointed directly at Avra. Surprise, followed by fear and panic spread through the young girl's body as if a hole had opened beneath her and she had begun falling.

"But... but no, it should be him!!!" she began to protest as she was dragged across the road. The centurion continued, selecting two more victims as Avra was thrown to the ground and chained, wrists and ankles. Protesting availed nothing. The Roman soldiers didn't care.

In all, seven of the 500 or so villagers were selected; three young men, one older man, and two other young women. The soldiers wasted no time. Some kept the villagers back from the clearing at the entrance to the town. Others had been gathering stout pieces of wood and tying them together. The remaining soldiers took the seven victims and flogged them.

Avra watched as the floggings began. It was worse than anything she had ever seen. The youngest boy and girl (a friend of Avra's named Cunnilingus) were taken to a tree that had two nails pounded high up the thin trunk. Their chains were lifted and hooked over the nails, leaving their feet dangling just above the ground. Their tunics were then ripped down from their shoulders, leaving their upper bodies bare. The muscles of their backs were exposed, rippling and straining from the suspension as they dangled.

The villagers sobbed to see them humiliated in this way, the boy and girl facing each other with the tree between, the woman's breasts naked and just barely brushing against the boy's chest. It was a parody of intimacy, the two forced together, half naked, dangling, unable to part. Cunnilingus cried softly, struggling, though the boy's face was hard and unyielding.

This all changed as soon as the first lash of whip encircled the two bodies, ripping a slice through their exposed flesh. The poor girl screamed and the boy cried out as the leather wrapped its way around them both, cutting deeply. As the whip fell and was drawn back for another stroke, a clean, bright red line could be seen across the girl's smooth back.

Avra turned her head away. She had wanted to watch, to see and understand what was going to happen to her but this seemed unreal and too horrible. The sound could not be blocked out. The hissing of the leather whip slicing through the air was followed by a wet thumping as it hit flesh and wrapped around the two bodies; this was followed almost instantly by another scream and cry from the poor victims.

Avra began to sob, covering her head. She was young, of a marriageable age, and had so much to look forward to in life. The boys all liked her. She had even kissed one of them behind a shed one night a few weeks ago. She had dreamed of him marrying her one day, but would he have her now, after she had been scarred and tortured in this way? The idea began to creep into her head that she would rather die than suffer a life torn and ripped open, scarred and deformed from the whipping.

The whipping continued and she forced herself to look. The Cunnilingus's back was plainly visible, and the criss cross pattern of the whip across her white flesh was becoming obscured as blood ran down and covered her skin uniformly. The whip lashed again, and a tiny spray of pink misted in the air; the girl's soft smooth flesh rippled like water from the impact and her breasts heaved up and down from her constant screams and crying.

"39 lashes." The older man who stood beside her said knowingly as the whipping ended. Avra was not aware what this meant, though the old man seemed to know. His face was fearful and solemn. Out of the corner of her eye Avra observed a crowd of villagers observing as the two were unhooked from the tree and their bodies dropped to the ground, exhausted and damaged from the horrible lashing, their flesh in tatters. In the center of the crowd was the young man Fellatio, the one who should be there suffering, instead of her.

The Romans came and grabbed the old man and another boy from their group, lifting their chains high until they hooked over the nails in the tree. Their tunics were ripped down and almost off, leaving them exposed except for their waists. Hanging there, the two waited for their flagellation to begin.

Avra didn't watch as the old man cried out at each stroke. She sat and curled up, her ears covered. The whippings seemed to last forever, the screams and cries from men and women severely tortured echoing through the small valley that was the entrance to their village. But they did end, and Avra felt the rough hands grab her arms, lift her and drag her to the tree. It was her turn.

She saw Fellatio watching with an almost eager expression on his face. He was enjoying seeing her suffer what should have been his fate.

Yanked up high, Avra was hung by her wrists. Her weight strained and pulled on her arms and shoulders. The other young girl, a maiden named Lustra, was on the other side of the tree and when their tunics were ripped off Lustra's large breasts extended on either side of the tree and brushed Avra's own nipples. Humiliated by her arousal from this touching, Avra closed her eyes. This only made her more aware of how her breasts and legs were dangling and brushing against the other girl's.

The first stroke came without warning. An explosion of pain ripped across her bare shoulders, as the tips of her hair were cut away from the slicing of thin leather that passed through to her flesh beneath. Her own scream merged with Lustra's, creating a sort of wicked harmony of pain. Avra strained at the chains, trying to lift herself, the only motion she could make to avoid the whip but it was to no avail. The hissing heralded another stroke that this time sliced across her lower back, the whip circling the tree, cutting across Lustra's hips and the tip kissing the very edge of Avra's thigh. Her scream was shorter this time for she had not yet caught her breath from the first stroke.

The whipping continued, and as she hung by her arms feeling her body stretched out and exposed, the whip burned and sliced Avra's flesh. Lustra was panicking, screaming and struggling where she hung, her legs rising up and grabbing, wrapping around Avra's own in a hideous parody of lesbian love. Their breasts rubbed and jiggled as they both writhed under the flogging. Sweat poured out across their flesh from the pain that spread across their thighs, buttocks and backs.

Finally there came a time when Avra realized there was no new pain, just the burning from the whipping that had ended. Lustra and she hung motionless, the world spinning and taking on a surreal flavor through the redness that was the pain. They both panted, breathing heavily, and Avra became aware of their breasts pressing together once again.

Rough hands lifted her up and off the nail. Her strength was gone from the beating, and she collapsed in a heap on the ground. However, this rest lasted almost no time as she was picked up and dragged to where the soldiers had been tying wood together and fashioning rudimentary crosses. Avra stared in disbelief at what she saw there.

Two of the four that had gone before her were already nailed to crosses of rough wood branches. The crosses were raised up and men were pounding slivers of wood into the holes at the base of the crosses to reinforce them and keep them upright. Avra stared at the young man and woman hanging from the crosses, their bodies stretched out, arms spread wide, legs bent, feet nailed in place. She had never seen anything so humiliating, so inhuman, so horrible.

Both the young man and woman were panting, chests heaving up and down in pain, and the girl cried out in agony every few seconds. They writhed, their bodies moving up and down, side to side, but no change in position helped them. Their bodies shook convulsively from pain and strain, and their limbs were held wide by the nails, exposing them to full view. Avra rolled her head to the side from where she lay and saw most of the villagers staring at the sight; the soldiers were holding them there, forcing them to watch the slow torture.

Suddenly, Avra realized that what had happened to the two others was about to happen to her. She was to be nailed and tortured and hung up on a tree like these others. Panic welled up inside her and in spite of being exhausted and in pain from the flogging, she began to rise up and run away. She made it only a few feet before being knocked to the ground by the butt of a Roman spear square in the middle of her chest. She hit the ground with an "oomph"... and lay there until several sets of hands dragged her over to a roughly made cross that lay on the ground.

Hands reached over her body, groping her breasts, slipping on the blood that covered her back and thighs, reaching between her legs, as they lifted her and placed her on top of the narrow wood logs. She tried to struggle weakly, but she was still winded from the blow to her chest and the whipping. Her protests were not effective, and there were too many men and too many hands covering every part of her body. Some hands groped between her legs and even penetrated her down there, and she screamed in protest and humiliation. The pain was not great, but it was very great in her mind, for she was a virgin and had never had another inside her body.

Avra's arms were forced up and out across the wood beams. She knew in her mind what was happening, but it didn't seem real. To her she was being raped, being kidnapped, or being beaten again. Her mind refused to admit she was being crucified.

She heard the men swearing and discussing something,  "Metal is precious, and I we just don't have enough nails. I told you we shouldn't have selected this many!"

"How, what shall we do? We can not just release them now that we have begun!"

"Tie her. And then hang her upside down, that will be enough."

The ropes went around her wrists, crossing back and forth, around and then back and forth again, tight, tight... oh so tight. They hurt, dug deep into her flesh and she felt the blood flow stopping. Avra cried out and begged that the ropes be looser, that her hands would die if they tied it this tightly. This brought a laugh from several of the soldiers, and one roughly said, "so they die; they will but precede the rest of you by a few hours."

Then her legs were forced up, bent at the knee. They were tied with a criss cross of ropes, one ankle over the other, forcing her legs wide apart. The ropes were extremely tight as were those on her wrists, and she felt the pain as if a knife were slowly sawing through her ankles. She cried out and sobbed in humiliation at the pain and exposure of her legs widening. When her ankles were tied rigidly together, they tied them to the log of the cross behind her, and her binding to the tree of pain and shame was complete.

Avra lay for a while, staring at the white clouds that moved slowly across a blue sky, feeling the pain that spread through her body from her back and from the ropes securing her arms and legs. The throbbing agony coursed through her, and she panted, breathing heavily from pain and exhaustion.

Finally the last movement of her life began; the wooden frame on which she was fixed was dragged a short way across the ground. She heard other villagers nearby, crying and talking in fear at what was happening to her and the others, but could not see them. The base of the cross near her feet was lifted up into the air, and her body slid down toward the ground, which was below her head. The knobby, rough wood scraped and grabbed at the sliced flesh of her back as she slowly slid down, and she rocked her head from side to side, crying out at the pain.

Higher and higher the foot of her cross went into the air, her feet going up, her body rising, her head sliding down slowly toward the ground. The heads of villagers came into sight, as if descending from the sky above her. She saw her mother and father staring, and then her mother turned and fled, unable to watch her daughter tortured thus. And there, just a few feet away, stood Fellatio, watching her intently, a smile on his lips.

Without warning the cross slipped down into a hole in the ground, and Avra's body slid toward the earth with a sudden jerk, coming to a halt as her arms reached their full extension. Pain shot through her shoulders and back from the wrenching halt of the cross hitting the bottom of the hole. She screamed, and felt that her body might tip and fall over as it reached the complete upside down, inverted position with her feet straight up in the air. She did not fall, and the cross held upright and inverted as several soldiers packed earth and wood wedges at the base of the cross, near her head, to keep it from slipping to the side.

Blood rushed to Avra's head, making it feel that it would explode. She became disoriented and sick, nauseous from the pain and from being upside down. She saw the villagers and soldiers milling about, but it seemed unreal. She squeezed her eyes shut, and the tears squeezed from her eyes and rolled over her pounding forehead.


Fellatio watched as the soldiers tipped the cross up. He had always liked Avra, or at least lusted after her. Avra was the most beautiful girl in the village, entering marriageable age, and he had been watching her for some time now trying to think how he could get inside of her.  Seeing her topless, tied with her arms spread wide and now hanging upside down before him was almost more than he could stand. His member stood out erect and hard as he watched Avra's breasts heave and her hair glisten and touch the ground below her. Even her legs were beautiful, bent and spread at the knees. He wanted to see underneath the remains of her tunic that covered her most private areas.

He glanced at the others that were crucified. Avra and the young man that they called Anal had been crucified upside down, the rest were suffering with nails driven into their wrists and feet, sagging from their crosses in the upright position. The sun beat down on them all, making great gobs of sweat form and roll down the naked parts of their flesh.

The sound of the crucifixion site was a mix of muffled moans and cries from those being tortured but had little strength for full out screams, and the murmurs and crying of the villagers that were being forced to watch the spectacle. Fellatio observed the other villagers in the group but had little in common with them. He imitated their grief expertly, but inside he simply thought of how he was enjoying this spectacle and how he wanted Avra, or Lustra, as their nakedness taunted him.

The tease of their nakedness was made worse as the centurion ordered the tattered remains of the victims tunics to be removed. With yanks and tears that pulled on the agonized bodies of the condemned, making the scream afresh, the remaining cloth was removed and each was made completely naked before the village. Lustra hung with her heavy breasts heaving and bouncing, her private womanhood standing out with large folding lips hanging down inviting any man to enter her. But Avra was exposed at eye level, and Fellatio stared at the smoothness between her legs, the slit which had hardly any extra flesh, the strong curve of her legs as they merged with her mound... he thought he might lose control and actually ejaculate his semen onto his legs right then, so he turned and moved to the back of the crowd.

The soldiers began to allow the villagers to return to their homes, leaving their suffering friends and relatives in their agony. Most immediately left, abandoning the suffering victims to their fate, not wanting to watch. Fellatio went back to his small hut where he lived alone and thought of the women on display; even the man Anal that was tipped with his head down and his male genitalia exposed for all to see, flopping over his stomach. Fellatio touched his erection, and after but a few strokes he spilled his semen on the dirt floor.

Night came to the village. Fellatio lay on his pile of brush and reeds, the makeshift bed on which he slept each night. He tried to sleep but kept thinking of the men and women just a few hundred feet away, suffering horribly. This gave him an erection again, and though he tried to adjust his thoughts, they kept returning to the vision of Avra hanging upside down, arms and legs spread, hair barely brushing the dirt below, the flesh sagging slightly in the wrong direction.

The roman soldiers made noise as well, tramping about, taking food where they found it and making a camp nearby. At one point he heard the scream of a young woman, quickly muffled and then silence.

At last Fellatio rose and pulled on his rough cloth tunic. He didn't know quite what he was going to do, but he went to the corner of his hut and dug just below a small scratch on the wall. A few inches through the packed dirt and he found the bag of silver he had stored there a few months before. His life savings; or rather, it would have been his savings had he earned it. He had actually taken it from a man that had died on the road when his cart and gone out of control and run over him. The man had no more use for it, and now Fellatio did.

Shuffling down the main path of the village, avoiding being seen by keeping to shadows, he reached the small clearing where the cart track entered the village and saw torches lighting the execution area. A number of soldiers were posted around the suffering villagers. They were playing games, rolling dice and drinking wine they had stolen from the wine merchant in town. The centurion stood when he saw Fellatio approaching, and stood with a quirky smile.

"Come to see your friends die slowly? Or perhaps you have family? Is this one your sister?" The centurion gestured at Cunnilingus. The young girl heaved her small breasts as she gasped for air and lifted her head to see Fellatio. Her pretty eyes seemed to beg Fellatio for something, anything, that might stop her suffering.

"Sir..." Fellatio began speaking respectfully, hoping he wasn't doing anything that would get him killed. "Sir... This girl here, " he pointed at Avra, "she is my... wife... or was to be my wife... soon... but we never consummated..."

"Well, boy, I guess you never will. The old man there will die before daylight, and your girl, well, she hasn't been nailed and might last until tomorrow's nightfall. But that's it. She isn't coming down until she is dead and rotting. Like I say, you can always join her if you want." The centurion smiled viciously.

Fellatio was terrified, but he had come this far, so he finished. "Sir, I know that her life will be gone soon. But I have, well. Never been inside a woman. I was hoping you would allow me to enter her body, to be one with her..."

"HA! The boy wants to fuck his girlfriend one last time! You have some gall! Coming here-- what a pervert! I think we really do need to hang you up as an example!" The centurion was speaking more loudly and laughing.

"I have... silver..." Fellatio said.

The centurion stopped for a moment and looked down at the young man. Fellatio stood shaking until finally the centurion barked out, "Give it to me then!"

Fellation reached into the back under his belt and pulled out the silver. There were 10 pieces in all. He handed them over.

"I won't take her down. Do as you will to her body, and make it good. We are going to be watching!" The centurion smiled and gestured toward the other soldiers who were looking to see what the commotion was.

Fellatio almost ran at this, but his erection had not waned and his blood was boiling at the sight of Avra hanging upside down before him in the firelight. Her hands were in the shape of claws, fixed, black and unmoving. The muscles on her body stood out and twitched as she writhed slightly, trying to adjust but finding no position that relieved her pain.  Her face was bright red and there were marks of drool and tears over her cheeks and forehead. She gasped for breath.

As Fellation observed Avra, he thought her more beautiful than he had ever imagined. Her body was stretched taught, muscles standing out, breasts sagging up toward her head, nipples dark in the firelight. Her stomach pulsed in and out as she strained to breathe. The curves of her skin glistened with sweat which trickled slowly, so slowly... And her private sex, there between her legs, open and right in front of him to view. He approached her, undoing the rope around his tunic.


It was an ongoing amazement to Avra that her head had not exploded. The pressure had built when she was first turned upside down and her field of vision had turned red. The pressure didn't subside; her head pulsed and pounded with each beat of her heart.

In spite of the ongoing piercing agony of her hands, feet, back, shoulders and head, she remained remarkably clear of thought and aware of her surroundings. She was acutely aware when the remains of her tunic had been ripped from her body and she had been exposed to the entire village and the soldiers. That was the point at which she began wishing she could die. Not only was the pain horrendous, but the humiliation of being hung naked on display along the town road was more than she could bear.

Time dragged on. The pain intensified. The agony wasn't just physical, it was knowing there was absolutely nothing she could do to relieve it. She tried to struggle some, even trying to lift herself on the cross, but that proved impossible. She saw Lustra lifting herself painfully up, crying out in agony as the nails dug and pulled inside her arms, and then sag back down. Directly next to her she was aware that the young mad Anal was also hanging upside down. Avra had always liked Anal. He was handsome. She knew exactly what pain he was in at that very moment.

A period of black haze had just passed and she was clearly aware that it was night time. The road flickered in the light of torches, the soldiers were talking and laughing as she hung upside down. Some watched her suffering for a while, and she even pleaded once with them, begging for any kind of mercy. They simply looked at her exposed body. A few even touched her, feeling her sagging breasts and stroking between her spread legs. She prayed to die again during this time.

It was becoming harder to move.

It began to rain. Her brain didn't accept this, there were no clouds and it was not the season. Yet, she felt the water descending on her face... then she realized that she was urinating on herself. Her body had simply lost control, and she broke out in fresh sobs of humiliation and despair. A pain was growing inside her stomach and chest, making her agony complete and throughout her entire body.

Then she looked and saw feet and legs come before her face, and raising her head slightly, recognized Fellatio. Had he come to help her?
As Fellation approached Avra, he was amazed at just how beautiful she was in her nakedness. Even hanging upside down, twisted slightly and stretched by the ropes, she was a vision of health with smooth skin, undulating curves, and youth. Her breasts were not large but well formed, and sagged slightly toward the ground. Her lovely shoulders were exposed, as her silky brown hair descended to the ground, the tips just brushing the dirt.

His cock was bursting to be free, but first he reached into the folds of his tunic and brought out something special. He knelt before Avra, and said to her in a low voice, "I brought you something. Open your mouth and I will give it to you."

Avra opened her mouth, undoubtedly thinking he was giving her water or some other comfort. As soon as she spread her lips, Fellatio slipped in the round metal ring he had, a piece of old saddle that he had stolen and kept without ever knowing why. He knew now, and the ring fit perfectly, pressing Avra's mouth open and keeping it wide in an "O" of surprise. He ran the two small leather straps attached to the ring around her head and tied it in place. He was ready.

With a sense of urgency Fellatio raised his tunic and exposed his raging erection. Avra saw it in front of her eyes and made a sudden moaning sound. The sound quickly morphed into a choking gurgle and then silence as Fellatio thrust his cock deep into her mouth. He felt the head reach the end of her mouth and press into her throat, which contracted and tried to repel his member; this simply squeezed and massaged the head in the most surprising and delightful way.

Felation grunted involuntarily as he thrust, feeling the soft moist flesh of Avra's mouth. His hand rose and slid over the softness of her breasts, up her body past her ribs, now obvious and exposed because of how her body hung on the cross. He kept thrusting, feeling the inside of Avra, concentrating on every touch, gaining arousal from the sensations of her struggles beneath his hands, which slid further up her body until they reached the ending, the intimacy of her sex between her legs.

The soldiers gathered around, watching from a few feet away as Fellatio fucked Avra's mouth, thrusting in a steady rhythm that was slowing getting faster. His hands were touching, spreading her vaginal lips as well, and all at once two fingers pressed hard inside her. Her whole body jerked and writhed on the cross as he penetrated her. Her stomach and chest heaved, trying to breath between his thrusts, and her hips moved in a horrible parody of sexual arousal.

Finally, Fellatio cried out and thrust deep, shoving his member as deep as it would go, all the way down her throat. His fingers dived deep, deep inside her sex. He shuddered as his penis contracted and spurt semen out of him and into her throat.

The roman soldiers applauded as he finally withdrew. It had been a fine show; they were bored and enjoyed seeing something different.

The crucified girl gasped for air briefly, then vomited out the semen and some of her stomach contents. The slimy liquid poured over her face, entering her nose and covering her eyes, stinging and making it impossible to breathe. Avra shook her head, continuing to gasp between stomach contractions that shoved more slime out over her face and into her nose. Her whole body was shaking, traumatized and unable to cope with the convulsions and the lack of oxygen.


Avra hung upside down and floated in a world of agony. Her arms felt like they were going to rip out of their sockets at any moment; she had cramps that started from her wrists and ran down her arms into her back. Her stomach was heaving, and she was gasping for air. Being upside down and having the blood settling in her brain made her feel dizzy, unreal, as if the world was actually made of pain.

The taste in her mouth was awful. The thing he had inserted remained in her mouth, holding it wide open, even though his hard cock had been removed. She really thought she was going to die right then, for a moment. She couldn't breathe and the world had been turning back. Why hadn't he finished the job? She wanted to die, it was the only way past this horror that was her world.

The feet of the soldiers tramped around in front of her. She turned her head stiffly, trying to blow the liquid vomit from her nostrils and sinuses. Next to her hung Lustra, nailed upright to a wooden cross. What was happening? Fellatio was there, he had finished with her, fouled her body, though her body was nothing but agony right then.

The soldiers had grabbed Fellatio and forced him to kneel in front of Lustra. What were they doing? Lustra's legs were spread wide by the angle of the nails, and Fellatio took hold of the knees and pushed them farther apart, causing the girl to scream in pain. Avra wondered if the nails were more pailful than the dead dull throbbing pain of her hands, deprived of any blood, dying, or perhaps already dead.

Fellatio knelt before Lustra, placing his head between her legs. Avra turned away, she knew what was happening. The soldiers were forcing him to sexually stimulate the other victim while she hung helpless on her cross. Avra let her mind go, insanity flooding in, and she imagined she was floating. Except she had no arms and legs and she was floating in a river filled with vomit, and the acid in the vomit was eating her body slowly... she jerked back to reality.

Lustra was thrusting her thin thighs, rocking her hips to the rhythm of Fellatio's tongue as it slid across her vaginal lips. Avra struggled to pull her arms free once again, though it was useless; and turned her head to watch the display just a few feet away. Was Lustra actually having an orgasm?  Avra's own naked body was shaking from strain, but Lustra's was rocking and thrusting. She cried out. In pain, in pleasure, perhaps both.

Avra continued to have difficulty breathing, and her stomach was nauseous from the pain and shock.


Fellatio stood, having brought the beautiful and buxom Lustra to an orgasm. The soldiers were amazed, and stood slapping him on the back. When he had first been thrust down to service the dying girl, Fellatio was terrified that this would be his last act on earth. But with the aroused bouncing of Lustra's body and her  subsequent orgasm, the soldiers had gained some basic level of respect for him.

Lustra now hung from her cross, unmoving except for her rasping breathing, which was getting slower and slower.

The soldiers dragged Fellatio over to the boy Anal, who was also crucified upside down. His remarkably large member hung limp over his stomach from his parted legs. The soldiers ordered Fellatio to service Anal, just as he had serviced Lustra. Fellatio tried to back away, but was forced forward. It became clear there was nothing he could do except obey.

Taking Anal's cock in one hand, he slipped it slowly into his mouth. It tasted different thank Lustra (like urine), and the sensation of having a man in his mouth was strange, but he knew what to do. Anal was suffering horribly, unable to scream but making small groaning, wheezing noises from below where Fellatio stood sucking on the victim's cock. After a minute, he could tell the cock was growing hard in his mouth. He kept going, feeling it grow harder and harder.

To the side, the centurion had approached Cunnilingus, who was crucified in an upright position but was low to the ground. the centurion exposed his large cock and positioned himself just below her spread legs and then shoved up as hard as he could. His cock plunged deep inside the young cunt, and as it did, the young victim screamed, loud and for so long that she ran out of air and the scream just faded.

As Fellatio sucked Anal's cock, feeling it become rock hard as it slid in and out of his mouth, he watched as the centurion thrust up into Cunnilingus, bouncing her body up and down on the cross. Each thrust caused the nails in her wrists to jerk and scrape the tendons and bone, tearing muscles and flesh. Cunnilingus, the youngest and prettiest of the whole lot, was quickly deflowered and reduced to a screaming frenzy.

Just as Fellatio felt Anal begin to thrust his hips, forcing his cock deeper into Fellatio's throat, the centurion grunted and thrust hard, lifting Cunnilingus up on his hips as he jerked his sperm into her cunt. When he was done, he withdrew and the body of poor Cunnilingus dropped down like a rock, jerking to a halt when her arms stretched to their maximum. Cunnilingus screamed for a moment and then fainted, her head sagging, legs spread, semen slowly dripping and drooling down her inner thigh.

Anal groaned in pain and then unleashed a load of semen into Fellatio's mouth. It came so suddenly Fellatio was unprepared and the slimy body fluid made him choke. He withdrew coughing, and the soldiers surrounded him, demanding he open his mouth. They verified it was full of semen, which they instructed Fellatio to swallow.


The centurion sat next to the fire and drank the last of the wine before retiring to sleep. It had been a good day. The town had been taken and the example execution was going well. Seven hung dying on crosses... well, six; the old man was dead already. And there had been some good games that night. That disgusting perverted villager boy had helped raise the mood of the men. He was also pleased with the choice of those hanging on the crosses. All except the old man were good, strong, young bodies. The women looked beautiful stretched out as they were, exposed for all. It was also a pleasure to see the men suffering, slowing watching the life drain out of them.

He looked over at the girl they had hung upside down. She was a good one; he should have taken her for a slave. Oh well, too late. She was almost dead now, and her hands and feet were black and dead from the tourniquet tie that held her to the wood frame of the cross. Her breathing was labored, which was also pleasant to watch; seeing a woman's breasts rise and fall painfully, her stomach expanding and contracting to draw in breath as best she could.

He watched as her body shook for a moment, and then was still. The inverted position killed her faster than the others. It was just as well, she was a pretty one and he was glad she suffered no more.

Saturday, June 30, 2012

Modern Judicial Crucifixion

"I sentence you both to be nailed to a cross, there to hang until you are dead and for five days thereafter."

With a loud bang the judge lowered his gavel, declaring the sentence on the two lovers who had dared challenge the government.  The delivery of the sentence was followed by an immediate crush of reporters and photographers, trying to get images of the poor girl and boy as they stood in shock at the defense table.  This was the first time the new capital sentencing rules had been used, allowing a slow, torturous public death for enemies of the state.

Kyle and Amy were the youngest culprits to be caught in the recent purge of undesirables - those who questioned the state's position on environmental, social and political regulation. They had run an underground web site posting seditious information for the last two years, urging dissent and disobedience against the government's mandatory birth control.

Amy started to cry, sobbing openly as a pair of dark blue uniformed guards fastened her wrists behind her back. Her sobs were interrupted by a grunt as her elbows were roughly forced behind her and strapped together -- the first of a series of humiliations she would suffer. Kyle stood silently as his arms were bound behind him, determined to present a dignified face in the fatal situation. With cameras clicking and shouts from the gallery, the condemned were lead from the courtroom.


"This is Anna Markowski, reporting for SMNCB here at the Central Division Federal Penitentiary, where the couple convicted of sedition just a month ago will be publicly put to death by crucifixion in just a few moments. As promised, we will cover the event live, as it happens." Anna stood in front of the camera, angled so that the hill could be seen clearly behind her.  There were a number of prison guards waiting along with police that kept the milling and expectant crowd under control.  The pretty reporter continued to babble about the coming torture and execution as if it were a sports event until the crowd suddenly became silent and then began to cheer.

Off to the side of the hill was the gray stone outer wall of the prison. Running about 10 feet high and topped with multiple strands of razor wire, it presented an ominous and foreboding image.  A small metal door set into the wall had opened, which was what caused the crowd to quiet, followed by the emergence of several guards, which caused the crowd to cheer.

Moments later the condemned girl emerged. She was smaller than the guards, a petite 5'2" with long brown hair which fluttered about her shoulders in the breeze. She was remarkably pretty, with an oval lightly freckled face and girl-next-door looks; the orange jumpsuit she wore only hinted at a shapely body with thin legs and waist, as well as substantial breasts. Her wrists were shackled to a waist strap and her feet were bare. Two women guards held her upper arms and guided her out of the prison toward the hill.

As Amy climbed the hill Kyle emerged from the door in the prison wall. Dressed and led in the same manner, the handsome young man stood tall but was obviously the worse for wear from his time in prison. He sported several bruises and cuts on his face. He shuffled in a slow, reluctant way toward the hill.

"The young couple are being lead up the hill to their place of execution. Let's take a closer look at this, shall we?" The reporter handed off to some in studio anchors and zoom cameras showed the execution site from above. The girl had just arrived and was standing surrounded by about 20 guards, some of which had begun preparing her. The camera zoomed in as the beautiful girl was released from her shackles. It carefully covered her entire body as the orange jumpsuit was unzipped and pulled from her shoulders, revealing perfectly formed breasts hovering above a flat stomach.


Kyle trudged up the hill, the guards holding his arms tightly and guiding him firmly. They wanted no trouble and were ready to beat him into submission, as they had done several times in the last week. He no longer had much fight left in him and simply climbed to the top where the wide clearing held a cluster of guards. It was cold outside, a brisk breeze making him shake a little. The guards didn't care. His comfort was the last of their interests right then. They were in the process of torturing him and Amy to death.

The cluster of guards in front of him broke up as he arrived and saw Amy standing in the center of their circle. She was naked now. He gasped a little as he saw her perfect body. Six months ago he fucked that body every night, and he recalled the straining, sweating, grasping climaxes they had shared. His cock grew erect at the thought and sight of her standing naked before him once again, her arms raised and trying to cover her breasts either from failed modesty or because of the cold.

He was unshackled. As soon as he was free he lowered one shoulder and butted a guard out of his way as he charged toward his girl. He got about 10 feet when a baton struck his shin and broke it. With a scream he fell and rolled on the ground. A dozen rough hands grabbed him on the ground and stripped the orange prison outfit from him. He wore nothing underneath and seconds later he was naked, laying on the ground in a fetal position, crying.  He heard Amy calling his name from far away.


"Oh, it looks like the male is down and out! What happened there, Anna?" The news anchor passed the coverage back to the on scene reporter.

"Well, Jim, it appears that the male condemned tried to get loose and was subdued. His leg appears to be broken. This is going to put a kink into things because with a broken leg he isn't going to be able to force himself up on the cross and will most likely suffocate much sooner. Oh, wait, here they go! They are going to actually begin the nailing! Let's take a look from our close up cameras!"

The news coverage view switched to a closer view of Kyle being dragged over to a rough wooden cross which lay on the ground nearby. Five prison guards held him down firmly, as he thrashed around both in pain from his broken bone and from panic. A sixth guard, this one wearing solid black, approached with a device that looked like a large, odd gun in his hand.

The pretty reporter's face appeared in a small box in the corner of the TV coverage screen as she narrated the events.

"That's the executioner there, wearing all black. He carries a sort of industrial nail gun, modified to take the larger spikes required for this procedure. You see how he is placing it in a very specific place; the nail must go through the base of the hand, where the palm turns into the wrist, and at a specific angle. This will prevent the condemned man from pulling his hands free. It also severs a set of nerves and crushes the wrist bones, causing a level of agony--- oh, there it is! You saw the slight jerk of the gun and bit of smoke! That was the gun going off!"

Kyle's body had jerked suddenly when the nail had penetrated his wrist, and his screaming had become more agonized and urgent. The camera zoomed into his face for a moment, and then slid down to the muscles of his arm as they strained and struggled, and then finally to the gray metal nail head protruding from his wrist.

Anna continued narrating, and the camera switched to a view where Amy was being shoved down onto her own cross. "There goes the female condemned! She is in better shape than the male, and will thus probably last longer on the cross. There she is being held in place by the guards... they don't appear to be taking much care, you see that one knee thrust into her hips and groin. Oww... that has got to hurt... and here comes the executioner. Note the angle of the gun as he places it to the wrist... and BAM, yes, there it is. You can see the pain suddenly shudder the victim's body!"

The camera zoomed in to show the flesh and bone of Amy's wrist and hand struggling against the nail that now held her right arm to the cross. Her creaming could be heard through the reporter's microphone, even though she was at least 50 feet away.

"Yes, the other arm is now nailed as well. Note the fairly loose angle at which her arms are stretched out, this is so her body will hang down with her arms at a moderately steep angle.... let's go back to the male now. Kyle is fasted to his cross as well, though his ankles have yet-- there! The legs are being spread apart, exposing his genitals. This is part of the humiliation aspect of this form of execution. It must be horrible to be nailed with your arms and legs spread, your entire body exposed for all to see. And yes, we do see his genitals there. Wait... Oh...."

Anna's face took on a look of surprise as she observed her monitor and the view of Kyle as his legs were forced apart in preparation for nailing to the cross. There, clear as day, was Kyle's huge erection. Anna flushed red, her first unprofessional reaction to any of the proceedings. She confused for a moment, stuttering slightly, and then picked up her reporting.

"Yes. Well, Jim, maybe you can ask our medical experts why the male appears to be aroused at this point. In any case, his ankles are being forced to each side of the cross. Wow! The executioner has already nailed his left ankle to the side and is now moving... yes. You see the body jerk and writhe as the final nail goes in. I must say, I didn't expect to see that particular spectacle."

The camera view switched back to where Amy was being nailed. Both her wrists were fastened to the wood crossbeam, and her legs had been separated. The camera zoomed in to a view of her inner thighs, glistening in wetness, presumable from sweat (though it was still a rather cold day).

A guard bent Amy's left leg to about a 45 degree angle and then held her left foot against the side of the cross. The executioner held the nail gun against the side of her ankle, and pulled the trigger. A slight puff of smoke and recoil from the device announced that the nail had sliced through flesh, muscle and bone, and into the cross beneath. It took a half second for the pain reaction to set in, after which Amy suddenly screamed and arched her back, thrusting her hips into the air. This lasted only a moment, and her body slammed back down against the wooden instrument of execution below her.

The reported was beginning to show a bit of wear from the graphic horror of the execution. Her face was white and covered with a sheen of sweat that makeup didn't hide. She kept on narrating the proceedings like the professional she was.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this phase of the process is nearly complete. Kyle has been fixed to his cross and Amy is about to have her right ankle nailed to the cross. I should point out here that these nails are quite large, triple the size of a standard roofing nail. They are sharp, but when they go in they will shred any muscle, tendons and bone that stand in their way. As you can see from the writhing of the condemned, it is quite a painful process.  There goes the last nail into Amy's right ankle. Almost a relief, I guess, for those around her."

Guards were finally stepping back from the two crosses, leaving Kyle and Amy laying flat on their backs, looking up at a news helicopter flying above. The coverage switched to the aerial view. From that height, the entire hill could be seen, with a set of grandstands filled with people to the side, and 30 or more guards surrounding the clearing which now held the two crosses with two bodies nailed and relatively unmoving.

A crane that had been waiting to the side swung its huge boom arm slowly over the two crosses. The helicopter video feed showed a cable descending to the top of Amy's cross. She could be seen clearly in the video image, breasts heaving up and down, head thrashing from side to side, as the executioner clamped the end of the cable to a ring at the top of the cross. He stepped back and the coverage switched to a ground camera that zoomed in on Amy's prone form.

The crane slowly, ever so slowly, tightened the cable and then began to raise the end of the cross into the air. Amy's body slowly came into view more and more clearly as she was raised higher; her flat stomach was collapsing and expanding in concert with the heaving of her chest and breasts. As she climbed higher into the air, her breasts began to slide down her chest slightly, showing a bit of jiggling motion. The crane continued to raise her head higher into the air.

As she passed the 45 degree angle, Amy's body began a slide down the cross. The camera zoomed in, showing the fine, smooth flesh as it slid against the rough wood of the upright, splinters raking small furrows and leaving little blood trails.

The reporter, Anna, continued her narration of the scene.

"Amy's cross is being raised now, and you can see her body slide down into its final position. All her weight will soon be pulling on her wrists and the two nails that hold her to the wood behind her. At this point, the agony of the nails will increase to their peak, as her weight will pull her wrists against the nails, causing them to separate the broken bones and drag against the nerves and tendons ... yes... you can hear her screams now."

Amy's chest was heaving, her stomach contracting in screams as her weight shifted and she hung from her wrists for the first time. She was instinctively trying to struggle, but it was impossible. The base of the cross was guided into a tight fitting hole that had been dug in the ground and slid down. Finally, the crane had pulled the cross completely upright and stopped, throwing Amy's body forward slightly, away from the cross, jerking it against the nails holding it to the wood. The camera zoomed into Amy's beautiful face, now twisted in agony.

The guards moved in and quickly poured a mixture of quick drying concrete into the hole. Ten minutes later the cable was released and the cross and Amy were free standing.

The crane moved over to Kyle and the process was repeated. Their was only one difference. As the cross ascended, the reporter saw something had been added.

"My audience will note that an odd protrusion has been added to the male victim's cross. It consists of a simple spike sticking out from the upright and up between Kyle's legs. This is called a sedile, and it must have been added because of Kyle's broken leg, which would make his suffering relatively short lived. The sedile will provide some support for his body, though not... oh..... look...."

Anna was at a loss for words as Kyle's cross reached the upright position and his body slid down, coming in contact with the sharpened sedile. The spike rammed upward into the male's genitals, piercing them. Blood flowed down the sedile and trickled slowly toward the ground.

"My god... I don't think we have seen any real blood in this whole.... yet.... oh..."

Kyle was obviously writhing and struggling in pain, trying to compensate for the tremendous agony in his wrists and shoulders, and the tearing pain in his groin. He managed to shove his body out, away from the cross, and the sedile slid back, raking a furrow between his legs. With no strength left, Kyle gave up and sank down and the spike sunk deeply into his anus. A camera zoomed in, showing the widening spike spreading the anus as Kyle's body sank down. Blood continued to poor down from his entire groin area and began to flood down from his distended rectum as the sedile penetrated deeply.

The reporter was silent, and left the screen. The sight of the torture of these two beautiful young people had overwhelmed her and she attempted to recover off screen.


In the meantime, cameras showed a panorama of the final scene. The hill was now bare except for two crosses with two bodies hanging from them, silhouetted against the sky. There was some movement as Kyle and Amy breathed, moaned, cried out, struggled, sank down, and began the process again; but the movement was limited. There is little movement allowed on the cross. At one point Amy thrust her body out, away from the wood frame behind her, arching her back, trying to find comfort that was not to be found. The sight was obscene, for her spread legs and thrust hips clearly showed her pubic mound and genitals before she sank back. Her head hung down, hair falling against her shoulders and face.

Kyle continued to bleed. Cameras zoomed in and showed every aspect of his agony, from his twisted face to his contorted body muscles. The strain in his legs and arms was examined, the small trickles of blood from the wounds in his wrists were explored. The clenching of his ravaged sphincter against the violating sedile could be clearly seen. His broken leg prevented him from raising himself up, and he simply lay impaled.

The two victims had been crucified facing each other, so that they could observe each other's pain. This was considered part of their punishment, to see their loved one suffer and to understand and experience the same pain they felt.

TV coverage continued, showing cross sections of anatomy, which nerves had been severed, which bones broken. The diaphragm was explored, showing how breathing became more difficult, and Amy's stomach, chest and breasts were shown next to a diagram of the internal muscles, illustrating how her body was struggling.

The camera closed in to Amy's hands for a while, showing the claw like positioning of the fingers, reflecting the destroyed nerves in the wrists. Kyle's erection returned, larger than ever, harder than ever, and medical analysts speculated and proposed that this was due to the sedile pressing on the veins inside, preventing blood from leaving; others said it was because the prostate was being stimulated and predicted an eventual ejaculation. One expert even claimed it was because Kyle was aroused by the sight of Amy suffering before him.

Kyle died only two hours after being nailed to the cross. The job had been botched. The combination of the broken bone in his leg, and the blood loss from the sedile had caused massive shock. All attention refocused on Amy and her continuing struggles toward a death that escaped her, hour after hour.


Amy saw Kyle hanging about 15 feet away from her. He wasn't moving any more. The agony she experienced was not getting any better, it was spreading. She didn't understand why he wasn't moving, the agony commanded her body to keep struggling, even though it simply traded one type of searing pain for another. She pulled herself up, pulling on the nails that now seemed part of her body, trying to push with her legs as best she could, just to give some relief to her shoulders, arms and chest. A cameraman circled her as she did this, focusing the camera on her legs as she pushed and tensed the muscles.

She cried, but had no more tears. She sobbed, but had no breath. She called for mercy, but there was none. She sank down, exhausted, and the shattering agony in her ankles and legs was replaced by shattering agony in her wrists and back. She made noise, but it wasn't a scream any more, it was more of a rasping whimper.  The cameraman found the spot between her legs interesting for a while and zoomed in on her shaking vaginal lips, then slowly panned the camera up her stomach to her breasts, partly covered by her hair which stuck to the sweaty flesh.

The sweat was from pain, not from heat. Evening had come on and the air was getting cold. Amy continued to live in pain, unable to move, observed in her agony by hundreds of thousands, perhaps millions of people.


With a promise to return to live coverage if there were any developments in Amy's execution, the reporters signed off for the evening and returned to prime time programs. Amy didn't know it of course, the cameras were still positioned around her as she hung naked and exposed. Time proceeded slowly, minute by minute, the sun slowly descending on the horizon.

Tiny movements caused whole new worlds and heights of pain. Amy tugged, trying to get her wrist to slide forward with the idea that she might be able to pull off, out of the heavy nails. The pain was so bad it almost knocked her unconscious. She could feel the scraping texture of the nail against wrist bone. Losing strength, she sagged  down on the cross, which made her legs spread a little further apart.

She was aware of the humiliation of her nakedness. Her genitalia were exposed, her breasts bobbing in plain view. There was absolutely nothing she could do about it.

Eventually dark came and she wondered if she would sleep. She was so, so tired. And thirsty. She had never been this thirsty, and she knew she must not drink for it would prolong her agony, and she realized she really did want to die. It was the only way out. Amy wanted to escape from the horrific pain at any cost. And then... someone raised something to her face.

She turned away at first, but then it was pushed against her face. It was wet. She turned her head to look at it between the ragged strands of her hair. A sponge, dripping. Her thirst overcame her and she reached her head out and sucked. The cool water felt so good, so lovely, wetting her lips, going down her raw throat, it was life saving....

Life prolonging. Agony prolonging. She had to die, quickly, for every moment with her arms spread out and the weight of her body driving the nails into her wrist bones, separating them, tearing flesh, was agony she had to escape. Flashes distracted her. Photographers, capturing her pain and humiliation. She stared at them sullenly, imagining that the image of her dirty, naked, agonized nudity would be preserved forever. It didn't matter. She wasn't going to be around...


"Ladies and Gentlemen, please watch your steps going up the hill. There is loose gravel and we don't want any accidents!" The prison guard who was serving as tour guide led the group of 15 or so men and women up the hill to the top where the two crosses were silhouetted against the sunrise.

"As you know," said the guide to his small ensemble of dignitaries, "we lost the male victim early on. His body is there, and will remain there for several days. We are in the open so it won't cause too much smell at first, though I expect he will stink a bit by the time we bring him down. Now, over here we have the female..."

The group walked over to Amy and her cross. She was breathing in a rasping, strained manner. It was a lovely sight, her perfect body stretched out and exposed, breasts hanging free, rising and falling. Her hair hung down on either side of her head as it hung limply. Her knees were bent and spread slightly, and several of the men approached to have a better look.

"There is no blood. Or hardly any. Are you sure she will die from this?" One of the men was looking carefully at Amy's outstretched arms and claw-like hands. The metallic head of the nails were clearly visible protruding slightly from her wrists.

"Oh yes, there isn't supposed to be much bleeding. Death occurs from exposure, shock, dehydration, and suffocation. As strength is lost, the pressure from the body hanging from the arms like that, makes it very difficult to exhale. So... oh, there she goes!! Watch this!!" The guard excitedly observed Amy as she moved, struggled, the muscles in her bare legs straining to lift her body. Her arms tensed, and head raised up until she looked into the sky, her pretty young face visible clearly.

"Oh...." cried one of the touring women as the crowd watched as Amy struggled to raise herself up. The agony was clearly visible in her face and she began panting faster and grunting in pain as her body twisted and turned until it was higher on the cross. She tried to lock her knees but couldn't, gasped for several long, deep breaths, and then fell back down. The jolt as she reach the bottom and sagged against her stretched and torn arms caused her to let out a short scream.

"And there you are my friends, the crucifixion dance. As I was saying, breathing is difficult in the hanging position as strength leaves the body. The victim will inevitably begin to need to breath and thus writhes to find a position which will allow her to take a breath and exhale it. This continues on until exposure and shock sap most or all the stamina from the body, at which point the victim will suffocate."

"May I touch her?" Ask one of the women in the group, a tall, soft looking woman who had been staring at Amy's distended and stretched body constantly since they arrived.

"Yes, you can, though be sure to wash your hands afterwards." The guard seemed pleased to be able to approve this unusual request.

The tall woman took a few steps over to Amy, and reached up and placed her hand, fingers spread, on Amy's stomach. She left it there, and then slowly slid it around to the side, and then behind to the buttocks where she cupped Amy's right ass cheek, pulling it slightly. She then ran her hand down Amy's thigh as if feeling the velvet of a fine material.

"I can almost feel her pain. It is amazing," the woman said quietly, almost reverently.

At that moment, liquid came streaming out from between Amy's legs. Urine sprayed out and splattered on the ground below. The woman stepped back to avoid getting wet. The urine flow subsided and the liquid trickled down the inside of the left thigh before finally stopping. Amy had not moved during this time. She seemed unaware of her loss of bladder control.

The group spent some additional time examining the construction of the cross and observing the various signs of Amy's pain. She was given water again with a sponge, and drank once again, though not much.

"She is so ... beautiful," said the woman that had felt Amy's body. "Was she always this beautiful, I wonder, or is it the beauty of her agony, of her execution?"

None of the others said anything, and they all left, soon after. Amy remained hanging from the cross, very little changing in her world of pain.


Network coverage of Amy's agonizing end resumed at 6 PM. Anna Markowski was back on the scene, walking up the hill as a steadycam followed her.

"As you can see, there stands are still filled with people observing the ongoing torture of this young woman, convicted of being an enemy of the state. The government and the people all hope that her suffering will deter others from taking such anti-social actions."

The reporter stopped in front of Kyle's body. "The smell from the first of the two convicts to die is getting quite pungent. He has been dead for a day now, and flies are crawling over his body and into body cavities."

The camera panned over Kyle's lifeless form, arms still spread wide, hanging forward slightly. The darkened mangled mess that was caused by the cornu/sedile was covered by flies and the blood was crusting. The camera moved quickly and then panned to Amy's still struggling naked form.

Anna Markowski walked over to Amy. A step stool had been positioned next to the cross. "Let's try to get a word with the suffering victim, and see if she can respond to any questions."

Anna stepped up two steps, which put her almost even with Amy. The contrast between the two women was striking; Anna was dressed nicely, with smooth, shiny hair, subtle but effective makeup, and a serene but concerned look on her face. Next to her hung the naked body of Amy, arms and legs spread for all to see, flesh glistening with sweat, hair a dirty matted mess and her face a mask of pain. And yet, Amy's natural beauty came through, her shapely form obvious to all, her young face twisted in pain but still more beautiful than the reporter's artificially made up face.

"Amy, I am Anna, and I am covering your execution for the public. I was wondering if you could speak with us, perhaps offer last words?" The reporter spoke kindly, as if she were a friend of the victim, and then moved the microphone she held out to Amy, waiting for an answer.

For a moment, the audience heard nothing but the rasping of air going in and out of Amy's open mouth, and saw nothing but her breasts rise and fall. Then her head raised slightly and she turned it enough to look at Anna's face. Her croaking voice came out and could be heard world wide.

"Kill me. Please. End this."

Anna looked sympathetic. "I understand your desire. I will speak with the guards as soon as I can and see what I can do. Can you tell me what you feel about your sentence? Was it fair?"

Amy hung her head again, her hair covering most of her face. Anna reached out and swept it back so the audience could see her face clearly.

"I did.... nothing... I can't breathe... " Amy's croak was broken by long silences and labored breathing. "The pain... please let me die..."

"What hurts the most, Amy? Tell us. We need to know."

"Arms... shoulders.... hands are gone now, can't feel them...  water, I need water, please..." Amy began to cry without tears.

The reporter stepped down and returned with a sponge of water, placing it in front of Amy. The victim moved her head down slightly and sucked on the water. When it was gone, she moaned and arched her back outward and away from the wooden cross. She repeated this movement every few minutes, trying to get some comfort that would never come. It delighted the audience in the bleachers, for it thrust her breasts and stomach out, and spread her legs apart, exposing her nakedness delightfully.

"Amy, did you see that Kyle is gone? Your boyfriend is dead. What are your thoughts?"

"Not... fair... let me die. Break my legs. Please."

Anna looked a little surprised. "Amy, tell us. Do you realize you are naked in front of millions of watchers, right now, on television? What is that like?"

Amy didn't move or respond for a moment, and then finally slumped a half inch further down, and then let out a moaning cry at some new torment that struck her. Her head jerked back and she cried out in a loud voice, "fffuuuuuuuccckkkk yyouuuuuuuuuuuuuu!!!!!"

A second later, Amy's bowels let loose with a loud farting, splattering liquid diarrhea. It spurt over the base of the cross and covered the side of Anna Markowski's skirt. The reporter skipped down from the step ladder like she had been burned. Disgusted and angry, she waved the hand with her microphone in front of her face. "Pheeewww.... that stinks. Damn, that is disgusting. Do you think she did that on purpose?"

Whatever pleasantness had come from observing the victim's pubic area close up with news cameras had greatly diminished. It was now covered with shit, making it almost unrecognizable.


The next morning the prison doctor spend some time checking on the condemned woman. Much of the life had gone from her. It had been two days since she had been nailed to the cross, and she was severely dehydrated, as well as suffering from exposure and shock from the pain. He ordered more water for the poor woman, though he knew it would only extend her life a few hours.

As the sun rose, large black birds began to gather. They had already been picking on Kyle's lifeless form, but now they were perched on Amy's wooden cross. She wasn't dead, but it didn't seem to matter. The crows began to pick at her flesh with their sharp beaks.

Amy grunted at the first of the birds as they began to tear at her fingers, ripping tiny bits of flesh away. It made little difference.

An hour later, the birds were picking at her scalp, and blood flowed in a slow trickle down Amy's neck. The reporter had stopped doing live coverage ever since being covered in Amy's shit, but the cameras were still there, focusing on the details of her public humiliation. Now they focused on the birds pecking at the torn flesh around her wrist and ankle wounds, and the hair that was being torn slowly from her head.

Then the birds started on her face. At first, Amy shook her head, and the birds backed off. This didn't last long at all. The crows sensed there would be little resistance and they moved in, pecking at ears, lips, nose and eyes. Blood slowly streamed down, and Amy's once beautiful face slowly, ever so slowly, was mutilated. One bird clawed it's way down to her right breast and pecked at her nipple, finally gaining some hold on it and ripping it open.

The prison doctor returned, and checked Amy's vitals. She was alive, but just barely. The doctor determined she was unconscious, and not likely to regain anything more than a vague delirious state of awareness.

With cameras focused tightly on the scene, a guard came over with a baseball bat. He swung back and then forward with all his strength, letting the bat hit Amy's left shin. The cameras showed the shin buckle and bend at an unnatural angle. Amy's body jerked slightly and trembled, but then settled down further on the cross.

The procedure was repeated on the right leg, and Amy reacted in the same manner.

Half an hour later, the doctor pronounced Amy dead.

The birds had started their feast, and would continue it for the next two days, all with network cameras showing their progress.